** 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...
Terror explodes through you as you plummet into the waiting flock of the dead. Undead aren't smart enough to move out of the way. Not braced for the impact, A handful of the abominations are flattened by you, Lawrence, and your heavy backpacks of weapons and supplies. Without a second to spare for being dazed, you jump into action the moment you hit the floor.
Lawrence stomps the snapping undead on the floor, caving their skulls with his heavy boots. The banister is still in your and Lawrence's grip, and is the only thing holding them away while your backs are against the wall. Before the undead pile on you, you both throw the banister with all your might. It doesn't knock them down, but it does shove them back long enough for you to pull the knife out of its holster at your thigh, and pull the mace out of your belt. The space is too small to shoot a crossbow, so Lawrence pulls out the katanas he'd lifted from the store.
Every movement is desperate and primal at this point. Most of your senses -- sound, smell, touch -- have faded to focus on sharp sight and survival. You can't hear them snarling or smell their rot. You can't even feel the weapons in your hand, but you swing them at each undead that comes near you. A severed head flies by your face as Lawrence works at chopping them down like weeds.
Your mace impacts again and again, sometimes sticking into a skull. You kick the undead backward and off of your mace in time to swing at another. Somehow, an undead manages to slip through. It's slimy, bony hand twists around the wrist of your knife hand. The mace is stuck again. Those harsh, bloodstained teeth are mere inches from your arm.
Your mouth is wide open in shock, but you can't shout or cry. You're just too afraid, thinking this is it. This is now you die. And then Lawrence slams the blade of his sword into the thing's brain and it falls. You lean back against the wall, breathing heavy. All the undead are strewn on the basement floor. Unmoving. Some are in pieces. Some look so fresh, you would guess they only just died a few hours ago. All of these things...they were people. They were wives, husbands, daughters, sons, friends. They're all dead, lying around you in a pool of mangled human soup.
You start to panic. Your breath is coming quickly, your mind is reeling, eyes flashing at every horror around you. Then something is holding your face, pulling it away from the nightmarish sight. You're looking into Lawrence's steel-grey eyes and he's saying, "focus, Alex, focus."
Breathe. Just breathe, you think. You didn't kill them, the virus or those things are what killed them. You simply put them out of their misery. You saved them and kept yourself alive.
"I'm...I'm okay," you say in a weak shaky voice.
Lawrence lets go of your face. "Honestly, kid, I'd be worried if you didn't show some sign of remorse in this situation. Not natural, you know? Anywho, next step: getting outta here."
He moves some bodies and parts that are blocking the staircase to the rest of the house and offers to let you go up first. It's as though your body had numbed in all of the chaos, but now adrenaline is wreaking havoc to your system.
How much of this can someone take? You wonder.
Luckily, the upstairs is clear, all of the undead having fallen down to the basement. The others must have gone out to hunt more easily attainable...people. The thought makes you cringe.
"Stay here, I'll go out and see if it's safe," Lawrence says. You're stunned. It seems out of character for the snarky, easily annoyed one to say...but maybe you made an impression on him sometime or another during all of this. Or maybe he's just trying to quietly ditch you.
"Okay," you say with a nod, but you have a good feeling he's planning on ditching you.
Lawrence goes out, and you're alone in silence. Dead silence. You try not to think of the word dead. A minute passes. Two. Where is he? Would he really leave you here? He said to stay...so that's probably a good idea. Fifteen minutes go by and Lawrence hasn't returned. Should you wait anymore? What if he isn't coming back?
You can leave now and try to get to the mall alone, or you can wait for him...
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