Furzombie - a gay furry zombie apocalypse

All is lost - Sam

The house was secure, at least for now. I'd checked every door, every window, every potential weak point twice over, but it didn't ease the gnawing anxiety in my chest. I still didn't know how they got infected to begin with. That uncertainty twisted in my mind, a relentless ache I couldn't shake.

And I hadn't even started coming to terms with losing everyone I loved in the space of an hour. It was too fast, too sudden. One moment, the world was normal—or as close to normal as it ever was—and the next, it was chaos.

Maybe it was Pete. Perhaps he got bitten out in the fields, brushing against death without realizing it. Or maybe it was someone in town. Maybe it didn't even matter. The how and why wouldn't bring anyone back. The truth, if there even was one, was forever out of reach.

I didn't think I'd ever know. And I wasn't sure I could handle it if I did.

I clenched my fists, taking a steadying breath. Sitting here and spiralling wouldn't help. I needed to do something—anything—to survive.

My legs moved before my mind could catch up, carrying me to the bedroom. The old wooden wardrobe groaned as I pulled it open. I grabbed the first clothes I saw: a plain white t-shirt and a pair of grey jogging bottoms. As I tugged them on, my reflection in the wardrobe's mirror caught my eye.

I froze, staring at the figure staring back.

My ginger fur stuck out at awkward angles where it poked through the clothing, unkempt and ragged. Then I noticed the blood. Specs of dark red dotted my fur, my clothes, my face. The dried droplets stood out starkly against the white patches of fur on my muzzle, a grim reminder of the gunshots and the horror they left behind.

My paws weren't spared either. What had once been pristine white fur was now splattered with red, staining them like guilt made tangible.

I brushed my black hair to one side, only to catch my hazel eyes in the mirror. They were red and puffy from crying, the weight of loss etched into every line of my expression.

A tear slid down my cheek. I wiped it away quickly, as though denying it could undo everything.

I stumbled into the bathroom, heart pounding. The cold water from the tap stung my paws, but I scrubbed them anyway. Grabbing a damp cloth, I worked at my face, scrubbing at the blood until most of it was gone. The fur wasn't spotless, but it was cleaner, at least.

It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to feel like myself again. For a moment, I could pretend things were normal.

I glanced at my phone on the bedside table. Its screen was dark, lifeless. The power had gone out last night, taking whatever small connection I had left to the outside world with it.

I'd plugged it in anyway, a desperate, irrational hope that the power might somehow come back. But deep down, I knew better. That was wishful thinking.

Letting out a shaky breath, I grabbed my backpack from the corner of the room. The seams were worn, the fabric faded from years of use, but it would do. Supplies. I needed supplies.

The fridge and cupboards had nothing but scraps left, remnants of a life that was supposed to continue uninterrupted. I'd meant to go shopping this morning, but the thought felt laughable now. Shopping wasn't just different; it was a distant memory of a world that no longer existed.

Everyone would be thinking the same thing. Get what you can, while you can.

But I had no choice. If I didn't get food, I'd starve long before the zombies ever reached me.

I grabbed my keys from the hooks in the boot room, fingers brushing against the cool metal. The familiar shape of the Landy's fob grounded me, even as the weight of the task ahead threatened to overwhelm.