Warning: Strong language, medium violence.

Word Count: 1,052

Chapter 1: Black Forest ( Amelia's perspective )

All I see are spots of green in my vision as I'm running through unfamiliar trees. As I turn back to shoot my 45 a couple times, I see the already big mob of rotting bodies has doubled in size. I feel like I'm going to past out, I guess not eating for five days and being woken up in the dead of sleep just to drop everything and run is proving hard on my body and brain. I turn my head back and see a small clearing with a small red house. "Fuck yes!"

Panting; I run for the house, hoping no one lives here and shoots me on sight. I sloppily slam into what I semi process as the front entrance; "shit!" it's boarded from both sides. As I turn around to stumble off the porch I realize I have no time to investigate further. "Fuck!" I frantically click the trigger but nothing shoots. I look around; there must be close to thirty of them all looking to bite into my flesh. This is it. This is where I die.

I have about twenty feet between me and those rotters. I reach into my flannel pocket and run my hands over the shiny copper bullet I've been saving for this very situation. I'm not going to be eaten alive! I load the gun, and press it to my temple. As the dead get closer my body moves backward, as if my physical body is still trying to survive whilst my thoughts start to go silent. My cracked lips fight to part to speak my last words when I spot a gutter running vertically up to the top of the house. My body flings forward without thinking and I swear I've never jumped higher.

I make it halfway up the house from the jump alone and my fingers desperately grip the gutter and corner of the house. Rotters are already at my feet barely skimming the rubber on my boots. I have to make it up this fucking roof. I start trying to climb with my toes clenching in my boots trying to fit into the latches where the gutter is drilled into the bricks. With my tiredness and the harsh growls of the dead I barely had the sense to hear the squeaking of the screws rubbing together. This shit is about to fall! My hands finally find the top of the house and with every ounce of strength I have I push my left foot off the bricks and swing it in the air to meet the edge of the roof. With half my body still hanging off the edge the gutter goes crashing down onto a couple of the rotters heads, I barely muster a half smirk whilst I pull the rest of my body onto the flat surface.

I can't stop gasping for air. I run my fingers along my face and skim the rest of my body. "I'm alive" I mumble. My fingers make their way to my waist then to my holster and I realize I lost it in my spontaneous jump from death. I roll over and look down, there are so many of them I can't even see where it fell. Their lifeless eyes stare back at me as their arms lust out for my flesh. Looking at the dead too much makes me remember that night; I quickly shove the thought from my mind. I can barely move so I slink my way to the center of the roof and curl up. Because I have absolutely no energy and right now I'm hoping if I close my eyes they will all be gone by morning.

I'm so exhausted I only wake up to the second shot. My eyes fling open but I don't move. "Come and get it bitches!" All I hear are men's voices and a large lump rises to my throat. Alone with men in the apocalypse hasn't, and will probably never be a good thing, I've seen it, lived it. The sun is still high in the sky; did I really sleep a full day? My old friend adrenaline tries to make a comeback but fails miserably. I gingerly inch my way to the back of the house, away from the voices. One of the men speaks; he has a small and annoyingly bitchy voice, "Woah! Boss, haven't seen this many in one place since…well shit the beginning!" More gun shots follow. This is my chance, they won't hear me.

I look down and there are only two rotters, but they're making their way to the noise. Fuck me, I think to myself as I see that the back of the house has some sort of plastic sun visor. That would've been a much better option then the goddamn gutter. I grunt as I press my body as close as I can to the roof and slowly inch my way to the beginning of the plastic. I droop one leg onto it, still looking the way of the voices. I figure that the roof is flat and there's a chance they saw my foot, but considering it still sounds like a scene from Scarface they're distracted for now. My hand finds the visor as my leg slowly drifts off it to meet the ground. I'm halfway off the visor when the firing stops. My body freezes in place; I turn my head back to the direction of the front of the house to listen, when a rotter grabs my leg. Frantically I try to shake it off, beating its head with my boot. Only my hands remain on the visor and both feet are dangling trying to break free. I have no strength left.

I land elbow first onto the concrete slab, I hear a loud snap and feel vomit slither its way to my throat. I let out a cry of pain as I hit the ground smashing the rotters head with my body weight. "Simon, you hear that?" I can hear the men's footsteps. My last attempt at survival is to try and crawl back into the woods, but as my vision starts getting blurrier and blurrier and the footsteps get closer and closer, I feel my body wanting to rest…I have no choice but to obey.