Furzombie - a gay furry zombie apocalypse

Not fair - Sam

We walked down toward the valley, our bellies full of rabbit, laughing and joking along the way. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the fields, and for the first time in a while, I felt a little at ease. But that feeling didn't last long.

I stopped dead in my tracks, peering down toward the valley below.

"Josh," I said, my ears swivelling forward instinctively. "Do you hear that?"

Josh paused beside me, looking around with a puzzled expression. "No. I don't hear anything. What is it?"

He was probably right—his human ears wouldn't pick it up—but mine? Mine could hear it clear as day. Faint at first, but growing louder. A sound I'd learned to dread. The shuffle of too many feet, the guttural groans, the snapping of jaws.

"Josh, we need to run. Fucking run. Now!"

Without waiting for him to question me, I grabbed his arm and yanked him into motion. We bolted away from the sanctuary walls, sprinting uphill toward the open field. The sanctuary was so close—just around the bend of the parking lot—but that wasn't an option anymore.

"What's going on?" Josh yelled, his voice tinged with panic as he stumbled over the uneven ground.

"Zombies," I managed to growl, glancing over my shoulder.

We pushed forward through the ploughed field, the soft, lumpy soil sucking at our boots with every step. It made running even harder, but we couldn't stop. Josh, still confused but trusting me, matched my pace.

Then I saw them.

Thirty, maybe forty zombies, pouring out from around the sanctuary wall. At first, they seemed intent on something at the gates, clawing and bashing at the walls in desperation. But then a few snapped their heads in our direction, their vacant eyes locking onto us with eerie precision.

"Shit," I muttered.

One zombie let out an awful screech—a sound like metal being torn apart—and the others followed suit, scrambling to orientate themselves. The entire horde turned toward us as if commanded, their legs pumping into motion like some grotesque machine.

"Josh, don't look back! Just run!"

Their relentless pace sent a fresh wave of fear surging through me. Some stumbled over the furrows in the field, falling face-first into the soil, but they quickly scrambled back to their feet. Others climbed over their fallen comrades; their movements clumsy but terrifyingly determined.

Josh and I were fast—faster than most people. But out here, in the middle of an open field, there was nothing to slow the zombies down. No walls, no alleyways, no sharp turns to buy us time. They were gaining ground, their grotesque, rotting forms didn't tire or fatigue, they were just cutting through the distance between us like a nightmare that wouldn't end.

"Sam, what do we do?" Josh shouted, his voice cracking with panic.

My eyes darted around desperately, scanning for anything that could give us an edge. That's when I saw it—a barn, standing on the far side of the field. Its stone lower walls were solid, and the upper hayloft looked like it could be defensible if we reached it in time.

"The barn!" I shouted, pointing. "Go! Head for the ladder!"

We bolted toward it, the barn looming closer with every stride. The zombies were a mere half-field behind us now, their grotesque forms surging forward like a wave. The growls and snarls grew louder, sending adrenaline coursing through my veins.

We reached the barn just as the horde closed in. The lower half of the barn was open, likely used for sheep lambing in the past, and a wooden ladder led up to the hayloft above.