Zombie Apocalypse ~ Dream Team

1

A/N: The zombies in this world are different. Let me explain: the zombies have pink body fluids that is made up of infected cells, and if any of the pink fluid somehow gets into a wound or inside a person's body, the infected cells start to infect all the cells in that body. There are a lot more unexplained parts about the zombies, so feel free to ask! I will be putting more information as the story goes on, to help with the understanding :) Also apologies if my english is off, I'm just not really good at writing.

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Clay was hiding in an alleyway, looking around for survivors. He frowned when he couldn't see any, then made the dumb mistake of rolling up his sleeves to scratch a mosquito bite that he had gotten last night, accidentally making a small cut on the mosquito bite. He didn't really know that there was a zombie behind him. The zombie had attacked Clay, trying to bite any exposed flesh- one of the zombie's bones had slashed his arm, opening a big wound. He was able to knock the zombie out with a powerful blow to the skull, the running away swiftly and nimbly to the apartment that he was staying at. Clay closed the door with a sigh, leaning against the entrance. He slid down to the ground and looked at his arm, then bringing his backpack to his lap, then opening it up. He took out a roll of bandages and his water bottle, quickly washing any dirt or possible zombie-liquid that could infect him. The American put his water down, then tightly bandaged his arm to prevent any more blood loss. He sighed, putting his grey backpack back on and standing up. He then started to walk up the stairs, all the way to the top of the apartment. Clay stood on the roof of an apartment building, looking down at the zombies scattered the roads and sidewalks below him. He held his bat in his right hand, while his left hand pushed his mask up onto his head, from his face. He could see when wearing his mask, of course. He could just see better without it. The American scanned the ground a few times quickly and carefully, before letting out a frustrated sigh at the fact that he still seemed to be unable to spot any other survivors. He could deal with zombies, but not the fact that there was a possibility that he could be all alone forever. Just as he was about to put his mask back on and turn away, he saw something rush into the building from the side. He quickly leaned over the building, trying to see if any zombies were running after whatever had gotten into the building. After none of the zombies reacted, Clay's eyes widened and ran to the stairs. There was still a possibility that the thing that had entered the building was a zombie, but other zombies would've followed. He tightened his fist on the bat and tried to skip steps, hoping desperately that what he had seen was a living human being. Meanwhile, the man who had just entered the building was running up the stairs, his clothes soaked in blood as open wounds on his side and arms continued to bleed. He grabbed the railings of the stairs weakly, fear gleaming in his eyes. He muttered small words of encouragement to himself, though they did little to nothing to boost his determination. He continued to run up the stairs. And almost immediately, in a the most cliche moment ever, the two bumped into each other. The newcomer landed on the floor, his back bumping the wall behind him. Clay stumbled back a few steps, but quickly recovering. And out of pure instinct, he hit the bat down toward the other man's head. The newcomer quickly leaned to the side to avoid getting knocked out, the bat hitting his upper arm instead. He yelled out in pain, holding the spot where he'd been struck. The man would've been hit again if Clay hadn't almost immediately recognized the oh so familiar scream.
"George?" Clay asked, disbelief and hope apparent in his voice. He looked at the man on the ground more clearly, recognizing his friend. "George!?
George flinched and looked up at Dream with fear, not recognizing his voice as he felt like he was about to faint from all the blood loss, not to mention that the pain in his arm wasn't helping much either. 
"W-what? How do you know my name?" the colorblind Brit asked fearfully to the taller man standing in front of him. 
His vision began to blur as blood continued to leak from the wounds on his arms. Clay had yet to notice George's blood, as he was feeling too ecstatic about the fact that his friend was still alive.
"Its me! Clay! Dream!" He said desperately, crouching down in front of George.
"Clay...?" George managed to mutter, before losing consciousness and falling straight into Clay's arms.