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Description
Frank landed on the other side of the wall with a softened 'thud', the decaying vegetation underneath him muffling the otherwise fairly loud sound of his duffle bag of tin cans hitting the pavement. The last thing that Frank needed was to draw even more attention to himself that he unfortunately already had, so he was thankful for the first time in his life for the rotting underfoot foliage.

It was mid autumn and the creeping winter chill dug its way into Frank's mostly bare skin. He hadn't planned on being outside for so long so hadn't put on any items of clothing that would unnecessarily weigh him down, he also had to do a lot of dodging in order to stop from being grabbed as he made his getaway; long sleeved items were definitely a no go when a member of the undead was trying to claw at something to hold onto.

The undead, in fact, were the reason that Frank had been in such a hurry to hop over walls; mainly because at least 30 of them were currently following him. Frank, not being the tallest of people, easily made his way over the wall, meaning that the creatures following him would also be able to get over -or even through- the decrepit old stone wall.

"Shit. Shit. Shit," Frank muttered to himself as soon as he heard the rasping of the things behind him. Swiftly picking up his bag and swinging it over his shoulder, he began to run through the park that he had just entered. There were a lot less of the creatures in places like parks and forests – basically anywhere that was less populated with living human flesh the less the undead enjoyed  congregated there.

He became startles as a hissing noise began in his ear, but relaxed again when he realised it was his listening device as Mikey's crackling voice came on the line.

"What did you think you were doing?," he sounded panicked and upset, obviously worried for his friend's safety, "How hard is it to not attract the attention of every singly fucking zombie ever Frank, huh?"

"Would you calm down, I'm fine!," Frank climbed over a fallen tree that was in his path, causing him to stumble and slow down a bit, something he really didn't want at the minute, "All I need to do is circle back to the car park in a mile or so and I will be back to base soon."

"Yeah, but for now you are travelling in the total wrong direction," Mikey sighed, "Why couldn't you have just grabbed the food and gotten out Frank?"

"I heard someone, they were still alive and I had to try to help them," He hadn't heard anything behind him for a while and as he paused to catch his breath he looked back and couldn't see anything, "Dude, I had to try to help them, but by the time I got to the guy it was too late, and by then all of the zombies and all of their fucking mothers had seen me."

Frank flinched as a scraping sound echoed from the listening device before an angry voice started yelling at him, "What the fuck Frank? You think what you did was okay? We are all worried as fuck over here!," Gerard had some sort of talent for making him feel guilty,
"You get your ass right back here now."

Frank could hear faint groaning coming from behind him now, "Look Gerard, I don't have time for this, what did you really expect me to do, not try to help the guy? I'll be back as soon as I can."

Gerard's continued shouts were cut off as Frank switched off his earpiece and pocketed it, continuing to run through the park just as a group of the undead erupted from the trees a few meters behind him.

So they were still following him.

Great.

Frank cursed and continued to run, his surroundings a blur and the paranoia of being caught breathing down his neck. The group were slowly gaining on him as he was growing tired and more out of breath, which of course didn't slow the undead down; they didn't breathe and never became tired.

Then the next think he knew he was falling.

Frank fell for a bit longer than he was expecting – 'Death in slow motion. I'm done for now, I know I am. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,' he thought to himself before realising that he could no longer hear the growling of the undead, and he must have fallen far as his whole body was in pain, not cushioned by grass but lying on cold hard concrete.

"Who the fuck left the hatch open?," there were rushed footsteps and the screeching of metal on metal above him as the entrance was closed.

"Jon, is that y-," a second voice chimed in before it was cut off by a third.

"Brendon, get away from him, he may be-"

"Shh!," the first person said, "Ryan's right, it may be a zombie and it sure as hell isn't Jon."

Frank groaned as he was poked with what felt like a stick, he raised his hand in a less-than-friendly gesture until his arm collapsed back onto the concrete.

"Oh...well then," The one who had poked him mumbled, then said rather too loudly, "So who are you then?"

Frank ached all over but pulled himself up off of the floor and stood in front of the three men. He stood there awkwardly for a moment before adjusting the bag of cans on his shoulder - that had previously attempted to crush him - and simply stated, "My name's Frank."

"I'm Patrick," the one with the stick – which was actually the end of a mop- stuck out his hand for Frank to shake, he was small, slightly pudgy and had glasses, but you could tell he was warm and friendly, "That's Ryan and Brendon."

All of the men were relatively young. Ryan, who was tall and thin, was holding Brendon back defensively but released his grip on the smaller man's arms when he saw that Frank posed no threat to them, though still shot him apprehensive glances.

"We can't find Jon anywhere," Ryan said to Patrick in a hushed voice, "He must have left the hatch open when he went."

"But why would he do that?," Brendon turned to Ryan with a panicked look on his face, "That's practically suicide!"

Ryan stayed quiet but nodded in agreement, a tinge of worry showing in his face as well. Patrick seemed rather calm and avoided looking at the other two, but instead turned to Frank, "So how did you get here anyway? There aren't many people still alive."

Frank relayed his tale of the food trip going wrong and having to run away from the undead, "I have to get back to my friends, they'll be worried sick about me," He took the listening device out of his pocket and placed it in his ear, but due to being underground he couldn't get any signal.

Cursing, he put it back in his pocket, "Don't suppose there is any other exit that isn't swarming with zombies?," he looked up towards the hatch for emphasis, and then back to Patrick. There was no way that the undead that were following him were not still out there.

Patrick shook his head, "That's the only way in and out again."

Frank looked around the large room, in the corner of the room there was a large platform leading to a wall of computers and various technical devices, Frank hated technology at the best of times, but seeing all of the not working computers was eerie.  Where they were standing was the middle of the room, with the hatch above them accessible via a ladder pinned to a wall, and finally there were two doors set in the wall to the right of Frank and an arch on his left, leading to what looked like a kitchen.

Frank furrowed his brow and sighed, "So what is this place anyway?"

They all remained quiet until Ryan, looking almost annoyed, said, "An underground bunker, what does it look like?"

Frank rolled his eyes, "Yes, but why is it in the middle of a park?"

"How do we know? We didn't build the damn thing!"

Frank could feel the apprehension radiating from both Patrick and Brendon who were stood uncomfortably, their eyes firmly fixed anywhere but on Ryan. Frank knew he should let the conversation subject drop, but wasn't going to let Ryan snap at him.

"Look kid, this situation is a bit dodgy, now isn't it?"

"Look jerk,  I'm not going to stan-", Ryan was cut off by one of the metal doors scraping opening, through which a small yawning man entered, he was wearing jeans and  a gray hoodie and paused mid step when he saw everyone crowded around Frank.

"Oh...," The man straightened up properly, even then he was only about the same height as Frank, "Did I miss something?"

"Pete," Patrick motioned to Frank, "Frank, this is Pete."

"Wasn't exactly expecting company, but hey-," Pete moved closer and extended his hand into a friendly handshake, "Welcome."

Pete quickly moved off towards the kitchen, a pleasant skip to his step.

Ryan, still looking annoyed, mumbled, "I'm done with this," and made his exit from the room out of the door that Pete had just come through.

"Ryan wait," Brendon started to follow him but turned back momentarily, "Er – nice to meet you Frank."

"I don't know what his problem is," Patrick said when they were alone, "Tension can get a bit high, we've been stuck in here together for about a month. These guys are my best friends but I sure am sick of seeing their faces!" Patrick smiled, trying to break the awkwardness.

Patrick showed Frank around the underground home, it was more spacious that Frank was expecting, he was shown the kitchen first, where Pete was making oatmeal or something as equally gray and gloopy, then he was shown that the two doors lead to stall toilets and sleeping quarters. There were 3 sleeping rooms, each with two beds. The rooms were only small but comfortably so, not too claustrophobic.

"Jon had a room to himself... so I suppose you can have this room to yourself," Patrick looked sombre while pointing to the door at the end of the row.

"Thank you for this, really, but I don't know how long I can even stay here for. As soon as I can I'll get out of your hair..."

"There are a lot of them out there, are you sure that's...wise?"

"I don't want my friends to get even more worried, this is all my fault."

Pete slapped Frank on the back, making both him and Patrick jump, Pete had obviously sneaked up and overheard them talking, "Don't be so morbid, it's not like you can be blamed for all of this mess."

"It's insane how happy you can remain, "Patrick clutched his chest dramatically, "And it isn't nice to sneak up on already paranoid people, okay Peter?"

"Maybe I've just finally lost it, that's why I'm so happy all of the time," Pete smiled, "I'm actually this close to running around naked, sacrificing Brendon to the gods and dancing The Macarena."

"I'm not doubting that," Patrick laughed, causing Frank to smile at how happy they were.

Sure everyone got on at his base but they were never really happy, they were always constantly worrying about how to stay alive, paranoid about when the next attack of the undead will be. It would be nice to get a good night's sleep in somewhere impenetrable, a real bed in a safe place.

Description
Frank landed on the other side of the wall with a softened 'thud', the decaying vegetation underneath him muffling the otherwise fairly loud sound of his duffle bag of tin cans hitting the pavement. The last thing that Frank needed was to draw even more attention to himself that he unfortunately already had, so he was thankful for the first time in his life for the rotting underfoot foliage.

It was mid autumn and the creeping winter chill dug its way into Frank's mostly bare skin. He hadn't planned on being outside for so long so hadn't put on any items of clothing that would unnecessarily weigh him down, he also had to do a lot of dodging in order to stop from being grabbed as he made his getaway; long sleeved items were definitely a no go when a member of the undead was trying to claw at something to hold onto.

The undead, in fact, were the reason that Frank had been in such a hurry to hop over walls; mainly because at least 30 of them were currently following him. Frank, not being the tallest of people, easily made his way over the wall, meaning that the creatures following him would also be able to get over -or even through- the decrepit old stone wall.

"Shit. Shit. Shit," Frank muttered to himself as soon as he heard the rasping of the things behind him. Swiftly picking up his bag and swinging it over his shoulder, he began to run through the park that he had just entered. There were a lot less of the creatures in places like parks and forests – basically anywhere that was less populated with living human flesh the less the undead enjoyed  congregated there.

He became startles as a hissing noise began in his ear, but relaxed again when he realised it was his listening device as Mikey's crackling voice came on the line.

"What did you think you were doing?," he sounded panicked and upset, obviously worried for his friend's safety, "How hard is it to not attract the attention of every singly fucking zombie ever Frank, huh?"

"Would you calm down, I'm fine!," Frank climbed over a fallen tree that was in his path, causing him to stumble and slow down a bit, something he really didn't want at the minute, "All I need to do is circle back to the car park in a mile or so and I will be back to base soon."

"Yeah, but for now you are travelling in the total wrong direction," Mikey sighed, "Why couldn't you have just grabbed the food and gotten out Frank?"

"I heard someone, they were still alive and I had to try to help them," He hadn't heard anything behind him for a while and as he paused to catch his breath he looked back and couldn't see anything, "Dude, I had to try to help them, but by the time I got to the guy it was too late, and by then all of the zombies and all of their fucking mothers had seen me."

Frank flinched as a scraping sound echoed from the listening device before an angry voice started yelling at him, "What the fuck Frank? You think what you did was okay? We are all worried as fuck over here!," Gerard had some sort of talent for making him feel guilty,
"You get your ass right back here now."

Frank could hear faint groaning coming from behind him now, "Look Gerard, I don't have time for this, what did you really expect me to do, not try to help the guy? I'll be back as soon as I can."

Gerard's continued shouts were cut off as Frank switched off his earpiece and pocketed it, continuing to run through the park just as a group of the undead erupted from the trees a few meters behind him.

So they were still following him.

Great.

Frank cursed and continued to run, his surroundings a blur and the paranoia of being caught breathing down his neck. The group were slowly gaining on him as he was growing tired and more out of breath, which of course didn't slow the undead down; they didn't breathe and never became tired.

Then the next think he knew he was falling.

Frank fell for a bit longer than he was expecting – 'Death in slow motion. I'm done for now, I know I am. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,' he thought to himself before realising that he could no longer hear the growling of the undead, and he must have fallen far as his whole body was in pain, not cushioned by grass but lying on cold hard concrete.

"Who the fuck left the hatch open?," there were rushed footsteps and the screeching of metal on metal above him as the entrance was closed.

"Jon, is that y-," a second voice chimed in before it was cut off by a third.

"Brendon, get away from him, he may be-"

"Shh!," the first person said, "Ryan's right, it may be a zombie and it sure as hell isn't Jon."

Frank groaned as he was poked with what felt like a stick, he raised his hand in a less-than-friendly gesture until his arm collapsed back onto the concrete.

"Oh...well then," The one who had poked him mumbled, then said rather too loudly, "So who are you then?"

Frank ached all over but pulled himself up off of the floor and stood in front of the three men. He stood there awkwardly for a moment before adjusting the bag of cans on his shoulder - that had previously attempted to crush him - and simply stated, "My name's Frank."

"I'm Patrick," the one with the stick – which was actually the end of a mop- stuck out his hand for Frank to shake, he was small, slightly pudgy and had glasses, but you could tell he was warm and friendly, "That's Ryan and Brendon."

All of the men were relatively young. Ryan, who was tall and thin, was holding Brendon back defensively but released his grip on the smaller man's arms when he saw that Frank posed no threat to them, though still shot him apprehensive glances.

"We can't find Jon anywhere," Ryan said to Patrick in a hushed voice, "He must have left the hatch open when he went."

"But why would he do that?," Brendon turned to Ryan with a panicked look on his face, "That's practically suicide!"

Ryan stayed quiet but nodded in agreement, a tinge of worry showing in his face as well. Patrick seemed rather calm and avoided looking at the other two, but instead turned to Frank, "So how did you get here anyway? There aren't many people still alive."

Frank relayed his tale of the food trip going wrong and having to run away from the undead, "I have to get back to my friends, they'll be worried sick about me," He took the listening device out of his pocket and placed it in his ear, but due to being underground he couldn't get any signal.

Cursing, he put it back in his pocket, "Don't suppose there is any other exit that isn't swarming with zombies?," he looked up towards the hatch for emphasis, and then back to Patrick. There was no way that the undead that were following him were not still out there.

Patrick shook his head, "That's the only way in and out again."

Frank looked around the large room, in the corner of the room there was a large platform leading to a wall of computers and various technical devices, Frank hated technology at the best of times, but seeing all of the not working computers was eerie.  Where they were standing was the middle of the room, with the hatch above them accessible via a ladder pinned to a wall, and finally there were two doors set in the wall to the right of Frank and an arch on his left, leading to what looked like a kitchen.

Frank furrowed his brow and sighed, "So what is this place anyway?"

They all remained quiet until Ryan, looking almost annoyed, said, "An underground bunker, what does it look like?"

Frank rolled his eyes, "Yes, but why is it in the middle of a park?"

"How do we know? We didn't build the damn thing!"

Frank could feel the apprehension radiating from both Patrick and Brendon who were stood uncomfortably, their eyes firmly fixed anywhere but on Ryan. Frank knew he should let the conversation subject drop, but wasn't going to let Ryan snap at him.

"Look kid, this situation is a bit dodgy, now isn't it?"

"Look jerk,  I'm not going to stan-", Ryan was cut off by one of the metal doors scraping opening, through which a small yawning man entered, he was wearing jeans and  a gray hoodie and paused mid step when he saw everyone crowded around Frank.

"Oh...," The man straightened up properly, even then he was only about the same height as Frank, "Did I miss something?"

"Pete," Patrick motioned to Frank, "Frank, this is Pete."

"Wasn't exactly expecting company, but hey-," Pete moved closer and extended his hand into a friendly handshake, "Welcome."

Pete quickly moved off towards the kitchen, a pleasant skip to his step.

Ryan, still looking annoyed, mumbled, "I'm done with this," and made his exit from the room out of the door that Pete had just come through.

"Ryan wait," Brendon started to follow him but turned back momentarily, "Er – nice to meet you Frank."

"I don't know what his problem is," Patrick said when they were alone, "Tension can get a bit high, we've been stuck in here together for about a month. These guys are my best friends but I sure am sick of seeing their faces!" Patrick smiled, trying to break the awkwardness.

Patrick showed Frank around the underground home, it was more spacious that Frank was expecting, he was shown the kitchen first, where Pete was making oatmeal or something as equally gray and gloopy, then he was shown that the two doors lead to stall toilets and sleeping quarters. There were 3 sleeping rooms, each with two beds. The rooms were only small but comfortably so, not too claustrophobic.

"Jon had a room to himself... so I suppose you can have this room to yourself," Patrick looked sombre while pointing to the door at the end of the row.

"Thank you for this, really, but I don't know how long I can even stay here for. As soon as I can I'll get out of your hair..."

"There are a lot of them out there, are you sure that's...wise?"

"I don't want my friends to get even more worried, this is all my fault."

Pete slapped Frank on the back, making both him and Patrick jump, Pete had obviously sneaked up and overheard them talking, "Don't be so morbid, it's not like you can be blamed for all of this mess."

"It's insane how happy you can remain, "Patrick clutched his chest dramatically, "And it isn't nice to sneak up on already paranoid people, okay Peter?"

"Maybe I've just finally lost it, that's why I'm so happy all of the time," Pete smiled, "I'm actually this close to running around naked, sacrificing Brendon to the gods and dancing The Macarena."

"I'm not doubting that," Patrick laughed, causing Frank to smile at how happy they were.

Sure everyone got on at his base but they were never really happy, they were always constantly worrying about how to stay alive, paranoid about when the next attack of the undead will be. It would be nice to get a good night's sleep in somewhere impenetrable, a real bed in a safe place.