radio head

15 5 2
                                    

"The house seemed awfully quiet for a place that was about to be overrun by ten, Ney hundreds of zombies" John thought as he wore the army trousers, Ben had given him.

His mind wondering where Jackson had got them from, as he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked buffer than usual, he thought , he knew it had nothing to do with his muscles but a lot to do with the three layers of denim clothing duck taped with tin foil which was hidden well under a layer of leather jacket.

"We are lucky it's cold out" John thought as he adjusted his trouser. He felt relaxed for some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on, as he stood there looking at himself in the mirror and how the pastel brown, grullo and olive drag uniform gave him a much more macho look.

"Is it just me or I should have been a solider" Ben said as shoved John away from the front of the mirror and began to smile and work on his hair.

"Haha let's get down before you uncle ends our just starting military careers" John said as he walked out of the room.

In a matter of seconds Ben caught up with him muttering something about how suprised he was that they could move under all the clothing.

They get to the doorway that leads to the step, only to be greeted my multiple sounds of gunshot. The two boys instinctively bent down, taking the universal position of "I don't want no bullet injuries"

"Get inside now Jackson said as he ran up the staircase, taking them 3 per step, stopping only to send another bullet into the head of teenage girl who was chasing after him. Her eyes were green like she had smoked some experimental weed, and to be honest she did play the part well as she shrugged off the bullet that landed somewhere on her left shoulder.

"Shit" Jackson said as he pulled the trigger once more, and created a hole right in the middle of her eyes, sending her and yellow mini skirt down the stairs.

"Any complaint Jackson said as he locked the door leading to the higher floor of the two storey building John called home.

The boys merely shrugged, and gave him the "what the fuck is going on look".

"Look boys he started as he kept his gun pointed at the door. " The shot I used to, umm...-"

"Kill my mum" John said in a hurried voice which did a great job at hiding his tone.

"Yes to put her to sleep" Jackson said smartly avoiding the word kill. " Well I had no silencer on the gun".

"So every infected in the area is here" Ben said as his eyes grew will fear, and his body began to shake.

"How many more bullets do you have John asked as he began to pace the room and run his hand through his hair, his face evidently wrecked with fear and stress.

"Just two"

"Jesus Christ two! , We are screwed " Ben said as he slumped on the wall behind him.

The momentary awkward silence was ended by the relentless growls and moans that accompanied the thuds and creaking of the door.

"What do we do" Ben asked as he looked at Jackson.

"Don't look at me" Jackson said, " unless you somehow have power to multiply bullets we are screwed"

"Wouldn't that be something" Ben scrowled back at him.

"John do you have a baseball bat or maybe a bow and arrow" Jackson asked as he cleaned his face for the millionth time.

"No I don't" John said a little embarrassed as he looked away from the face Jackson gave him a face that clearly said " how are you a boy"

"Wait I got an idea" John said as he ran to fortune's room which was just in front of his room.
Only to emerge minutes later with a pillow case that looked like it was filled with bottles.

Without saying so much as a word he threw it out of the hallway window.
Before taking his phone and playing a song.

"I'm pretty sure thriller didn't use real zombies" Ben said as he hid behind Jackson, who still had his gun up but face on John.

The next few seconds were silent except for the sound of the zombies, growling behind the door.

A feminine voice came out of nowhere "Bluetooth connected" as John fisted the air, and played an video of a family talking, only the voice came from outside the house where the pillowcase had landed.

The new found distraction seemed to grab the zombies attention as the growls began to fade and they began to show up on the lawn obviously confused about where the sounds came from.

Jackson opened the door after what seemed like minutes and quietly signalled for the house to follow him.
John quickly popped into a room beside his and came out with a hockey stick.

" I just remembered dad had one, don't know why he whispered.

The bunch tiptoed as quietly as they could past the zombie and headed for the car at the front of the house.

John was about to open the door when the feminine voice came to life again

"battery low Bluetooth disconnected".

And at that the audio that once was playing from the speaker, now played from John's phone which in turn grabbed the attention of everyone, zombies and people.

The boys ran straight to the car, Jackson took out two zombies wearing jumpsuits who were standing closest to the car with two shots.

Before Ben slid into the driver's seat and brought the car to life, just as John broke the head of a rather chubby and short zombie with the hockey stick as he climbed on to the back seat.

"Drive" Jackson yelled as Ben floored the pedal and the minivan roared forward crashing into another plumpy zombie, causing her to explode all over there wind screen.

Green blood and chunks of flesh settled on the windscreen, and the wipers we're doing a crappy job in removing them from the screen, just as John spotted an eyeball perched calmly on the bonnet close to the the side mirrors.

John fought the urge to vomit as he stared at the bumbling horde of zombies that ran after the car.
As Ben said

" just noticed my shirt has a name tag, it says James".....

.............................
A/N

Hey people it's that pesky author here..

So I was hoping you could help me tell your friends.

I mean come on I'm hoping to see an SIVIN fan group.

Anyways SIVIN is tge official acronym for survival instincts.

So buckle up "it's about to get bumpy".......

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