DSMP Oneshots

Zombies raining from the sky! How fun!

George swore angrily, cradling his arm closer to his chest as he heard angry groans and screams from behind him.  Animalistic noises floated down the tunnel and he felt a helpless sob bubble up in his throat.  They were getting close, too close for comfort.  The jagged cut on his arm throbbed and dripped blood, staining his already dirty undershirt.  It smelled like decay and death, with a dash of fermeldahyde (*starts singing Panic! At the Disco*).

The satchel of medicine banged against his side, kept safe in layers upon layers of bubble wrap.  The hope for a cure was the only thing keeping him going at this point.

George emerged from the tunnel, nearly collapsing with relief as the sun brushed his face and he tilted his head to meet the warm rays.  It felt fantastic after being in musty tunnels and freezing laboratories for days on end.  He was almost home, almost there.  In the distance, he could see the jagged spires of his metal castle.  He just needed-

There was a howl from behind him, and George took off running on instinct.  Renewed with vigor, determination, and a little bit of hope, he stumbled over the remains of cars and buldings.  Glass decorated the streets, glittering like dragonfly wings in the sunshine.  The sun beat down mercilessly, making George feel blind even with sunglasses on.  Any heat from the rays was swept away by an annoyingly cool breeze.  It was a stupidly perfect day and he couldn't be bothered to stop and enjoy it.

George could feel his energy fading fast as he clambered on top of a car, panting.  His eyes caught something in the distance and he swore again, agitation and grief swelling in his chest.  Smoke swelled from his old camp, twirling and twisting into the sky.  The world sharpened for a brief moment, then George dropped to his knees.  Smoke was a warning for any person to stay away because the camp had been overrun.  Smoke meant hope had been lost.  Everyone was gone.

Hands clawed at his car and George moved even higher up out of instinct.  The jagged nails screeched against the metal body, making George grimace.  But why should he care anymore?  His home, clothes, food, weapons, and friends were gone.  What little he had left was half a water bottle and the cure.  A cure that needed a lab to be properly made.

"Fucking hell," George swore, turning in a circle.  Emancipated flesh bore down on all sides of him, groaning and moaning and howling and hissing at him.  Hopelessness welled up inside of him and tears slipped out from behind his glasses, painting stripes down his grimy face.

He stood up, swallowing back his inhibitions and setting down his bag.  Maybe someone else would find the cure.  But that someone wasn't here now.  It was just him and the sea of living corpses, yearning for a taste of his flesh.  He opened his arms wide, openly sobbing now as he tried to tip himself forward.  

Then someone shouted, "NO!"  George stumbled back and fell, watching a man appear in a window frame of a nearly ruined building.  George looked up at him, seeing only glimpses of green and brown.  Then, the man threw something and George watched in slo motion as the grenade hit the ground and the world was torn apart in a mighty blast.

George was hurled off the car and to the ground, rolling across the dusty wasteland a few times before coming to a halt.  His ears were ringing and burning flesh landed on every side of him.  His arm was bent at an odd angle, and he was pretty sure he was screaming in pain.  The scent of  burnt bodies reached his nose and he retched, his empty stomach heaving.

When he looked up again, there was the man.  He had on a gas mask, but curious jade eyes stared down at him.  His tall, lanky body lorded over George, who tried to scramble away but only managed to make his arm worse.

The man held out his hands, probably promising peace or some shit.  George shook his head at him, pointing to his ears.  The man paused, then reached into his belt.  He pulled out a frothing liquid and uncorked it, letting the scent of something sickeningly sweet float over.  George wrinkled his nose.