"Oh my god, Paul, No!"
Milla shrieked in horror as mere milliseconds ago one of her dear friends instantly vanished into the corner, eclipsed by shadow and screams.
"Milla, we have to keep going - NOW!"
George jerked Milla's arm before she could conjure up a single tear. The last of the survivors continued on their frightened flight, their legs rhythmically pumping the asphalt in chaotic panic, ignoring the lungs which were nearly spent and their hamstrings nearly hardened jerky. They had been at this for mere minutes, but mere minutes in a flight against death is an agonizing eternity. Especially when death is most surely inevitable.
These survivors are going to die. Plain and simple. As we know it, the world has officially ended. Within just 24 hours, the human population has been decimated. Destroyed. Devoured. Consumed, literally.
But these last three survivors won't care about the entire world for long, because they are going to die.
"Go! The shelter's just around the block!" Sam shouted as they rounded the end of the dark alleyway and dashed across the street. The gray of smoke, the orange of fire, the sickening yellow of the light-posts and the deafening black of night, Los Angeles, as we know it, is officially a tomb. Narrow black silhouettes began to appear on the horizon down the street, but the three survivors did not dare stop or even look. They already knew what was coming for them.
What they didn't know was what was going to happen to Sam mere moments later.
"Just a little more, then - AAAAAGGGHHH!"
As if out of nowhere, flanked from the right, a dinosaur suddenly snatched Sam on his hips with its jaws.
"SAM!" Milla screamed, once again stopping in mid-dash.
"Oh god, oh god, oh.AAAAACCK!" Sam's sentence abruptly ended with a chunk of his throat devoured by the prehistoric animal. The deinonychus snarled victoriously as it rose it snout into the air, gloriously chomping muscle and flesh into its throat.
Milla stared horrifically, one of her closest friends falling so gruesomely before her eyes. Four other figures were slowly emerging behind the dinosaur, one of them glowing ever-so-brightly, all of them approaching ever so menacingly. For once in her futile escape she had a moment of clarity - she was going to die, which was the correct conclusion for this story. George, however, was not so lucky in the epiphany department, and grabbed Milla by the arm again.
George and Milla darted into another alleyway, turned at the next corner, and kicked open a service entrace door. Not even hesitating to realize that George has effectively broken his foot when he slammed his boot against the antiquated, heavy oak door, George guided Milla down a flight of stairs, down a long service corridor, and finally to a heavier, black steel door. George frantically thumped the keypad, pushed the door in, entered the safety shelter with Milla, and closed the door, sliding shut all four sliding locks and shutting off the the rest of the world for good.
Not that it was going to matter anyway.
"George . . . " Milla whispered, still trembling with shock, but with that cold solemn tone reserved for cold realizations that you were fucked, "we're going to die."
"Milla, no. Don't say that. We're safe now, we're - "
"George, before we die, I just wanted to say . . ." Milla passionately stared into George's brown eyes, making another realization - she truly loved him, and she was the stupidest person on earth to only realize that now. "I . . .I love you."
"Milla . . . I love you too." George hugged Milla passionately, holding her close. "And I wil be by your side, always. I won't leave you."
THOOM.
The heavily locked door toppled on the ground, dust and smoke clouding the entrance.
"And you never will," spoke a femininely cold, dead voice.
The dust settled. The scene became clear. The romantically corny scene we saw before us became overshadowed by the far more threatening and gruesome scene at the doorway.
One was just barely a twelve year old girl, her eyeballs glowing pink, her skin decayed to gray with her left ear missing, the rest of her head covered by a pink hat almost resembling Hello Kitty . . . tainted in blood.
The other was a purple-haired teenage woman, her lips torn open to reveal her red-stained teeh. Her eyes were solid white, and blood was dripping from her hands.
The third, another teenage girl, wore a black dress, but was starched in spots of dried crimson and brown. Flecks of bone and strands of pink tissue lined her neck and lower jaw. Menacingly holding a long, black magician's staff, parts of her otherwise long black hair was missing, along with other pieces of skull.
The fourth was glowing in pale white, blue, and pink, and had it not been for her missing arm, seemingly chewed off hip, and a severed spleen on her other hand, she would have seemed almost normal. But then, the end of the world wasn't about to be normal any time soon.
"We'll make sure you're dined together," snarled the purple-haired teen, as a bloodied deinonychus appeared beside her.
George and Milla held close to each other. Their pupils shrank, their eyes widened. They could no longer move. They knew what was coming for them. Their story is effectively over.
"Yay! Brains!" Molly yipped.
RUNAWAY ZOMBIES: UNDEAD MEANS DEAD
BY
MORAL MARK