Scömìche One-Shots

Zombified Love

"I can't believe this. And to think, we all thought it was a myth," Mitch said, laughing humorlessly. He stared out his barred window in resentment. He squinted at the fog, wishing for all of it to just be over with. Forever.

"Yeah, we all did. Are you still grieving over Scott?" Kirstie asked him. Mitch looked up at her dirt streaked face, sighing.

"Why wouldn't I be? And I thought I'd be the first one to die during the zombie apocalypse," Mitch shook his head. Scott had gone out that morning, right before the epidemic began.

He hadn't returned.

The news reporter had said that anyone, whether it was a relative or a friend, anyone, who had been out that morning, had a very slim chance of returning home. Human or alive.

Why is this happening? Everything was perfect. Just the way it was. Mitch thought. Fucking zombies.

The precautions had been to stay indoors and let the military take care of it. The army. The S.W.A.T Team. The Navy. The marines. But there was only so much enlisted people, and so much states to secure and guard. It had begun in the east, so that's where everyone was trying to get away from. It had just started in the west, in central California, so there wasn't much feeling of secureness. Lots of recurring news stories were featuring people that were being dragged out of their houses and eaten. Killed. Turned into zombies.

Mitch could only hope that his fate was not to become a zombie.

Besides, they're not even cute. Their hygiene is un-acceptable, He thought, marveling at how he could still have a sense of humor.

Kirstie and Mitch were together at Mitch and Scott's house. Kirstie had gotten there as fast as she could, because zombies were setting things on fire near her location. She'd gotten very close to dying, she'd said, but it was pure luck that saved her.

"What are we supposed to fucking DO?!" Mitch exclaimed, purely exasperated. He clawed at his unkempt hair in distress.

"Well, let's think. What are we good at, that could help us survive?" Kirstie asked, resting her hand on Mitch's shoulder. Mitch snorted.

"I don't fucking know. You wanna sing to them? Maybe do a few riffs, see if that helps?" Mitch said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, don't get snappy with me," Kirstie said, raising one eyebrow. Mitch noticed that she still had her eyebrow piercings in. He thought she would've maybe, taken them out.

He'd taken his out a while back.

"Sorry. I just.. I have a sense of dread. Like something, something is going to happen. And I don't know what," Mitch said, clenching his teeth.

"Well, now is not the time to be a fortune teller. We either stay in here and risk starving to death and being found by zombies, or we can go out there and do something. We can help fight. Help the survivors," Kirstie said, and Mitch knew she was serious.

"Why?" He asked. He didn't want to do anything. He'd lost Scott. His best friend, the only person in the world who understood him better than he understood himself. Forever, possibly. Yet he knew, he couldn't give up. He'd never given up before. Scott would want him to continue. To keep going.

"Why? What do you mean why? Mitch, if you were out there, you would want somebody to help you. Somebody to come rescue you, and you have to be that somebody," She said, standing up. She walked over to the kitchen, and the lights went out.

"Alright. I get what you're saying. The lights just went out, and I'll bet anything the water did too. We have to get out of here," Mitch said, completely serious. They both stayed completely silent, and for a moment, Mitch could hear the blood pounding in his ears. A rush of adrenaline had taken over him, and the same feeling of dread took over him again.