Taylor is a college student home alone when the outbreak hits her small town. One minute she is working on a project, the next she is hiding away from the monsters outside. Taylor will have to find it in her to survive until her parents can -hopeful...
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Fireworks - they worked great at leading away big groups of zombies, and whatever ones that lingered back the firefighters took out with axes. Their gear also worked wonders. Made of thick, heavy fabrics, and their helmets that cover their heads and faces. They were strong enough to wear it, climb burning buildings and carry people out of said buildings. They easily wore it to dispatch the dead. They'd be okay here, at the fire station. They made plans to raid the local gun shop, to check the neighboring houses for survivors. They'd be okay - I had to believe that. That me getting bitten, and then helping them get out of the firehouse wouldn't be for nothing.
I didn't stay in my house, I went back to Randy's where I gathered some supplies. I didn't know how long it would take me to turn into a zombie, but until then I wanted to be able to eat and drink all I wanted. After I gather supplies I find a nice farmhouse, one that seems like the owners left in a hurry. It's like people died and turned in their house, or decided to leave in a hurry. Our small town seemed like a good place to hunker down, but then maybe people thought they'd want to be farther away from people, or maybe they thought with numbers it would be better. Who knows.
Sitting in the overly floral living room, I look down at the collection of food, pops, and booze I had packed onto the coffee table. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my left arm was feeling very numb. I could still move it, I just couldn't really feel it, it was almost like when a limb falls asleep and you get pins and needles.
I grab one of the pops from the coffee, pop the top of it and pour half into a glass. Setting the can down I grab a bottle of rum, I had never drank before, so why not now. I could feel my body getting weaker every minute, might as well go out not feeling it.
After pouring a decent amount of rum into the glass I pick it up and raise it. "To the fucking zombie apocalypse," I said it out loud bitterly. "Better to go out drunk and depressed than just depressed."
I take a large gulp then proceed to cough and choke at the fire in the back of my throat.
