An Overview
Disclaimer: I own nothing. NOTHING!
Note: If you knew what this story was about before you read it, kudos. Because the title is so in-descriptive you must be Jesus fucking Christ.
The yelling. It was unbearable. It drove her insane. The fists pounding against the reinforced steel door. She couldn't take it anymore. With a yell, a Glock 17 appeared from the black leather of a holster taken from a dead police officer. It fired five rounds through the bars of the door. This was followed by several thumps as bodies hit the ground. There was a brief reprieve from the beating on the door and arms reaching through the bars, but it didn't last long. Soon, the infected were at it again. "I can't stand this bullshit anymore! Goddammit how hard can it be to find bullets for the most used gun in the fucking world?!" she raged, making Louis shrink back into the couch of the safe room. "Ugh, I'm sick of this shit! Where are they?" Louis set down the Winchester he was cleaning and said, in response "It's not exactly the easiest thing to find ammunition in a post-apocalyptic city, Zoey, especially when that's the first thing people take." Zoey sighed and collapsed on the couch, red hoodie torn from countless close calls. "You're right, it's just annoying to not be able to get out of this godforsaken shack. We shouldn't have wasted so much of our ammo on that tank. We could have lured it off the bridge," Zoey said. Louis nodded agreement. "True, but it was a bit too close for comfort, and it was about to throw the car at us." Zoey's face morphed into a wicked smirk at the mention of that. "Oh, yeah, and remember how you screa-" Louis cut her off with a loud "Hey!" of protest. "I thought it was about to throw a red hummer at me. Any sane person would be scared." Zoey's smirk grew even wider. "Yeah, but I've never heard a higher pitched scream than that. I mean, even when a spider crawled on my face in my sleep as a kid, I didn't scream that loudly." Louis grumbled and went back to cleaning his Winchester shotgun. There was no real reason for it- he was out of ammo too and his gun was so clean it would have shamed Adrian Monk. Monk. What a great TV series that was... had been. Zoey tried to free herself from thoughts like that. It only depressed her.
Unfortunately, this meant clearing her head, and clearing her head made the infected banging on the door even louder. She stared longingly at the AKM that Bill had taken off a dead Vietcong in '69, smuggled it out when he was called home in '73, and then given to her when they had first met. She had fallen in love with the gun almost as quickly as the Soviet Union had. Much cheaper to produce than its older brother, the AK-47, which undeservedly stole all its fame, it had first been issued in the early 1950s. Until the U.S started using the M16 in Vietnam, the Soviets had never even thought of swapping their AKMs. Even then, it had taken fourteen years for the AK-74 to be issued to the Soviet troops. Zoey knew all of this for two reasons: her laptop had survived the outbreak, and the internet was still up. There was a site for survivors in "infected America"; it contained information on anything and everything the survivors needed to know about. "Infected America" stretched all along the Western Seaboard. It was a worldwide outbreak, and America had, amazingly, not been hit hardest. The Chinese were drowning, ironically, in the manpower that they were so proud of. One of their submarines had even defected, the (A/N: Starting to sound familiar? Damn right it is. Also, disclaimer: I do not own this idea) Admiral Zheng. Nobody really knew if there was a Brazil anymore, and Iceland... oh, man, poor Iceland. The casualty rate for the human race in Iceland was 98 out of 100. 2% of Iceland was left alive, and that number decreased every day.
The only countries that were actually winning were Israel and Russia. It turned out that zombies couldn't stand the cold, and Israel...well, Israel is Israel. Internet aside, there were also radio stations dedicated to those trapped in infected America. Zoey decided she'd browse the internet on the group's laptop, which was currently charging. How fortunate that they were in an a safe house with electricity and multiple sockets. Some had had the power cut by gunfire or other things. She got the laptop from its resting place on the small table next to the couch and bought it onto her lap. Louis, who had now moved on to cleaning his Sig Sauer, leaned over and looked at the laptop. Zoey, oblivious to Louis, decided to check up on the news. CNN was fairly reliable. She went onto their site, and gasped at the title of the top news story: U.S starts push into infected territory.
Zoey and Louis both cheered at the same time. Zoey really didn't care that Louis had been reading over her shoulder. Zoey set the laptop on the table, they both hugged tightly, then Zoey jumped up, ran to the safehouse entrance and flipped the zombies the middle finger. She then ran back, picked up the laptop and clicked on the link to the story. She began reading aloud. "The United States military has today begun its push into infected territory. Five whole army groups, three months ago recalled from Iraq, are today beginning their push into infected territory. Special forces will be inserted ahead of them to evacuate areas known to have many survivors. The U.S has requested- and received- help from Russia and Israel to help with this part of the operation. To anybody reading this in IA, hold on. Help is coming." Zoey closed the laptop and put it on the table. She then closed her eyes, rested against the couch, and sighed happily. "Thank god," she said. Louis was just sitting there with a really stupid grin on his face. Both were awakened from their trance by the sound of gunfire from the safehouse exit. Louis jumped up and picked up the blood-stained metal base-ball bat that they had found in the safehouse, and Zoey pointed her Glock at the door. It was soon flung open by Bill and Francis. Both were carrying backpacks filled to the brim with ammunition.
Zoey started hopping up and down in excitement. Louis, ever cautious, ran a cloth through the insides of his shotgun one more time before joining Zoey in pouring over the backpacks. "Merry Christmas," said Francis, who looked very satisfied with his new gun, which was as AKS-74u. Zoey didn't press as to how he'd found it. If the dead were walking, then sure, she'd buy that there were AKS-74us in America. Zoey grabbed two containers filled with 7.62x39 ammo and went to fill up the AKM's magazines. Bill put out the cigarette he was smoking, and then called everybody over after they were finished recharging their magazines. They agreed on a plan, and then agreed to move in the morning. After that, Louis and Zoey filled them in on what they had found out in the news. This was followed by several drinks from bottles of wine that had been stored in the safehouse. They were all drunk off their asses by the time they went to sleep. Zoey finally got the satisfaction of emptying a whole magazine into the zombies remaining outside the safehouse entrance. After that, she laid down to go to sleep. It was her turn to sleep on the couch. She, and all the other survivors, went to sleep on the thought that they would probably survive.