Zero

Chapter 1: Oh, look - normal people.

It's been years since the world in general turned to shit. Zombies appeared out of nowhere and began converting humans to their religion. The ones they couldn't convert, well, they decided to have them for dinner. Doesn't that sound lovely?

There are probably only a handful of sane humans left in what remains of this world. Most likely, they are hiding out in barricaded buildings, or constantly on the run (likely pissing themselves either way). Food is scarce, and competition is tough. By now most stores have been picked clean, and all most all of the food in the world has been hidden - freaking packrats.

But, like I said, the world in general has turned to complete shit. Lucky for me though, I've only been living in my own personal hell for a few months.

My personal shit-storm began a few months back with the death of my best friend, backup singer, guitarist, Ann Willson. A zombie grabbed her arm and used its mouth to pull her out of reach and over to its buddies. Everyone in my group stood there shocked, and I was the first to come to my senses and actually take action. I ended her screams with a bullet to her brain, and then I ended the feast. I killed twenty-three of those monsters that day.

A lot of things happened since the beginning of the end of my own personal world. After Ann, my father figure, Allen Fillman was shot by someone who wanted to steal from us. Then, my bassist, Ryker Fillman died, along with his girlfriend in a zombie swarm, and that's when I began counting down the number of people that were left. Ryker's little sister, Ava, followed her brother a week later, which left five. Then my brother's girlfriend got bit and we had to put her down which made four. Mom was soon to follow, which made three. Then there was Ryker's older brother, Tom, who got bit, which made two. Tom's wife shot herself a few hours after Tom died making my countdown number, one. Then, just three days ago, it was my brother's turn, and I've been on my own since. Zero.

It was kind of funny, we all rode around in this huge double-decker tour bus that Ryker's dad had rigged up to run almost entirely off solar panels (Ryker's dad died soon after he was finished). The bus was fun; we had everything and anything anyone could ever dream of. Video-games. Movies. Beds. A couch. A miniature kitchen. A TV. A mass amount of CD's. Weapons. Name it and we probably had it. The only bad part of having all of that stuff during an apocalypse was that people wanted everything we had – the greedy bastards. We were constantly trying to defend our bus, and keep other people away. Our tactics worked, most of the time.

The bus broke down hours after my brother went, and I've been living in it ever since. The games and everything still work, but I refuse to play them - it's just not the same. The food in the fridge is almost gone, same with the water supply. I probably have enough to last a week, perhaps two if I stretch my rations. Then I'll be forced to travel without the bus. I'll be forced to leave the bus -my life- behind.

Sighing, I pull myself out of my thoughts, and get up from the couch. I've been on my own for what seems like forever, yet I'm still not used to the ever-present quiet. I'm still used to all the chatter and noises from the TV, but all of that's gone. It's just me.

"I really need to stop thinking" I groan, "Thinking is never good. Neither is talking to myself, though." Shaking my head at the fact that I'm practically going insane, I begin going about my daily routine. First thing is food.

I sluggishly walk to the fridge, before yanking the door open and inspecting the contents. All that's left are a few apples, some yogurt, a random Twinkie, and a few bars of chocolate. How the Twinkie got in the fridge, I have no idea, but somehow it's there. Sighing, I take out an apple and begin eating it. It's not firm and crunchy (which is how I've always liked apples to be), instead it's a bit mushy, a sign of its age. Nonetheless, it is food and I'm going to eat it - even if it tastes nasty and might kill me.

Rolling my eyes at my own internal thoughts, I walk over to the windows to see if there are any Zs gathering around the bus. A smirk appears on my face when I see that I'm somehow in the middle of a small mob. Perhaps one of my friends is looking down on me and sees my boredom.

After sending up a silent 'thank you' and finishing my practically rotten apple, I make my way up the ladder to the second floor of the bus. Once up there, I go over to my bed and grab my guns, bow and arrows, leaving my crossbow behind. Once I make sure all of my weapons are strapped to me, I reach up and push open the sunroof like thing at the top of the bus so that I can haul myself up to the roof.

Once I reach the roof, I look for an area to sit. Once I find an area that allows me to see a majority of the mob, without casting a shadow on the solar panels, I sit there and take off my bow. Once my bow is off, I begin loading arrows and shooting at random zombies.

Killing Zs helps slightly with my boredom, but it doesn't help all that much, and neither does keeping count of how many I've killed. Currently, I'm at three thousand forty-two. I would be higher, but I was in a group when I first started counting, and there were some pretty good shots in that group (who liked taking kills away from me). The bastards.

Eventually, the horde becomes nothing more than a few Zs walking aimlessly around the bus, trying to figure out why all their friends have died. I know they can't see me from their angle, and that mildly amuses me. I don't really know why, but it just does.

Sighing, I lean back into a laying position, "I need to get a life. Or a friend. Or a dog. A dog sounds nice." This talking to myself habit that I've picked up is honestly getting annoying. Every time I speak, I imagine that someone is going to reply to me, and when no one replies I get annoyed, upset, or I answer myself. I don't think that this is healthy, but I know that it's more healthy than becoming one of the Zs.

Deciding to leave the few remaining zombies 'alive', I sit back up and strap my bow back onto my back. As I finish up, I see something moving in my peripheral vision. Turning, I look to see a black truck in the distance. People. Living people. This could either be something good, or something very bad. Since I'm a whole-hearted pessimistic-realist, I'm going to make a guess and say that this is going to be bad.

I decide to lay back down, but on my stomach this time. It might be interesting to watch people. Real, living people. It feels like I haven't seen them in years, when it's only been three days. Unless my brother didn't qualify as a real person. Then, I really don't know how long it's been.

I watch silently as they get closer. Once they are close enough, I see them start to slow down. Slowly, I move my hands to my back pockets to retrieve my hand guns. I'll need them incase these people are wither insane cultists, cannibals, or just bad people in general who want to take over the bus and kill any passengers: me and the moldy whatever in the corner cabinet (I swear I can hear it breathe sometimes).

Taking in a deep breath, I watch as they come to a stop. I see one of them, a dark skinned woman, get out of the truck. Then, I hear a banging noise. Shifting myself to see where the noise is coming from, I realize that it's a zombie trying to get in to the bus through the door. Oh, silly. You need to unlock the door, before you can open it.

The banging gets annoying, really fast, and I find myself faced with two decisions. One: shoot the annoying zombie and risk being found. Two: Don't shoot the zombie, and risk going insane. Groaning, I pick the less annoying option, and shoot the thing right between the eyes.

A/N: If you like this story, don't forget to vote! Any comments or questions, or even constructive criticism you have, I would love to hear - so please comment! Thank you!