Yeah...I have a lo of free time on my hands and I am currently obsessing about zombies....so...yeah.
I hope this is appropriate, as this will contain gore and the such. No 'adult activities' though.
Yeah, this story is about my character Arturo Evaristo and his journey through the zombie wasteland that is Central America.
Oh, some facts came from The Zombie Survival guide.
Also, I own every weapon Arturo uses, so all the results are from personal experience from using these weapons. The others though...well, a guy can dream can't he?
Warning: English is not my native language, so many commas will be where they do not belong. I'll put a * at the end of a sentence I'm not sure of and it'd be appreciated if you could help me. Constructive criticism is always welcome.
Fictional places and people.
I woke with a start, scared and sweating. I was in my apartment, at Last Chance Inn in the city of Brylane. However, this wasn’t your usual crappy Thursday. There wasn’t the usual scuffle down the hall between the muscle headed neighbor and the newly weds, there was no loud obnoxious rap music blasting through the walls, and there was no line for the washed and dryer. All that was out now were them. The zombies that destroyed life as we knew it seven weeks ago.
In the past seven weeks, I have been running from these things. Now, the only somewhat safe place for several miles was this apartment complex. There where still zombies walking around, but roaming bands of locals have taken care of most of them. I was given respect, and no one bothered me.
Things sure went to hell quick. When the first zombies came, people thought it was some sort of publicity stunt about radioactivity, but when the 'actors' first came into contact with people, they let loose a bone chilling moan and shambled towards the foolish townsfolk.
Moments later, when some zombie gnawed through some poor bastards' wrist, the police were quick to respond. They tried to reason with the 'actors', but ...well...
You can't reason with a zombie.
When the police saw that they would not be reasoned with, they let loose a volley of bullets but were surprised when the 'actors' not only withstood the bullets, but appeared unharmed and unfazed*.
After that, the predictable happened. Humans ran towards the hospitals and police stations, which eventually became buffets for the undead. Others ran towards their cars and cluttered the streets and basically became canned food.
I managed to run towards my apartment on the second story and prepared for the worst. So far, I managed to raise the fire escape enough that the zombies can't reach it, destroy the wood staircase, and filled all bath tubs and sinks with clean water.
Sadly, I am the only living person left in this city now. Many of my former friends that lived here have joined the undead ranks and my former neighbors have fled.
My apartment fortress is absolutely impenetrable, no zombie can reach me, but the simple fact remains that I am running out of supplies. I have only a weeks worth of food and water left.
All the necessary measures have been taken. I have a pack ready and filled with as much supplies I can carry without bringing own my speed. My machete, usually used for gardening purposes, is lying against the wall, sheathed and waiting to slice off zombie heads.
Sighing, I got up and grabbed my bag and my machete. Horror movie rules state that you always travel during the day.
With that, I got up and, quietly as possible, made my way down the hall. Zombies had a freakish sense of hearing. From high up here, I've seen zombies hear a cough and pinpoint their victims'* exact location.
I made my way to where the staircase used to be. I carefully lowered myself down, making sure not to make excess noise, and carefully touched down.
Turning around, I put a hand on my machete and made my way into the undead zone.