The First ~10K~ (book 3)

17.) Worry

Zoey POV—

*a few months later*

"They keep coming!" Tommy yelled, stabbing a Z in the head before another one came stumbling after him.

"We can do it!" I yelled back, killing my own zombies. "We have to!"

We got caught up in a horde. Not a terrible one, but one that we couldn't see or hear until it was on top of us.

We took some out one by one. Stabbing them in the head, shoving them into one another, doing whatever we could to keep them back.

"Keep it up!" Tommy yelled.

My muscles were screaming at me, but I kept at it. One thing I've learned from surviving; ignore the pain. It's just a distraction, nothing more.

Soon, the zombies were all gone. We walked among them, killing the ones that weren't dead yet, just stunned or stuck beneath another one.

I stabbed the last one in the head and it went silent around us.

We did it.

I let out a laugh and looked at Tommy, who was smirking.

He had blood all over him. On his face, on his clothes, hands, and even some in his hair. I could tell from the random wet spots.

He looked positively handsome.

"Let's get back," He said while panting. "Ash is probably worried."

Ashlyn POV—

Sprained ankles suck.

I should be out there with them, but stuck in here with my stupid ankle propped up on a bunch of stupid pillows. Stupid.

I sprained it while tripping over a tree root running from zombies. I went looking for cool rocks (I was bored, okay?) and zombies came out of nowhere and chased me. I was trying to lose them, but I tripped on a tree root sticking out of the ground and I sprained it. I almost died, but luckily my dad heard me scream and he saved me, like he always did. I got in trouble for sneaking off, but he was just glad I was alive.

I might as well be dead because this was stupid.

There was a horde out there that caught up with us. My dad and Zoey shut me in my room and went out to kill them. I told them I could do it, but they completely ignored me and left me here alone.

Like I said - stupid.

I heard footsteps coming up the steps leading to the front door. I gripped my knife, just in case and sat up to see the door. Zoey and my dad stepped in and I relaxed.

They were both covered in blood. Their clothes were ruined and their faces were sticky with drying blood.

"Is it safe?" I asked.

They both nodded. My dad put the weapons away and got a bowl of water and some rags. He handed one to Zoey and they started washing their faces and arms.

"How many?" I asked, watching them.

"A few dozen, maybe less," Zoey replied. "Nothing we couldn't handle."

"I wish I could've helped," I whined, glaring at my ankle. "This sucks."

"Ash," my dad says. "It's for your own good. Otherwise, your ankle will never heal and you'll be hobbling around forever."

I let out a loud sigh. He was right, but I still didn't like it.

They finished up cleaning themselves and joined me on the couch. I propped my foot on my dads lap. He tickled it, making me squeal.