The Dead Side ° horror ✔️

Final Chapter

Unedited....

Author's Note- Warning: nacho-cheese ahead... I dedicate this madness to my best friends: Hailey @HaileyMarcedes, Chloe @ccleder, Sam @ so_much_fanfiction, and my loyal readers who stick through the weird chaos that emerged from my zombie addiction. I know this may not be the best or most professional story ever written. I wrote TDS for two reasons; one being I needed to get zombies out of my system and two being the fact that I wanted to start my Wattpad journey with a short book. Tis is the final chapter for this part, so Ill leave it up to you. My very smart friend told me that zombie stories can end one of two ways; everyone dies or they find a cure. I usually go for death but I'm ending this part on a happy note. FOR YOU BECAUSE I HAVE NO ISSUES WITH KILLING MY CHARACTERS! So yeah. Enjoy this (unedited) chapter that I'm kind of scrambling to finish because I'm so tired and I just want to watch the premiere episode of Z Nation...

Chapter Fourteen

The cold sucks. It was chilling my poor nose and making my teeth chatter.

But it was keeping me awake.

"Are you cold?" He asked. He had taken a notebook off the counter and started to sketch on the lined paper. I was seated with my poor butt freezing on the cold wood with my knees on my chest. Staring out at the yard seemed to be the only thing I was capable of at the moment.

"Nope," I lied, rubbing my hands on my cheeks. He gave me a look, leaving enough room for me to see what he was drawing.

I was looking at myself.

Hyper realistic me. Even though I was in pencil, it was as accurate and detailed as a photograph. He was drawing me now, staring out at the yard with my fingers resting on the handle of my rifle.

"Why me?" I took the notebook and jumped up before he could take it back. Flipping to the first page, I noticed a label for the bowling alley on the cover. "Seriously?"

"Yep," He gave me a standard cheeky grin, which I returned with flipping the pages. Me again, leaning over the side of the building as I watched the parking lot. Me at the hotel, curled up under the blankets. And then me in the car, reading out loud. Honestly, the thought was sweet- him using me as a model for his sketches. I just didn't do well with overwhelming amounts of pictures of myself.

"Wow, you know how to draw," I observed, handing it back to him as I found it.

"I didn't have a camera," He shrugged, pink tinting his cheeks.

"I didn't know I was worthy of you taking pictures," I stared at my shoes, feigning interest in the toes of my worn boots. Would you look at that?

"I used to do photography like my mom," He put an arm around me.

"I can tell," I replied, sitting back down on the porch. The others were starting to wake up, so it was time to start packing for our road trip.

***

"You need new clothes!" Declan said for the millionth time, pulling out the jeans of the girl who once lived here. "She has unopened underwear!"

"I'm good," I shoved my books and what little I had in the duffle, rejecting his ideas for the third time in two minutes. "I don't want to wear a dead girl's clothes!"

He responded by taking a Walmart bag and putting the clothes in there. I frowned and went back to doing my own packing. There was just something about taking what didn't belong to me that I didn't like.