Furzombie - a gay furry zombie apocalypse

I'm sorry - Joshua

I woke weak, tired, and barely holding onto myself—like my soul had been ripped to shreds and what was left was just enough to keep me moving. My body felt like a sack of broken bones, every inch screaming for rest. The hay beneath me was damp and cold, sticking to my skin in clumps. I forced myself to listen, straining my ears for any sound, any warning that something was out there.

Nothing.

It was silent.

I placed the ladders down and took another good look around for good measure.

Slowly, I made my way down the ladders, my feet sinking into the dirt below. My legs buckled for a moment, pins and needles shooting through them as blood fought its way back into circulation. The pain hit hard—like tiny knives stabbing me from the inside.

I groaned, sipping at the icy water from my bottle, hoping it would kickstart my brain. It didn't.

I shuffled forward, my movements jerky and uncoordinated. I might as well have been one of them—the undead. The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

The ridge wasn't far now, and as I crested it, my heart twisted. There it was: Josh's house, a dark silhouette against the pale morning light. My chest tightened. Was it hope? Fear? I didn't know anymore. I stumbled down the hill, my legs screaming in protest as I forced them to keep moving.

At the edge of a field, I spotted it.

A body.

A zombie lay sprawled near the hedge, its head split open, dark blood dried into the grass beneath it. The metallic stench filled my nostrils, making my stomach churn. Whoever had passed through here wasn't far ahead. My eyes scanned the mud, and there they were—footprints. Deep, sunken prints leading toward the farm.

For a moment, a flicker of hope ignited inside me.

Maybe it was Sam.

I didn't let myself think too long about it. My body, reluctant and aching, found the strength to move faster. I followed the tracks to the yard, where they vanished into a chaotic mess of other footprints and clumps of mud. My throat tightened. The yard was eerily quiet, the stillness pressing down on me like a weight.

The front door was open.

Left ajar, swinging slightly in the breeze, its faint creak the only sound. My instincts screamed at me to turn back, to run. But I couldn't.

I crept forward, every step slow, deliberate. The air was thick with the stench of decay. I peeked inside, and the darkness greeted me, heavy and suffocating.

The kitchen was a disaster zone. Blood smeared across the floor in wide, sticky pools. My heart pounded as I forced myself to move deeper into the house.

The smell hit me like a punch to the gut as I passed the stairwell leading to the cellar. A putrid, sour odour that made my eyes water. My hand flew to my mouth to stifle the gag reflex. I didn't dare look down.

Sam could be down there.

I shook the thought away. "Sam?" I called softly, my voice trembling. No answer.

Tiny handprints on the walls caught my eye, the smudged shapes telling a story I didn't want to hear. My throat tightened as I pushed forward, past a door with coloured letters spelling out Molly. My breath hitched as I passed, the overwhelming smell from another room making my stomach churn violently.

I turned my head toward the open door and saw her.

His sister.

Or what was left of her.