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Description
I walk down this busy freeway. I can just see the city over the hill from here. The traffic is bumper to bumper, people rushing to leave the city before it's too late. Before the dead arrive. Everyone knew that the cities would be hit worst. Problem is it's already happened. The masses ravaged the area and now the cities belong to the dead. These rusted out shells have been here for more than a year, some still holding the skeletons of those who didn't make it. They deserve better than this.
My group of survivors is small, but agile; five or six at most. Me, and my brother are the newest additions to the faction. The dead may look slow, but damn can they run. We tour the city, in search of anything useful. It is a dangerous but necessary trip. This time, we found the city particularly deserted. We usually have to avoid main routes. This time it's as if the dead have all left. We waste no time in taking advantage of this blessing, gathering canned food, weapons and ammo, even a couple sets of clothes. The calm bothers us all; something must be wrong. We make our exit with haste and quickly find ourselves back on the hill of the freeway.
Just outside the city limits, we find the cause of the serenity. The hoards have moved right into our path just over the hill. We cannot get past them, and it only takes one to alert them all. Suddenly, we hear behind us the gut wrenching screams of a runner. A quick gunshot to the head would silence her but it would also draw the rest. Instead, my brother's crowbar meets her head just as she's within range. One clean hit and she goes down. But it's too late; the mob has heard her scream. The city being our only path left, we all run for it.
We ditch our supplies to run faster, but it's no use. We open fire. Each one that drops is easily replaced by two more. We take refuge in a warehouse; steel doors will hold them out for a little while. We rest while the hoard bashes the doors and windows. It won't be long. We count the bullets amongst us. Eighty-seven rounds between 6 people makes for losing odds. We try to find a way to the roof, but our time runs out before we see an escape. They break through and we open fire, but the just keep coming. I look to my brother and see him put his 9mm to his head. I don't blame him for this. Maybe the gods will be kinder to him than these monsters. He mouth's two words to me before firing. "Forgive me." I close my eyes and turn away, I can't bear to watch. Through the many shots fired in the warehouse, one rings out loudest. It echoes all the way to my heart and bones. I know now that there's no hope for me either. It put my weapon to my head and pull the trigger.
Click…
I'd miscounted my shots. I lose all composure and drop to my knees, dreading my fate. I know they'll have me in their jaws soon. I see the legs and feet of the hoard under a table, but I also see a way out. A ladder to the roof of the building is my salvation. I hear the last shots of my comrades as I make my way to the top. I'm out. I survived, but only to be trapped on my comrades' mausoleum. Now, I can only wait and pray. Pray for the gods to grant me another miracle.