Trump Daddy Saves the World

Chapter Five

Author's Note:

Do I feel like writing right now? No, no I don't. But I'm at work, it's boring, and I really have nothing better to do with my sorry life.

Update on my mom: they were able to keep the baby in and she's okay.

Also new update: went to MEPS and now I'm back to facing the Navy LOL. I leave for bootcamp in September. In tbe meantime, I'll be here writing a trump x biden romance.

P.S. I have no clue what I originally planned for this chapter. Deal with it.

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3:45 am.

Trump paced around his dark hotel room. His thumb was in his mouth, his teeth biting onto the nail--but not hard enough to actually do any damage--and his gaze was pinned to his feet.

Every bone in his body was shaking.

Ron was dead. He had to face that fact. The other fact that he had to face?

The banging and scratching behind the door stopped.

Trump wanted so badly to open that door, to check if that was really Ron, dead, behind that door, his eyes bulging and his skin yellow.

But he knew.

He saw it with his own eyes.

Ron was dead.

Something---somehow, some way---happened on the state in the US.

Trump suddenly stopped pacing his room.

A thought crossed his mind.

Was the virus--or infection or whatever--was it airborn?

Would there have to be direct contact, like he'd seen on the news, or was it something that spread rapidly through the air, contaminating all of them?

Oh god.

Was he getting infected that very moment?

Was he breathing in Ron's death juice?

Trump couldn't help but hold his breath. He held it for about thirty seconds before rationality entered his mind.

"No--that was stupid." He muttered, rolling his eyes to himself.

His eyes flicked to the door.

With everyone else presumably dead, that meant it was up to him to survive this awful, horrendous incident.

That's all it was.

An incident.

It totally wasn't the end of the world or anything.

No biggie.

He was going to get through it. He was going to somehow get the fuck off Alaska, and he'd get to the rest of the world where everything was fine, and safe, and everything would return to normal again.

There wasn't going to be any zombies in his future.

Another thought crossed his mind.

Could he figure out how to fly a plane?

Only one way to find out.

Because Trump knew one thing with certainty: after he was going to escape his hotel room, he sure as hell wasn't going to walk out of Alaska.