Zombie Outbreak

Chapter one
Part one

POV: Arielle
The floor was slick with blood, black in the pale moonlight. The blood of my friends, my family, the mail man. Tendrils of rotting flesh fill my nostrils. "But that can't be right," I mutter, my throat still thick with tears and burned with screams.

I found the Death House, which is what Squad 129 called the places where zombies drag their kills to, a week ago. That was two days after the first person, Zane, went missing and three days before the last person, my sister, Shay, was taken. The zombies move fast, kill fast, feast fast and then they move on.

I watched the house for two days; surviving off of bad baloney and stale bread. I thought the zombies were gone and unless they had a pervious kill they were still here. In this house. With me.

I gulp, the stench going down my throat. My last sandwich threatens to come back up and join the blood on the floor. I hold it down; if I die I'm dying on a full stomach.


 

No I just love those names. I hate Scott Westerfield's newer stuff. He's beginning to write what people want to read and not want he wants

 

I hated them. Very slow and dry

 

Thank you bby

 

POV: Alesh
(short update)

I stumble into the station, followed by two guards. They scare me. Freak me out. I have to keep reminding myself they're here for my safety. I'm not in trouble.

There's blood splattered onto the walk way between the front desk and the interrogation rooms. I stare at it, realizing how sheltered I am. Here in Cali you hear about the attacks, but they're cleaned up so fast.

 

I can see the parts of a zombie, or a very rotted human through the tinted glass. "Alesh, keep moving," the guard on my left says. His hand touches my shoulder to steer me forward.

I nod tightly, thinking, "What if that's Alec and that's why I'm here?" Deep down I know it's not, but it's worrying. The guards accompany me into a room.

There's a chair on either side of a small, metal table. In one sits an older man who was clearly attractive at some point. His hair is shaggy and peppered with grey at the roots. Inquisitive blue eyes peer at me through chunky lenses.

I sit down stiffly and wait for the guards to leave before I speak.

The old man beats me to it, "I'm Mr. An-"

I cut him off, "I KNOW who you are! We all do! And fuck no!" He looks alarmed so I make myself clear. "I don't care what you want! F to the K NO!"

 

Jacob you're probably gonna die