The Beginning:

Boom… Boom… I turn to look at my clock. 4AM. Who the hell is beating on my house at four in the blasted morning? I glance out my window to see three figures scratching and pounding at the walls. I listen to the muffled moans, trying to pin point the voice of who was screwing with me. Probably the guys I bet. They know my love and fear of zombies. It’s just like them to try this knowing my folks are out of town. I will get the last laugh. I walk into the back room and open the gun case. I take out my fathers old 12 gauge, and load it with one shell. One blast in the air with this bad boy and they will crap their undies. I go back and check the window. Two more have joined them. All five of them are here now. They must be really desperate for attention. I walk to my front door. I can see through the glass that it is clear. It’s weird for them to be at the side of the house, and not the front door, but it is their joke. I will just play along. I turn the dead bolt and tip toe out the door. I listen, and can still here the pounding. I quietly walk to the edge of the house. Without looking to see who is there, I leap from the shadows and blast a round into the air. To my surprise they do not jump. They do not scream. They just turn. That’s when I make a horrible discovery. These were not my friends. What stands before me was once a man, but he had long since died. Patches of skin were missing from his face. The cheek, nose, and lips are gone. It has a sneer that chills me to the bone. I notice my neighbor’s dog lay dead. The contents of his abdomen were on the ground. A few of the others were tearing off pieces and eating them. I feel the juices in my stomach flowing back up. The need to vomit is great, but the need to flee is greater. I rush back into the house and lock the door. After years of zombie flicks I knew my house wouldn’t make a good shelter. My mother had a love of glass and a view, that weakness leaves me an easy target. I go back to the backroom and start scrounging for more shells. We hadn’t used this stuff in ages. Not since my father got sick and gave up hunting. I find a few old shells, and pray they don’t explode on me. By the time I return they have found my front door, and to my dismay they have also found my picture window. My big, thin picture window. The glass is already starting to give. Knowing that the only safe place would be our back storage room I race for it. My mother keeps her tanning bed there so she left it windowless. It has a door on each side to escape if need be. I shut the door behind me and run to the other. Listening, all I can here are crickets. I go to the other door and peak inside. The window is shattered and a few of them have already gotten in. In my terrified state I make one big error. Always stay hidden. One of the things spots me and lets out a moan. The sound is followed by even more moans. Next came the shuffling of feet in my direction. I ran back to the other door and chance a peek outside. It is clear. I step out with my mind racing. Maybe I can make a run for it. Go to my uncle’s house. Hold up with him until help arrives. Bam… They are already at the other door. Its hinges are giving way. To my left I hear a gurgle, like a man drowning. I turn in time to see the rest had already flanked me. I was trapped. I have the mountain on one side, and sure death on the other. Then a thought hits me. The roof! I jump up on the hill and leap to the roof. The hillside is only about two feet from the roof. Easy jump for me but hopefully not them. I couldn’t have been more wrong. They easily climb the hill and made it on the roof. Damn you Capcom! I run to the other side, and going with my bad luck. I realize that the gunshot has attracted even more of them. The yard is swarming with them now. What use to be women and men stalk my movements with dead eyes? Others have joined the ranks on the roof. I have three shells and five of them chasing me. That’s not counting what is waiting for me below. Then a ray of hope flashes before my eyes. My dad always leaves his keys in his truck. His big, four wheel drive truck. I take a chance and shoot the creatures below me. They sway and fall as the pellets hit flesh. A headshot always works best against the undead, but I don’t need a body count. I just want to keep my body. I soar off the roof and hit the ground hard. My legs and back strain with my weight, but I don’t have time to scream. I race to the truck, yank the door open, and slam it locked. Before I can even get the keys in the ignition they have swarmed me. Battering the truck with bloody clumps that were once hands. I turn the ignition and the old girl roars to life. I throw it in gear and slam down the gas. Chunks of flesh go this way and that. One of the creatures standing in the bed of the truck flips over backwards and falls out. He tries to catch onto the side but can’t because of the rain drench surface. The tires scream as I slide onto the main street. As I drive I can see lights in my friends and neighbors homes. Windows are shattered and doors ripped off hinges. I can see the dead walking around inside and out. That’s when I realize that everyone I love is dead. I start to weep, as I drive into the night.