Furzombie - a gay furry zombie apocalypse

Kill or be killed - Sam

This was not going to be how I die; I thought looking at the zombie, snapping wildly at my leg trying to get a bite out of it and turn me into one of those foul creatures

No, I wasn't going to die here, not like this. Adrenaline surged through me as I kicked at the zombie, my leg becoming a moving target the creature couldn't quite manage to sink its rotting teeth into. The muscles in my leg burned with effort, but I didn't let up, gritting my teeth and focusing on staying alive. The shotgun felt heavy in my hands, slick with sweat and trembling slightly as I tried to steady it.

The zombie lunged again, and I managed to press the barrel against its jaw, my heart pounding so loudly I could barely hear its guttural snarls. "Stay down!" I screamed, though I knew it wouldn't listen.

I pulled the trigger.

The blast was deafening, echoing across the desolate street. Its head exploded in a sickening spray of red and black gore, chunks of flesh splattering across the grass, my trainers, and my legs. The reek of decay hit me harder than ever, making my stomach churn.

For a moment, I just lay there, panting heavily, chest rising and falling like a bellows as I tried to regain some semblance of control. My arms felt like lead, and my paws shook as I clutched the shotgun. My ears rang from the shot, but all I could focus on was the fact that I was still alive.

I forced myself to my feet, the mud and blood clinging to me like a second skin. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest, but I didn't have time to dwell on it. Survival was the only thing that mattered.

Nearby, a house loomed with its lights off and curtains drawn. I stumbled toward it, my trainers squelching in the mud as I made my way to the front door. With what strength I had left, I pounded on it, desperation leaking into my voice.

"Please! It's not safe out here!"

A muffled voice responded, sharp and dismissive. "Fuck off."

Not the response I was hoping for.

"Please," I begged, pressing my forehead against the door. "I just need a safe place for the night. I can't do this on my own."

The voice came again, louder and angrier this time. "Yeah, we know. Fuck off somewhere else!"

Disbelief flooded through me as I took a step back, staring at the door as if I could see the man behind it. "You'd really leave me out here to die with them?"

A dry laugh filtered through the wood. "Sure would. Now seriously... fuck off!"

For a brief moment, rage burned hot in my chest. My grip tightened on the shotgun, and I imagined shoving it through the letterbox and blowing his smug head off. But even as the thought crossed my mind, the last remnants of my humanity stopped me. I wasn't going to become like them—not yet.

With a heavy heart, I turned away, leaving the house and its selfish occupants behind.

I made my way back to the farm, sticking to the fields now to avoid more houses and potential confrontations. Each step felt heavier than the last as exhaustion set in, but I kept going. My mind raced, replaying the interaction at the house. I couldn't decide who was worse: the zombies, or the humans and furs turning on each other in their desperation.

Zombies, at least, were predictable. Humans and furs? They were wild cards—unreliable and selfish, willing to do anything to survive.

It took me over an hour to reach the farm, my legs aching and my lungs burning, but I was alive, and I still had a small amount of food left in the kitchen cupboards, it would at least keep me going for a while. The sight of the familiar porch was a relief, but that relief was short-lived.