** PREVIOUSLY A FEATURED HORROR STORY**
The dead have risen. You wake up in the middle of this violent, rotting new world. The putrid stench of carnage is in the air. You flip on the news to learn that dead people are coming back and cannibalizing e...
The odds of making it through the horde of undead into the mall does not tip in your favor. You're not taking a chance like that, no way in Hell. You hop out of the Jeep with your belongings and hightail it for the door of the Hardware store.
Shooting a glance over your shoulder, it seems you've caught the attention of at least a couple undead. Their ugly, mangled faces are turned toward your direction, as though they're unsure. They're obviously blind - the milky look of their irises tell you as much. You're being as quiet as you can be, but as you open the door, the tinkle of the little bell at the top gives you away.
They dart into action at the sound, running feebly - as if they'd just learned how - in your direction. You shut them out and twist the little lock, so that they smack into the thick glass. Blood and slimy gunk smears, and they sniff at the glass as if they can detect a weak spot by doing so. You stare at them in disgust. The wild predator-like movements they possess are evident as you watch them twist this way and that, desperate for another whiff of you. Black gunk has gathered on their teeth. Your stomach flip as you realize it's dried blood.
Suddenly, something hard is pressing into your temple.
"Don't freakin' move," a rough voice says in a whisper.
You freeze.
"Turn around."
Don't move and turn around? Gee, what a hypocrite, you think.
You spin on spot. The first thing you notice is his trucker hat, which depicts two moonshine bottles and says jugs below them. His grey streaked brown hair sticks out wildly underneath. He's wearing overalls and...a smile? He lowers what you now realize wasn't a gun, but the wooden handle of an axe.
"I'm just kidding ya," he laughs a wheezy sound.
Your brows draw together in an are-you-serious look, but you know he is.
"C'mon," he says, waving for you to follow him. He walks off in a dumpy, slouching way.
You stare after him, then shrug. At least he's not a zombie. And you follow.
The store smells like saw dust and new plastic; it isn't appealing, but it beats the heck out of zombie stench. You pass isles of various hardware items - even a row of some pretty impressive weed eaters with skill saws on the end - to finally come to a door. The man enters first.
"Meet the crew," he says, louder now that the zombies are far away. "I'm Paul. This here's Mack, Buster, Po, and Roge." He points at a person to indicate each.
You stare at Mack, and no-one can blame you. Mack is about as far from any normal Mack that you could possibly expect. For one, it is a she, and she is tiny. She couldn't weigh more than a hundred pounds. Hearing the name, your mind automatically pictured a huge guy.
"Mack?" you say.
"Mackenzie," she says, nodding. She has the type of southern accent you've heard on movies like Coal Miner's Daughter, just like your new friend, Paul. "What's your name?"
Every eye in the room is looking at you with expectancy. But something about this crew is so weird. Being here, it's almost as though you've stumbled into Creeptown: population five odd humans and a nasty horde of zombies. Bottom line: you don't trust them.
"Alex," you lie.
"Like that girl on that wizard show," says Po, a younger boy, probably in his late teens.
"Er...yeah," you say. "So, is there any back way outta here?"
"Aw yeah, but you don't wanna go that way," Paul says, shaking his head. "Got us a zombie problem back there, don't we, fellas?"
You want to point out that the whole town has a freaking zombie problem, but you mind your manners.
"Okay. Well, I guess I'll wait until they thin down out front, and carry on," you say.
"Where ya headed, Alex?" says Buster, a big brawny guy, also wearing overalls.
"The mall."
Paul chuckles. "Whats so great about the mall?"
"The survivors," you say, not wanting to get into much detail. They shouldn't worry about your life story, you figure. "I'm just passing through."
"I'll go with you," Buster says eagerly.
"Buster!" Po says.
"What? You can come, too," Buster says defensively. "I ain't about to keep sittin' around here, waitin' for them things to break that window and eat us all."
Paul shakes his head. "You go out there they're gonna eat ya for sure. It's safe right here. They ain't even tried to get in."
"Yet," Buster adds. "And I don't wanna be around when they do. We need more people. We need food."
"We got all we need here," Paul says.
While they argue, you slip back through the door. The undead were shuffling by outside. They tend to stay in movement, you realize. You look back at the line of weed eaters. You could do some serious zombie damage with one of those bad-boys. The voices of Buster and Paul are carrying, letting you know they're still in a heated debate. You could go now. You could grab one of those weed eaters and a hose, slip quietly by the undead outside, and cypher some gas from one of the vehicles. You'd wipe out dozens of them with that thing. Best of all, you'd only have to watch your own back, instead of worrying about others.
On the other hand, if Buster does split from Paul, he could also grab a weed eater, or even a chainsaw. You could watch each other's backs. It might not be so bad - at least for a while. But that is if Paul doesn't put up a fight for the makeshift weapons.
You hear a silence fall from the room behind you. Now's the time to decide.
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