Prologue
Harry Edward Styles winced in pain as Louis William Tomlinson picked him, he couldn't believe this was happening to him; he wished so badly that it wasn't. He had to hide it from the others, only he knew, he was the only one that knew. Louis was the only one who he could trust; of course he could trust the other boys, but Louis seemed to be the one he was closest to, the one that knew him the best and wouldn't dare to do anything to harm the poor lad any further. The small, yet fairly large group that they were in, was currently trying to find the anti-virus thing that would help heal the scratch on his lower forearm.
That's right, you heard me, Harry Edward Style's got scratched. By what you may ask? Well, as some people would call them, Walker's (from the walking dead). They were currently in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. The young lad was for sure worried, because what if they didn't get there on time? What if he turned before they got there? The group would most likely be dead, or at least some people would. And it would all be because of him.
Harry turned to Zayn as he yelled for him to come on. There were to many of them, he had to fight back. He thought he lived a nice life, it would be best if he died now. He woudn't mind taking one for the team actually. He would die for his group which consisted of the rest of One Direction, Celine Dion, Luke Bryan and just ordinary fans of his. He pulled out his Samauri sword, swinging it at the heads of the zombies. This caused him to turn around multiple times and running from one place to another, getting just a little closer to his group. Harry felt as if he didn't have enough time to save everybody, so he leant up on a random car, throwing the sword down.
Louis runs up to him, saving his ass once again. He killed as much as he could, until he ran out of bullets. He screamed out in anger. “Get off your lazy fucking arses and help God dammit!” He yelled loud and clear.
Harry felt one touch him, it felt like nails, sharp, pointy nails dig into his skin. It felt to him, as if they were marking him, saying he will be one of them. The soft skin on our body's where the undead creatures food. They never got tired, they never had to sleep, they did however get hungry. Once they know their out of food from where they are, they move slowly, but surely (depending on how long they have been dead), move on.
The famous curly, brown haired, young man screamed in terror as ones mouth came closer and closer to him. He shut his eye's, hoping for death to quickly fall upon him.
Harry styles kept his eye's focused on those blue-grey one's that where looking down at him every once in a while, making sure he was still going strong. He stopped for a moment before screaming in pain and falling to the ground. Harry quickly get's off his band mate and looks down at him, he saw what seemed to be a dagger sticking out of leg. The young man screamed at the horrific sight, not wanting to lose his best friend. He wanted to help, but he had no idea how; blood pouring out of his leg like there was no tomorrow.
This story is written in third person, I find it easier to write in that than anything else. And as the title says and what I said in my other book, it will be coming November 25th or throughout the next two weeks from then on.
YOU ARE READING
The Dead One's (v. 2)
Science Fiction"To survive, you have learn to be strong, not weak." "That's such a lie." "Oh really?" ******** This story contains Larry, Merome, Ziall, and violents.
