F*** Cancer, This One Did Us All In.

14

A/N Oh my god, I am back. I would tell you how exams went, but you don't care. All you care about (for some reason) is this book. So, thank you, please vote, comment, read, worship, and whatever else you want to do with this book. Now, without another moment's delay, let us continue.

  Well, I have good news and bad news.

  The good news is; we made it out of the apartment building. Yay! I mean, sort of yay. We all kind of ran out of there with our own cuts and bruises.

  Oh, and that brings me to the bad news: I still haven't gotten the gun back from Eric. I mean, not like I would want it back, since it still had blood stains on it even after Eric tried wiping them off with his shirt. It's just that I haven't really been faring well on my own without the gun. I think it has something to do with that stupid 'Don't kill the zombies' rule my mind seemed to have set up for my body. I-I just couldn't.

  I would get so close, the blade would be so close to puncturing its eye or stabbing it in the back of its head but then my arm would suddenly change course and I would end up embedding the knife in its shoulder or neck. I actually did get the knife stuck in there a few times, and was forced to run and scream and wait for someone to save me.

  I know, right? I'm the hero of the hour.

  It's just, there was so much blood. I mean, it's not like we (they) even killed a lot of zombies. Okay, we may have killed like ten in total up there. I think. I mean, we mostly just ran from them and locked the doors behind us. Okay, we (they) did fight and kill the zombies but – still. There was just too much blood everywhere and it had sprayed all over my face and my shirt and my – ugh. I'm going to stop talking about it before I throw up again.

  On that note, literally the second we ran out of that building I doubled over and tears streamed down my face. I wasn't crying, there was no huffing or puffing or anything of the sort. It was just me, trying my hardest to comprehend the fact that we had survived the zombies.

  "Quick," Connor yelled at us. "Jump onto the back of the truck."

  "What?" Eric asked. "Like, the back back? With all the trash?"

  "I do not want any of you people sitting next to me. Now get in the back!"

  I wanted to ask if he could just wait for a second so I could at least wipe my face but I quickly gained the motivation to run from the zombies that had noticed us and were running towards us like demons.

  So, we all began to run towards the truck. Distance seemed to stretch and the truck seemed to be so far away from us and my leg suddenly spiked with pain and I gasped and stumbled to my right, but then Eric had grabbed me and he helped me. Or, well, he pushed me towards the truck in a saving manner.

  "Wait," Connor yelled at us, "where the hell am I even taking you guys?"

  Oh, crap. Where the hell should he take us? We really should have talked more before Eric dropped the gun.

  "My house." Mfundo called out to him. "It's the closest house out of all of us."

  "What about mine?" Eric asked, but Mfundo ignored him and quickly told Connor his home address.

  I ran to the ladder and grabbed a hold of it, almost falling off because my hands were sweating like – like – like a sweater shirt.

  Heh, nailed it.

  I stepped to the side of the truck to wipe my hands on my pants and Amelia ran past me and scampered up the ladder, screaming at me to, "Hurry the hell up!"