A/N:
Before we get started, I'd like to mention that I'm not going to strictly stick to the official special infected. I'll still use them, but will make up some of my own. Now that that's out of the way, on with the story!
SUNDAY ROSE:
I remember it like it was yesterday.
It started with one. It always does. Then that one became many and from there... well, stuff really hit the fan if you know what I mean. Because, believe it or not, when you've got a zombie infection in Vegas, it sure doesn't stay there.
My sister and I have always had a penchant for getting into trouble. Two teenage girls in the brightest, probably-not-biggest-but-sure-seemed-like-it-somet imes, wildest city in America... Well, you get the picture. However, nothing Sunny and I had ever done, and oh, was there a list, had ever been this big. This bad. This... Insane.
I'm sure that most of you have read books about zombies or played games about killing zombies, but, let me tell you, it ain't that easy. Unlike in the video games, there are not handy-dandy guns and ammo lying about on countertops or sidewalks. In fact, I haven't even seen a gun since this whole thing started. And that was what, a week-ish ago? Keeping track of time hasn't really been my biggest concern.
And as I write this, peering out the window of our beat-up, partially bombed out apartment...
"Zed comin' upstairs!" Sunny calls, scrambling for her weapon, a large meat cleaver that we are ever so grateful to our probably zombified mother for buying. In case you can't tell, I'm not that torn up about it. In fact, if it was her shambling up that staircase right now, I'd have no problem putting her out of her misery.
"What's the big deal?" I ask. "It's just one after all. We'll deal with it when it gets here. Then again, you might've attracted the whole block with your shouting. Not that there'd be that many even then." Again, thanks to our not-so-dearly-departed mother. She and Mark - our stepdad - were far too cheap to buy one of the nice apartments closer to the shops, casinos, hotels... Well, everything. Thing is, most of the Zeds migrated downtown, where most of the food was. It's been pretty quiet around here up until now, but I guess they've been spreading out now that the buffet has been exhausted.
"It's one of the big ones, Sunday."
"How big?"
"Take a look."
I peer around the doorframe, and come face to hood with a hunter. It leaps at me, and I dodge out of the way. "Thanks, Sunny," I say with rather panicked sarcasm.
"No problem," she squeaks out, the cleaver held out in front of her. She's completely useless when it comes to stuff like this. A few common infected, no biggie. But as soon as it's a spitter or a chrager or anything like that, she's about as useful as a wet noodle. I have to keep our opponent distracted. Because I can get bitten. Sunny... Not so much.
"Hey, ugly!" I yell. Clichéd, I know. But in situations like this, sometimes clichés are the only things I can think of. Thing is, my twin and I are identical in almost every way. All but one, in fact. Same hair, same eyes, same voice - but I'm immune. She's not.
The hunter claws its way up one wall, leaving rusty smears of blood on it. He leaps at me, and I dive out of the way. Or, at least, try to. It grabs my arm and pins me, its long fingers already swinging towards my stomach. I block, and it slices my arm. Warm blood starts to trace red streams across my skin. The scratches are deep. I can't block the next slash fast enough.
Suddenly, as my evisceration is about commence, the zombie goes limp. It falls forward, and I push it off with my good arm. A meat cleaver is embedded in its neck.
"Did I do good, Sunday?"
"Yup, Sunny. You did real good."