Furzombie - a gay furry zombie apocalypse

Water - Joshua

I climbed back up the embankment, my bottles sloshing with newly gathered water as I made my way to the bike. The morning air was still, and for a moment, it felt like the world might grant me a reprieve. Then I stopped in my tracks.

Ahead, in the middle of the street, three figures stood locked in an argument. Two women were facing off against a fur man, who had a large black backpack slung over his shoulder. His hands were raised in surrender, but the tension between them was palpable.

I ducked behind the low stone wall of the bridge, peeking over cautiously. The shouts echoed down the empty road, their voices carrying far enough to draw unwanted attention.

"Give me your stuff, or I'll shoot!" one of the women screamed, her voice raw with desperation. She was tall, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun. The handgun in her shaking hand looked oversized, as if it didn't belong there.

"Just drop the bag, you filthy fur," the other woman sneered. Her jet-black hair framed her face, and she stood closer to the man, her stance more aggressive.

The fur man, ears flattened against his head, spoke slowly. "I don't want any trouble, please." He was already slipping the backpack off his shoulder, his movements deliberate and non-threatening.

"Go on, just shoot him, Karen!" the black-haired woman taunted, a grin twisting her lips.

Karen hesitated, her finger trembling on the trigger.

What the hell was I supposed to do? My mind raced as I crouched lower behind the wall. I couldn't intervene—what could I do against two armed women? My heart pounded in my chest, each beat louder than the last as I watched the scene unfold.

As the fur carefully set the bag on the ground, the black-haired woman, lunged forward, grabbing at the gun in Karen's hands. A brief, frantic struggle ensued.

Bang!

The gunshot cracked through the air like a whip.

The fur crumpled to the ground, clutching his stomach. Blood began to pool beneath him, staining the pavement a deep crimson. My breath caught in my throat as I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp.

"What the actual fuck, Glinda?" Karen shrieked, her voice shaking as she stared at the fur writhing on the ground. "He was giving it to us!"

"He's a fucking fur, Karen!" Glinda snapped, kicking the fallen man's bag open and rummaging through its contents. "Fuck them. Get the bag."

Karen took a step back, the gun still in her hand, her face pale. "Glinda, it's murder. You just shot him! For nothing!"

"There's fuck all of any use in here!" Glinda snarled, throwing the bag aside in frustration. She turned on Karen, her eyes blazing. "We're wasting time. Let's go!"

Karen shook her head, her grip tightening on the gun. "We can't leave him like this, Glinda."

Glinda grabbed Karen's arm, pulling her toward the road. "He's a fucking fur. Come on."

Their argument escalated into shoves and frantic whispers as Glinda tried to wrest the gun away from Karen.

That's when it happened.

The fur, still lying on the ground, suddenly lurched upright. His movements were jerky, unnatural, as if his body were a puppet on invisible strings. His limbs snapped into place with sickening pops.

Before either woman could react, he pounced.

Glinda didn't even have time to scream as his muzzle latched onto her neck. Blood sprayed in an arc, painting the pavement and Karen's horrified face. Glinda's body spasmed before collapsing in a heap.