Zombietalia- Chapter Hell
"Dude, sign my treaty! Please? I'll never ask for anything again!"
The Brit found himself poking his own forehead in frustration, trying not to throw the American over his knee and spank him, as if he were still that child he used to be. He surely acted like it...
Of course, he wished the American wouldn't have walked out of his office when he denied him his signature. For two reasons, really:
The first being that Francis walked in...
The second was that he was in a panic, and he was being followed by skin-hungry cannibals.
The Frenchman slammed the door closed and locked it, his clothes tattered and hanging off his body. Even his normally combed locks were jutted out on his head, his blue eyes clouded over with worry as he jumped behind the desk where Arthur now stood.
"Gracious, Francis. Whatever is the matter?"
Arthur dropped down beside him, and Francis clung to his shirt, pulling him forward until he was sitting against the desk as well.
"Shh...Angleterre. 'Zey are coming for us..."
Arthur didn't speak. He only listened to the groans and grunts from the other side of the door.
"Oui, we are going to die!" He cried out and Arthur shook his head, standing up. Walking over to the door, he placed his eye up to the peep hole, a gasp escaping his lips as he staggered back, glancing back to Francis. The Frenchman waved him back over to the desk, wanting him to get away from the door before they broke it down.
Outside that door stood an army of an angry mob, their bitten and broken nails scratching at the wood. Grey faces molded with scars, cuts and bruises were splattered with bright red specs of blood. Least he forget their yellow teeth that snapped together, forcing their moans and groans to come out as a growl.
Arthur hurried back to Francis, panic finally setting in the pit of his stomach.
"'Zese zombies 'ave taken over 'ze world!" Francis said weakly as Arthur threw open the window that was built into the wall behind them, struggling to get out onto the roof.
Looking out at the world, Arthur shook his head. He sure hoped everyone was okay, especially Alfred. Taking Francis's hand, he carefully slid down to the end of the roofing, staring down into the pool of at least twelve hungry eyes.
A little quiver ran up his spine, seeing at least a hundred bodies running to meet the other six.
Quickly climbing off the small roof, Arthur helped Francis down and took off running, making sure the Frenchman was keeping up all the while, his breath coming out in heavy pants.
"Hurry," The Brit whispered, crawling into a bush so he could collect his thoughts. A thousand zombies could be seen in his office now...If Francis hadn't walked in just a little bit sooner, he would have been zombie food...
Francis grabbed Arthur's arm protectively, tugging on his sleeve. "Angleterre...I believe we 'ave a problem..."
As soon as Arthur saw it, he felt his body tense up and an overwhelming amount of fear hit his chest. There, in the middle of the street was Alfred, stumbling and staggering, his clothes torn and his body covered with blood...And a look in his eyes that hungered for human flesh.
