I believe that the Zombie Apocolypse WILL happen. Just like I believed that the world will be over-run by moths back in around 2008... Either way, I have only watched a few episodes of the Walking Dead and just know that this is a ONE OFF. I like the story line but this doesn't have any characters... except maybe the odd zombie that wasn't killed by Rick, Shane, etc... ENJOY! Contains course language!

~o0o~

Chapter One - A World of Death

The pain that she felt beneath her knees was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Searing, scorching, endless torture.

Her arm reaches out to claw at any bunch of dirt, gravel and grass she could possibly reach, then as she slowly drags her limp body, her skin catches on any sharp and jagged rocks and twigs that happen to be in her path. Clenching her teeth she ignores her bodies protest, knowing that by staying behind, her fate would be far worse. She could feel the sweat running from every pore, making her clothes stick and her hair matted on her forehead and neck, as well as warm blood mixed with dirt covering her body.

She hisses as a she drags herself onto a sharp branch that drove into her stomach, but she soldiers on, reaching out one arm at a time to drag herself away from the horrors that lay behind her.

Attempting to persuade herself this was another training exercise, she tried to calm her breathing by picturing herself back on campus, crawling in the mud soaked trenches beneath the netting and wires. She would smile; laugh whole heartedly at the pain, knowing this would train her to be the best damn soldier in the quadrant. Rowley would nudge her with his boot, trying to out crawl her, and he'd smile his stupid half grin and drag himself out into the sprint, leaving her far behind. Even though he always out matched her in upper body strength, she was by far the best runner, so she'd catch up easy.

She loved the feelings that running brought to her. Speed, power, freedom. Everything she needed. The speed to outrun everyone, and then some. The power of knowing that she could dominate all opponents. And the thrilling sensation of absolute freedom, knowing that she could always just keep running, past all the badness, all the cruelty, everything.

She was always complimented on her running. Spud, Rowley and the gang always said after the six months were out, she should just go in the Olympics.

"Berkins! Rowley! Quit your bullshit and give me 10 laps around the field! I want to see your knees up to your noses! Move it! Move it! Move it!" Gunny Sergeant Ted (Teddy to anyone who knows him well enough and who he doesn't threaten with 2 weeks of scrubbing the bathroom floors with a toothbrush each evening) would shout at them, for talking in a training exercise.

She smils as she remembers those times. Spud had moved on, started a family, was only in for the ride. Peters and Kozlowski moved onto the Navy, protecting the air as RAF pilots. Ted still taught new recruits how to grow some, shaping and moulding them to be fit and ready for any situation, like he'd been doing for the past 13 years. And Rowley, that poor son of a bitch, her best mate... they'd stuck it out, joining the army, protecting their country from any threat that came their way.

Except this one.

The only thing snapping Berkins from her thoughts was a low droning sound, not far behind her. The slow yet steady sound of uneven footsteps following her, like blowflies to a carcass.

Fuck, was the only word on her mind as she picks up the pace with a whole new surge of adrenaline pumping through her veins. Fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck. She drags herself over decay now, parts of broken pipes, bits of ruined cars, and the occasional body. Berkins cringes at the sight of a small child just to her left, no more than eight, half her torso eaten away. A bullet wound to her head. A small mercy.

The sight around her was not much different, no lesser horror or nightmare that ruled any person's thoughts. Around her, was simply death. Fallen comrades paved the streets in limbs and blood, piling around half exploded tanks and scavenged jeeps to any opportunistic survivor that may pass. Bodies of civilians had their insides spewed over themselves, drenched in the vomit stricken stench of rotting flesh.

This was the food source of the victims of the worst disease to plague the human race in Earth's history. The disease that affected every civilisation, every population, across the globe, slowly mutating the living, into one would call the walking dead. A bunch of scavengers, feasting, like vultures, on the living and dead. Their infectious bites and contagious scraches would turn you in a matter of hours, beginning out as a raging fever, eventually leading to an inevitable death.

But you wouldn't stay dead.

The brain stem would kick start to life, your primevil instincts take over, your only purpose: kill and feast. Sometimes the other way around. Either way, you get bitten or scratched by one of these fuckers? You're screwed. These were the infected who had practically taken over the world. An alien invasion without the UFO's, right on our own turf.

And now…

They were after her.