How to survive a zombie apocalypse

1- Olivia

Rule One: Find a Group

Olivia-
8 weeks since the infection began.

Eight weeks in and the majority of the village had been infected. The village hall had been a safe haven until some idiot had to go and fuck it all up and go in, knowing full well that they were soon going to turn and attack most of the civilians in there.

That idiot happened to be my brother.

He was shot after he had bitten around 42 people.

And unluckily, I've been fighting alone, surviving hardly, but making it.

No doubt both of my unhealthily, unfit friends had been either viciously devoured by a zombie or, in Adam's case, fallen down the stairs and knocking himself out from the impact at the bottom. Let's just say, if someone told him to mind his head he would still end up hitting it.

Even if they were still here, we'd undoubtedly make a group from hell. As a group we couldn't run for over thirty seconds, and the three of us being naturally hungry people, the food stock that would usually last a month, would last hardly 3 days.

Being alone was incredibly satisfactory, acting impulsively wouldn't get you into trouble or cause vast arguments. Group drama is honestly the most pathetic thing I've heard. I've seen enough of 'The Walking Dead' to know that getting involved in some sort of group is just as dangerous as working alone.

Although it would be pleasant to have some company, or someone to watch over me when I needed it.

Maybe I'm in denial. The fact that I don't have a group to get into arguments over stupid things, or strict telling off's from the leader of the group, makes me feel more alone than ever, I'd particularly like to have people to take care of me when I'm in trouble. To get told off for accidentally putting your own or someone else's life in danger would prove how much the crew cared for you.

I'm 17, I could hardly fend for myself before the infection, now I'm fighting against blood thirsty, hunger controlled, dead people, who, for a rotting corpse, is unbelievably strong.

And by fighting I mean occasionally evacuating my cellar while cautiously grabbing a few more cans of food from the kitchen my family has stocked up on as the infection began spreading more rapidly.

Though I was running out of food, fast, and it won't be long before I'm on my last uncooked bean (and I hate beans).

I was going to have to get off my lazy ass and drive to somewhere safe, or maybe just give in all together. I don't have any weapons other than the sharp knives in my kitchen, and that one random butcher knife that's in a box full of cutlery in my conservatory.

My first plan was to go to my school for safety. Food in the kitchen, plenty of rooms to stay in, enough equipment to barricade doors and windows, and the actual school its self was well protected, tall fences laced the rim of the field, a long drive from the lay-by to the building, and the lay-by had tall, navy gates that we could close off to protect ourselves.

But then I had two epiphanies;

The school could just as easily be as overrun as the village hall, a lot of people could have had the same idea as me.

'We' and 'Our' doesn't exist. It's just me and my.

So it seems my last option is a road trip. And it better be a fucking good one, because it could potentially be my last.

Fist things first, see if any of my friends are alive.

First stop, Adam's house.

I grabbed a couple of knives before stealthily leaving the house through the back door, cringing at the sound of the walkers groaning and growling. I trekked to my mum's Nissan Frontier, with it being the biggest and most useful car for a zombie apocalypse, it could easily plow through herds of rotting flesh.

I shoved my duffel bag in the back, which held my dad's semi-automatic pistol with a few rounds with it, a few changes of clothes and other necessities and knives.

On the passenger seat sat the revolver my dad had been saving for me, and the two daggers that once belonged to my uncle.

The engine rumbled as I turned the keys, the negative half of me thought that we'd have no petrol, or the battery had died, fortunately the glorious sound of the car came to life.

I turned up the radio.

"We advise everyone to stay indoors, out of harm and at all cost avoid hospitals, doctors or any medical centre, good luck and good night-" the speech from the now most likely dead lady cut off.

"We advise everyone to stay indoors, out of harm-"

I shut the radio off, switching to the CD, which just so happened to have the best 'Foo Fighters' album blaring. Opening the windows, I turned the volume at full blast before pulling out of the drive, letting out a scream of war as I rammed into the dead traipsing down the road.

I took a swig of the beer in the cup holder, it may be the middle of the end of the world, but who cares? No cop can pull me over for going 30 miles over the limit, drink driving or pulling a hit and run on the dead.

I sang along with Dave Grohl who was melodically singing 'Best of Me.'

The roads were lifeless, literally, no cars, only dead bodies, blood and the occasional wind of intestines, so the journey towards my best friends house was quick, merely a ten minute drive.

Pulling up by his house, I grabbed the revolver along with a few rounds, and the dagger which I shoved into one of my black combat boots.

I shut the music off before I got here, not wanting to attract any of the unwanted.

So the silence was almost unbearable.

Out of everything that's happened, the one thing I hated, more than the flesh eating creatures, was silence. It gave me time to look back on the past few months, great loss, sickness and death, something that my upbeat positivity couldn't bare.

The houses furniture was tipped over, sofa cushions stained with blood and sprawled all over the living room. A smashed vase was on the floor, and in the middle of the glass was John.

John.

Adam's father, John.

Written on the walls in red, which was most likely to be blood, was the sentence 'forgive me, Lord.'.

On the temple of John's head was a bullet hole, which penetrated through to the other side of his head. Closely by his body was a pistol with one bullet left.

I grabbed it, flinching as the blood coated metal stained my pale hands.

I left the living room, heading to the stairs where I found Maddy, Adam's younger sister.

But Maddy wasn't alive.

She had a bullet hole through her skull. Though no gun was found by her, leaving me to believe that it was in fact John who'd killed her.

My breathing heavy and unorthodox, I stepped over the young girl's body and began my way up the stairs, dreading what was to happen next, possibly finding my best friend shot.

But instead I came across with Niamh, his mother who, like John and Maddy, was shot, her limp body swimming in a pool of her own blood.

I let a tear slip at the devastating imagery I had just witnessed, however then built back my posture and searched for Adam.

But he wasn't there.

He wasn't anywhere.

And my only though was a bullet for each family member.

Four.

One for Niamh, one for Maddy, one for John.

But one remained.

It could be Adam's.

He could be alive.

Unless those flesh eating viruses have devoured him like they did my family.

I left the house, trying to rid myself from the tragic scene I'd witnessed.

This apocalypse was ruining the whole world.

And there was absolutely nothing anyone could do.