Lights Will Guide You Home

Bad sighed as he swirled the bottle around. The green liquid fizzled for a moment before settling. "This one's gotta work," he mumbled, turning around to the small sample of zombie skin that laid on the table. He carefully placed a drop of the potion onto the sample of skin and watched as it steamed. His ideal cure would've dulled the green shade before returning the skin to a normal color, but he had no real way of testing a proper solution, so he relied on the small samples of rotten flesh. The flesh certainly didn't cooperate very well.

The flesh stopped sizzling but nothing changed as far as the color went, it just seemed to melt the skin. "Oh muffins," he muttered under his breath, tossing the flesh into a container to be disposed of. He looked back at his supply of various potions before choosing a few more that he hoped could make a healing combination.

The zombie apocalypse wasn't something anybody expected, but some were definitely more prepared than others. The past 2 months had been hell for anyone who survived the initial wave, and things hadn't started to settle down until a few weeks ago. The small underground bunker housed roughly 20 people. There had been nearly 40 people living there when the zombie virus started to spread. Luckily, the virus wasn't airborne, but it was transmittable through water and bodily fluids, so once someone was sick, they immediately became a threat to everyone else.

The bunker's group of survivors lost several people within the first few days, people would be thrown out at any symptoms of illness, and the strict rules had only died down after two weeks of no new cases in the bunker or at the surrounding villages. Nobody had been quite sure how the virus became a threat, but once infected, a person would grow increasingly hostile and suffer from constant hunger that couldn't be satiated by anything other than human flesh.

The main way the virus spread was through bites. If anyone was unlucky enough to get bit, they could count their days because they would soon either starve, die of dehydration, or get killed by a survivor. There was almost no hope for anyone who became infected. Almost. Bad had been a scientist working on medicines and potions before the apocalypse and he dedicated his days to studying the zombie virus in his lab, desperately searching for a cure.

He had gotten close before, but he never could figure out if a cure would actually work due to his lack of test subjects, and it was too risky to keep a specimen in the bunker, so rotten flesh was his best bet, and so far, it wasn't working. Bad reached for another potion bottle for mixing when he heard a knock at his door. The lab could be a dangerous place, so Bad made sure that people were only able to get inside if he chose to let them in. He was probably the most well protected person in the bunker.

Bad knew exactly who the person behind the door was thanks to the specially-patterned knock. He pushed the button that unlocked the lab door and a familiar face strolled inside. "Hey Skeppy!" Bad said, barely glancing over before looking back to set down his bottle.

"Hey Bad, any progress?" Skeppy asked, sitting down in a wheelie chair and sliding up beside the counter.

"Nuh-uh-uh!" Bad motioned toward Skeppy. "Safety goggles!"

"Right, right, sorry!" Skeppy mumbled, grabbing a pair of goggles from the table by the door. "So... Any progress?" He asked again.

"Not really..." Bad sighed, rubbing his temples. "None of these potions do what I want them to!" He complained.

"Well that sucks," Skeppy sighed, rolling back and forth in the chair. "I was hoping something would work by now."

"Me too..." Bad glanced at the failed mixtures of potions that had been discarded by his brewing stand. "So what brings you here, Skeppy?"