Resistance

Chapter Twenty-Four

A/N: Hey guys! So I'm hoping you all guessed that the last chapter was an April Fools joke, and I hope that it kind of tied you over until I posted the real chapter. Originally I was going to delete it after but I got so many hilarious comments that I couldn't!

Anyways, this is the real chapter twenty-four. I hope 3540 words make up for my little joke.

Also, just to let you guys know, I'm doing Camp NaNoWriMo so my updates on Resistance are going to take longer than usual. In the meantime, please check out my new story As I Am! (:

(7 pages! Aren't I awesome?)

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Twenty-Four    

          There’s something about having to throw up that makes me instantly feel worse. I want to, to get rid of this horrible, stomach churning feeling. But on the other hand, I know that doing so will just make me feel worse. Then I’ll have two things to feel sick about instead of just one.

            I had to cover my entire face with my hands as I entered the cafeteria. And by cover, I mean press into my mouth and nose with as much force as possible. I even squeezed my eyes shut because they burned.

            “Why are we doing this,” I gasp. My voice is muffled from my palm as Jagger and I walk towards the others, who are at the far end of the open, echoing room. “Why can’t we get food somewhere else? Why here? Why this?”

            The smell is agonizing. I’ve never smelt anything like it before and even though the cafeteria is large, it just gives the stench more room to breed and intensify.

            “Cole says we have no choice,” Jagger says through the sleeve of his navy sweater, one that he had found underneath a church pew. “This is the only place to get food other than houses, and those are dangerous.”

            I think I’d take being trapped in a house with a zombie family over this.

            Cole, Jack and the toddler, who’s standing on the ground with his hand in Jack’s are waiting for us. Both of their free hands cover their mouths. The horror in Jack’s eyes looks different than I’ve ever seen. He doesn’t look so little and sad anymore. He looks like he grew up.

            “The food is in here,” Cole’s muffled voice says. At first I can’t make it out but then the answer becomes obvious. “Ready?”

            No one says anything because really we’re not. It’s evident that the smell is coming from inside the kitchen doors and it’s painful knowing that rotting food isn’t the answer to the question of what the smells coming from.

            Cole takes out silence as a yes.

            He kicks open the door with his foot and points his gun, ready for zombies.

            Again, there aren’t any.

            “Holy fuck,” Cole gasps, doubling over until he’s crouched on the ground, wrapping his own head in his arms.

            At first I’m confused but as the smell hits me I think I might pass out. It’s strong enough to knock anyone out and it’s a miracle that we all haven’t fled for the doors yet.

            My stomach churns and immediately I turn around, ready to vomit. Even though there’s littering is the least of my worries right now, I find a garbage can and grab the sides so tightly my fingers turn white.