Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Walking Dead only my main OC whose name won't be mentioned in this chapter and any other character not from the original cast.

So I've entered a zombie phase and to be honest I've fallen for the Walking Dead series. Which is amusing since the thought of an actual zombie apocalypse scares the shit out of me. I'd probably be the first to die and get eaten or turned which would be bad since I'm pretty sure I'd make a vicious zombie and cause terrible heartbreak for my family who would most likely be the ones forced to kill me.

I contemplated whether or not to write this idea since I had several reasons not to but I'm going to tell you my main two and see if any of you can help.

One, I'm not sure how to end zombie stories. Obviously this story will go off from the show's (because I haven't really read the comics so I'm unsure of that plot) plot once I hit the prison arc since that would be all of season three I guess.

Two, the Dixon brother's way of talking/speech. Yeah I have trouble writing Hagrid from Harry Potter, I'm pretty sure I'm going to cringe, whine and withhold chapter updates because I'll have to go over several times the parts where Merle and Daryl talk. Kudos to those who have accomplished this feat!

Regardless I couldn't help myself so here it is!

Prologue

Until the End

The people I know have always told me that I had a calm temperament, that it takes a lot to get me angry and even more to unnerve or scare me. My parents often said that it was because I was independent, I rather depend on myself than on another person that way if something didn't go as planned the only person I could blame would be myself. At first I couldn't agree with them, their reasoning just seemed to make me appear cold-hearted even though I knew they didn't mean it that way. Over time, though, I came to agree with them. I had found that I'd rather be disappointed in myself than in others.

The world was far from perfect, I knew that, and there was always a voice in the back of my mind that told me how insignificant I was compared to the millions out there. It reminded me day in and day out how the world was just filled with liars, cheaters and people whose expectations I would never meet. I still tried though. It was how humans were meant to live; always searching for and trying to reach an unattainable goal.

Even after the world went to hell it was still the same. Only this time everyone was just more honest about how they felt about others. Survival of the fittest. We were reduced to our most basic instincts, turning on one another in order to survive. There came a point where I, like so many others, had asked myself if it was worth it?

Was it worth living anymore?

I was in school when I realized that the world had been turned on its head. In Physics class to be precise, reading over the English rough draft for the girl that always sat next to me but whom I hadn't learned the name of yet. I hadn't actually planned on showing up to class, high school senioritis was still kicking my ass, but my dad had come home late the previous night and so was due to start work at four, he would obviously notice if I came home early. Not to mention today wasn't a grocery day so my mom would be home too and even if I managed to fool my dad, my mom would catch me in the lie.

So with no other place to go to until my shift started at the mall I sucked up reading through dry essays.

I didn't automatically hear the gunshots and when I did I wasn't the only one who flinched in surprise. They sounded close. Too close. Hearing no word of a lockdown, not even the security guard had come by; the professor picked up the phone and dialed the front office while many of us began squirming in our seats.

"Mrs. Campbell?" The girl next to me asked. I picked up my bag and pretended to look through it not at all thinking along the same lines as the majority of the class, booking it at the first sign of trouble. This wasn't high school, we weren't all going to sit together in a corner and behave ourselves I reasoned with myself. "Mrs. Campbell?" The girl repeated. I turned to stare at the older woman and noticed that her usually fair complexion was a deathly white I also noticed others began to stand and I bit my lip wondering what to do. The rational choice would be to stay in class and wait the professor's orders. After all they had procedures to follow in cases like these didn't they?

This time though my gut told my brain to stuff it and as soon as the first five began to leave, ignoring the teacher's disproving shouts, I got up as well. The gunshots were getting louder though they seemed to still be far off; glancing at the older woman I gave her an apologetic smile and walked out. I would deal with her when I had her class again. That is if she even remembered I was one of those that left.

Fishing my phone from my backpack while I walked towards the parking lot I figured that this was as good enough an excuse to go home as any. Sure my parent's would most likely berate me later when they realized how stupid it was but I would pretend to listen like I always did whenever they got angry at me. Dialing my dad's number first I sighed in exasperation when it told me it was busy and after a quick thought I decided against dialing my mom's cell and instead dialed directly home. I waited besides my car my free hand stuffed in my backpack trying to locate my keys while my ear was pressed to my phone listening as it rang. No one was picking up.

Gunshots continued to ring out and I tossed my phone into the passengers side of my car as soon as I opened the door before getting in myself noticing that I wasn't the only one trying to leave the campus. Apparently I wasn't the only one whose gut feeling was telling them to leave.

"What the hell is going on?" I muttered starting the engine just as a helicopter flew over head. It wasn't often that I saw a news helicopter in small King County, Georgia; I actually couldn't recall ever seeing one since I moved here from Phoenix. Three whole years ago. It was the common norm of living in a small country town.

I swear I've gotten over my depression about having to move to the country a long time ago.

Cursing for probably the fifth time in three minutes I honked angrily at the car that had cut me off. To be honest I was shocked that everyone seemed to be in such a hurry that they would forget their usual mild mannerism. To hell, I thought as I sped up along with them.

I was lucky that I was only ten minutes away from the community college I attended and with the speed I was going I made it there in less. As soon as I got out a fire truck zoomed past and I walked over to see if I could spot the smoke. My jaw dropped when the smoke appeared to be coming from a house only a street over. My gaze lingered for a few seconds on the black smoke before running towards the front door. Not out of fear but out of a morbid excitement to tell my parents. They would be interested to know.

"Dad! Ama!" I called as I searched through my keys for the front door one switching from English to Spanish easily. I didn't particularly care if the neighbors heard me; they had long since gotten over their initial dislike of my family and our latin roots. Finding the key I need, I frowned as I grab the door knob only to find that the door was opened. Glancing over at the plants by the door I didn't see anything that showed my mom's been out tending to the front lawn and knowing how easily my dad get's annoyed if we leave the front door open or unlocked I push open the door expecting to see him on the other side getting ready to go somewhere. That was at least the only explanation I could see for the door being open.

As soon as I enter and see no one an internal alarm in me that hasn't been used since I was ten began to go off. Not seeing my dad sitting on the couch watching t.v. or my mom in the kitchen wouldn't have been odd if it had been a Saturday since they usually slept in that day while I went to class. It was Monday though and usually both were busy.

"Ama! No vas a creer lo que está pasando afuera!" I called out guessing that she was in the laundry room. I took off my shoes and closed the door tossing my backpack onto the couch and heading towards said room only to pause when I passed the kitchen. Taking a step back I hear a low hissing sound that makes goosebumps break out on my arms. Slowly I step forward and peek over the corner of the entrance way. I frown spotting my mother kneeled down by the sink; the hissing was coming from her. I gape at her confused and concerned, this was so unlike her.

"Ama?" I called out softly. Her shoulders tense and slowly she turns around. I could hear myself suck in a breath and I stumble back hitting the refrigerator. "A-Ama? Estás bien?" I ask her uselessly. She couldn't be all right, not with a good chunk of her neck and shoulder missing and the blood…there was so much blood. I took in the wound and the dried blood around her mouth and down her front her glazed bloodshot eyes being the last detail I took in before I screamed and jumped out of the way as she lunged at me giving a loud raspy hiss.

No fucking way! I could feel the tears gathering as my brain tried to process the situation while also blocking away the answer. My mom should be dead from that wound! Why was she still able to lunge at me? Why was she hissing?

"Ama! It's me! Let me help you!" I called out turning around only to jump out. Whatever was happening to my mom was way over my head. No it's not. Admit it; you know what's wrong with her. If there was ever something I was terrified of and I mean feel your body tense up your blood run cold and sweat cover every inch of your body in minutes kind of fear it would have to be zombies.

Sure I loved zombie games and I could even sit down and watch a zombie movie but the thought of actually having to live through a zombie outbreak was what caused me nightmares. It was illogical and stupid and every time I woke up from having my brains being eaten or my legs ripped off I would remind myself that it was impossible. The world ending by zombie apocalypse was just impossible.

But unless there was some sort of disease that would allow my mom to be doing the things she was currently doing and acting the way she was in her condition that I haven't heard about I couldn't find any other answer than one: zombie.

What do I do? What do I do?! What was I suppose to do?! I screamed again as I slipped on the kitchen floor my long pant leg having covered the bottom of my heel. I managed to scramble up and run into the hall my mind recalling everything I had ever learned about zombies. Two thoughts rang out clearer than the others.

Don't get bit.

Destroy the head.

That final thought made me choke as I rushed to the master bedroom. I couldn't believe what I was thinking. Sure a gun wouldn't be my first choice of weapon in a zombie attack, everyone should know that the noise would only draw them in, but I wasn't about to stop and find some other weapon especially knowing that anything I did find would most likely require that I bash my own mother's skull in repeatedly.

"No! No! NO! Not you too!" I cried as I saw my dad turn around. I quickly ran to their walk in closet and slammed the door closed. I didn't try to find some way to barricade it since it was a closet and the only things heavy enough were some boxes filled with picture frames my mom had yet to hang up after all these years. My reason for going to the master bedroom though was located in this closet and reaching behind my mom's winter coats I grabbed my dad's hunting rifle and quickly kneeling I reached down and grabbed the metal box he kept the ammo in. Placing myself as a temporary barricade I began loading the gun the way my dad had showed me.

Grasping the gun I sobbed as I tried to steal my resolve all the while my body jerked as the door was beat on.

"What the fuck's happening?" I sobbed. "This can't be happening." But the violent pounding on the door was making the situation sink it. It was anchoring it down for me. Forcing me to accept what I was about to do.

I breathed in and out a couple of times trying to get my emotions under control. When I was as close to calm as I could get I stood up, using my entire body weight to press against the door I timed myself and slowly turned around until my foot was the only thing keeping the door locked, which wasn't much support. I noticed that the door was already starting to break and I lifted the gun. Even if I missed they would be close enough that the power behind the blow would at least knock them back long enough for me to…

I bit my lip hard enough that I started to taste blood. The pain made me focus though and as soon as the door was swung open I pulled the trigger.

Several gunshots were muffled by the sound of police cruisers, fire trucks, and ambulances responding to the dozen frantic calls around Kings County.

To be honest I feel bad for my OC. I can't imagine being forced to kill my own parents.