Chapter 1
Time to Survive
"No food and only a gallon of water left. Not even," a voice said in a large shed like garage with a safe room door leading inside. "Been a three weeks since I've been in here; do they starve or decompose? My last chance now is using the truck to head to the islands of Hawaii." An old armored tanker truck stood waiting for a driver; it smells like diesel but wasn't a gas truck. Above the armor and fenced metal plating reveals words saying "Dadsons Seal Coating" on the side of the tank.
Footsteps sounded from the second story of the shed, the stairs were wooden as a figure in grey blue jeans stepped down. He grabbed a black jacket with protective plating to prevent bites; he wore a mix bottom piece of a paintball mask and attached safety sunglasses on the upper part with a mix of glue and duck tape; it was to prevent any blood or guts going in his mouth or eyes. He wore grey armored gloves which were also duck taped on. He put on baggy biffs which were lightly armored to prevent being slowed down. He wore tennis shoes to increase his speed.
He put his hood up, a belt with three fanny packs on the side, and two glocks in his belt holsters. "Good thing I'm paranoid," the gunman said going to the corner of the room. "Hey dad I'm sorry but I have to be going you know how surviving is right?" He said as a his father came wildly out with both arms chopped off and chained to the wall, "Mom would want me to put you out of your misery right then and now but I needed to keep my sanity so I had to cut you arms remove your jaw and double chain you to the wall and cement floor. Good memories but your still one of them," he grabbed a hatchet and split the skull of his own father. He threw the blade and grabbed a single tire iron.
He looked out at morning outside and saw nothing but heard grunting noises, he opened it up and an infected was sitting on the ground. He went up and kicked it in the back of the head, "This is so gonna be worth it, I think surviving like this is better than waiting and working out," he stomped his foot on the infected, "How easy do you die?" he pieced the heart and did nothing; he started piercing it three times and died. "And then he died, better bring a machete or two."
He pushed the button on the garage and made a loud noise and he alerted the horde.
He quickly got in and started the truck and made loud rubble. He thought about the knee cappers he added on and thought this would happen. He put it in gear and slowly moved forward, an infected slammed into the truck and died. Others soon followed or rammed by the heavy machine. He decided if others were around he might do them a favor, he gained distance down the empty road and stopped to reverse. They've been run over and some crawling toward it and he simply moved forward to the west.
He traveled down the road by dying cornfields, he found a few vehicles along the way but still kept going. He thought it was awesome to have a very slow metabolism so it won't be hard for him to constantly be finding food if he was desperate. He heard a rumbling noise and saw an overly large monster called a tank coming out of the dying fields trailing him. The truck was too fast but it threw part of the asphalt at it. Luckily it was too far to hit but he thought if he was traveling on foot he wouldn't even made it to the small city of his used to be home.
Closer he got to the city more and more infected were around to chase the truck. A small wooden roadblock stood in the way of the armored machine but he thought twice about ramming in incase of a flat tire. He slowed the truck down and ran to move them, an infected ran out him and he punched it in the face and watched the driverless truck slowly crushed it to death. He quickly got in and with all the adrenaline happing he forgot it was a manual truck and had to turn it on again. Before going in he heard a screaming noise and saw something flew straight at him, called a hunter. As soon as he got in and the hunter clawed at his leg gear and noticed it went almost right through. He closed the door and started the truck and moved forward heading down more a truck repair place.
He slowly moved the truck up to the door and entered with a tire iron in his hand, he switches on the lights but they didn't activate. He attached a flash light on his left arm by putting duck tape around it. He turned it on and looked through the garage he saw blood, the dead, camp sites, and someone crying. He needed to clear out the garage before looking for the cries. He walked around and saw an infected up against the wall puking its guts out literally. He bashed the head and went down instantly, "Headshots huh?" he said aloud. He heard something barged through the door and heard coughing, not a human cough. He went to search for it; his legs were shaking and pulled out his glock but had the tire iron on his right hand. A wet rope wrapped around him and dragged him to a dark corner. He managed to move just enough for his weapon to shoot the thing dragging him. It loosened up but walked toward him and quickly put the flashlight on it and it was a tall and had a deformed face, called a smoker. He stood there for a moment but ran at it and kicked it back, it stumbled back and aimed his glock at its head and shot it. It fell dead and he put his hand on his head and was breathing uneasy, "C'mon this is an apocalypse, get you act straight you need to survive," he said to himself.
He finally got over it and went towards the cries. A room with sparks lit up the room but only for a few seconds repeating its pattern. He walked in and saw an infected girl with long sharp claws called a witch looking straight at him. He jumped back into the darkness and swore he skipped a beat. He slowly closed the door so he could get spare tires for the truck and other parts.
He forced the garage open and gathers all the equipment he needed to make for the journey to the east. He had a few moments rest and checked the scratch the hunter made; it was bleeding. He thought to himself how long had it been. He looked at the walls by the camps and saw writings by survivors. They said how they turned and one said in five minutes. He thought to himself and it must be a bite in order to turn not a scratch. He found a med kit and decided to put it on his back in case he needed it.
Once everything was all set he continue to drive east down the country road of Illinois. Hours of driving and only fifty or more infected hit him. The truck stopped and he needed to walk around a bit in case anything happens but when he does a noise of inhuman barfing noise sounded in the field. He took out his glock and pointed it at the dead corn field; what came out was an overweight infected couch potato, called a boomer.
They met eye to eye and none of them moved; he held his weapon up and it went back into the field. "It knows my weapon is lethal," he said to himself. He pretended to turn to the truck and turned again and shot at the visible boomer and exploded, "He had an exploding ending. No that sucks never again," he said and drove down the road towards a small town.
He entered the town and it looks as though they were overrun a few days ago. Nothing but fires and the dead laying around; he got out looking around and there were no infected around. "Hey you!" A voice said on top of a roof, "Where you going?"
The kid was eighteen, he had light brown hair, his clothes were ripped and noticed he had blood stains; he waved him down with a katana in his hand "Have you been bitten!" the gunman questioned him.
"I'm immune!" he said as he climbed down.
The gunman pulled out his glock, "For how long?" he said aiming at him.
"Dude dude chill it's been a week since I got bit. Are immune?" He said questioning him.
"I've been scratched but not bitten. I just got out of hiding and need food," the gunman said.
"I got some but please I beg you take me with you!" He begged.
"Hurry before more show and bring a gun," he said.
Few minutes later they packed everything in the truck and had to throw out some of the spare tires for the survivors and the food. They soon headed east down the deserted road.