Trump Daddy Saves the World

Chapter Seven

BAM. BAM. BAM

Trump froze in his crouched position, his wide eyes focused at the zombie trying to break through the balcony glass. He wanted his hands to move, his brain to react, something, but his body did not listen to him.

It was like he wasn't in control, instead looking down at himself from faraway, watching the scene pan-out as a third party—even though things definitely weren't that way.

To complicate and horrify things further, the weak glass started to crack.

Trump started to rise up to stand, leaning back as he watched the crack travel up the glass, making it larger and bigger and—WHAM.

A fist went through the glass, the shards raining out. Trump had to bring his arms up to protect himself from the onslaught of shards. His arms wrapped around his head, cowering for a second before he had to make a sudden decision.

The zombie was starting to get through the glass. He had two choices: he could try to somehow kill the zombie, or he had to throw himself off the balcony.

There was no knowing what was down there, or how many. But he also didn't want to get bitten—and he definitely didn't want to die.

Flesh started to tear off the arm as it wriggled through the glass, crackling pieces more and more. The hole widened, more limbs of the zombie pushing through.

Trump had maybe five seconds to make a decision.

He eyed the ground, the grass still looming a vast distance below. The drop was shorter than before, but it could still potentially kill him.

It was between him and the zombie. Maybe...maybe he could push the zombie off the balcony?

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

There was a loud moan that came out of the zombie's mouth, its rotting yellowed teeth on display for Trump. Blood dripped down its peeling flesh, pooling on the floor beneath it. The host didn't care. The infection didn't care.

It was entirely inhuman—like it didn't feel pain or something.

Trump's legs shook as he stood there stupidly, watching mouth agape as the zombie finally broke through, more glass being sprayed in every direction.

There was no time to think. Decisions had to be made then. Time slowed. The zombie started running at him in the close distance, going to leap onto him, its mouth gaping open wider, anticipating Trump's delicious orange flesh—

Last minute Trump ducked, pushing his body onto the glass-riddened floor. He could hear the zombie soar through the air, falling over the rail of the balcony before its body hit the ground level with a sickening thump.

Slowly, he peeled himself off the floor, his upper body burning with–no doubt–new cuts. He checked over the railing.

Spilled guts greeted him in the dark. Even so, the body continued to twitch.

Trump gulped down his fear, swallowing heavily before his attention went back to the balcony door.

Please only let there be one zombie.

The door slid pretty easily. Trump ignored the glass falling off, taking a step inside the dark room. After what just happened, he made sure to give the room a good sweep, checking around the double bed and closet.

He checked the bathroom, too. His heart was thumping heavily before he roughly pulled the shower curtain open.

Empty.