Furzombie - a gay furry zombie apocalypse

Lead the way - Joshua

I heard the gunshots first—sharp, cracking echoes tearing through the oppressive silence of the village. A crash followed moments later. My gut churned. Nothing good ever came of noises like that.

Jumping up from my chair, I peeked out of the upstairs window, squinting against the dim afternoon light. Down the street, a fur was climbing out of a pickup truck, another figure aiming a gun right at him. The pop of another shot sent shards of windshield scattering, glinting like cursed diamonds.

"Why the fuck is everyone out for everyone now?" I muttered under my breath, already grabbing my backpack and bow. The past few days had been an exhausting mix of hunting for supplies and dodging the undead, but worse, dodging the living, for a peaceful village pre zombies its inhabitants had become extremely hostile.

The zombies, at least, were predictable. Mindless, ravenous things that didn't know mercy or deception. People, though, were another beast entirely. From the guy who tried to kill me at No. 7 just to steal my car, to the family in No. 14 who screamed at me to fuck off before barricading their door—it was a constant reminder of how far humanity had fallen.

And now? Now, I had no car, no way to escape this dead-end village, and no allies. Even Derrick's place, which I'd broken into hoping for some kind of lifeline, turned out to be a bust. A single jar of Nutella was all I'd found. I'd been hoarding it for a particularly shitty day.

Not that I could tell the difference anymore—every day was a shitty day, I was just delaying the inevitable moving on, my mums house was familiar and the only place I could think of, the sanctuary as place I still didn't know how to get to.

I watched from the window as the shooter dropped to the street, his lifeless body sprawled awkwardly. The fur twitching and jerked in that horribly familiar way. My blood ran cold.

Shit.

The fur had turned.

He staggered at first, then locked onto something—or someone.

Me.

I barely had time to curse before he let out a guttural growl and sprinted straight for the house.

"Fucking fantastic," I hissed, clipping my rucksack into place and grabbing my bow.

The window shattered with a deafening crash, shards of glass raining down into my mum's living room as the furzombie barrelled in. I bolted for the front door, heart hammering in my chest.

The moment I hit the street, I spotted the other fur—the one near the pickup—holding a shotgun. Great. Just fucking great. A pissed-off furzombie at my heels and a live one armed to the teeth up ahead.

No time to think.

I ran, zigzagging between parked cars and debris, the growls and snarls behind me growing louder. There was no way I'd have time to pull out the bow, and I cursed myself for losing my gun a week ago. My only option was the co-op.

I knew it was a dead end, but I didn't have a choice, I wasn't sure who shot first and for all I knew the fur had me in his sights waiting to putt the trigger.

Bursting through the door, I scanned the empty aisles, the place was exactly how I'd seen it the other day—ransacked, shelves empty of food, a tomb of stale air and desperation.

I darted toward the back, praying the storeroom door might miraculously be open.

It wasn't.

"Fuck!" I hissed, slamming my fist against the unyielding metal.

Behind me, the furzombie crashed in, his wild, bloodshot eyes zeroing in on me. We started a deadly dance, circling the aisles in a frantic loop. Every sharp turn felt like a gamble, every second a desperate fight to outmanoeuvre him.