Author's Note: If you do enjoy this first chapter so far please tell me, if you enjoy it I'll post more chapters.
I awoke, loud pops sounded outside of my home. The yelling of my family shocking me awake. I jumped out of bed, only grabbing shorts and my own 12 gauge shotgun and eight extra shells, all were slugs.
When I reached the door I spotted my older brother on the ground, bleeding from a large hole around his jugular. Dozens of what seemed like walking corpses were stumbling down our country driveway that would normally be out of sight for most. I took aim, the sights lined up on one of these strangers, then pulled the trigger. The weapon kicked further into my shoulder with a bang that alerted the rest of my family of my presence in the fight. I took aim again-
My name is Josh 'Viper' Winchester, and I was only sixteen when the attack happened. I was well trained with weapons by military men of two branches, I could take apart and put back together all of our weapons within minutes. I was extremely handy and always carried two pocket knives; one short and 'made' for picking locks, the other long enough to kill (or at least come close).
I was five foot seven at the time and had short cut hair and a clean shaven face. Among my normal jeans and whatever shirt I had, I always wore a pair of boots (of my three pairs). My desert ones for the summer, my blacks during the winter or when drilling in ROTC, and my camos when hunting or simply walking through the woods.
The shell flew and impacted one of their skulls, blowing it apart. I ran to my older brother, Mike, who was barely breathing, clutching one of his stolen M67 Frags.
"G-get them out of-" he coughed up a little blood, "of here. Go, I'll take them with me." He said, clearly not fearing his own sacrifice for our lives.
I stood and ran for my father, "Dad!" He paused his firing to listen, "Mike says he'll take them out but we need to move!"
"Yeah, no shit!" He fired a three shot burst, which echoed loudly from his .223 through the garage. "Alright. You get your mother, sister and younger brother out of here. Grab whatever gear you can from the house and use the woods to run, I'm gonna get my MG and set up near your brother." He looked me in the eyes, "You make sure to get them out, you hear? Go! Everyone inside, lock everything up for more time!"
I hugged him and followed the remainder of my family inside. We separated and I grabbed all of my own guns from my room: A snub nosed .38 revolver, a PX4 Storm loaded with .45 ACP rounds, my Mosin Nagant 91/30, my clothes, a large backpack which I loaded all the ammo I had into, and my knives(now with my machete as well). I walked out of my room and down stairs where everyone else had been arming up from the gun safe. (They kept theirs in the safe, I refused to.)
As we were exiting through the back door, my mother handed all of us gas masks and some filters. As we entered the woods we heard a single explosion which shook the ground beneath us, then, dozens of separate pops followed by the collapse of our home.
They say that home is where your heart is...but if your heart lies with the dead, does that mean that your home is with the dead?