Chapter 1
This small planet, used to be called Planet Earth, I think, not anymore. Not since that special day, well it used to be special until 'it' invaded. This small planet doesn't really have a name now, not since the flesh-eating infected, or zombies, spread across the world killing, and re-awakening most of us. Perfect future this turned out to be for me!
They started by just infecting animals, until one dumb-ass decided to take a closer look to prove to his mates he had guts, which really he didn't, the ironic thing is this happened on Christmas Day, lovely right, but anyway, obviously that stupid guy got infected, so he was rushed to the only doctor in the world that had the cure, and they used all of it curing him, except that healed guy infected the doctor and staff so, nobody knows the cure for this world wide disaster.
The only problem with all of this is that, that guy, the stupid dumb-ass... was me. I know I basically started the death of millions but, it's not as bad as it seems... wait, no it is as bad as it sounds, wow, I really am a dumb-ass?
So I am human again, thank God, except I am all alone. I sort of infected my family, and what you're supposed to do is kill the zombies, but I chickened out and took my dad's car to God-knows where I am now. So, they are running, well not really running, more like a crawl like stagger, somewhere around London... awesome?
So really I am a loner, great? On a brighter note I am Myles, Myles Hardwicke, shaggy brown-haired loser from Southampton. Never had a girlfriend, never kissed a girl, closest I came to kissing a girl was when a horse licked my face? Not really the same thing? I am twenty-five-years-old, born 25th June 1985, obsessed with COD (Call of Duty) and other amazing Xbox, Play Station, iPod, Nintendo and Nintendo WII games, not the favourite child of my parents, or anybody actually. I have, or used to have an older twin brother and sister, James and Sabrina, perfect little brats, but, they are probably rotting in a ditch somewhere now... hopefully for my sake.
Going back to the thing about me starting this whole disaster off, of course when it happened it was all over the news in every country possible, brilliant, but they only had a picture of me, not my name, so as long as people here have bad memories, I should survive a slight bit longer!
So it's been about three months of terror, and I am walking down this empty motorway with a load of abandoned, burnt-out cars, and the odd dead body, human and zombie, every now and then, when I hear an engine grumbling behind me; I turn round shocked to see a black Land Rover racing towards me with a number '3' painted in white on each of the front doors, so I do the obvious thing and hide behind a blue motorbike making sure my Dad's revolver is loaded, even though I am scared breathless, when the Land Rover screeches to a halt in front of me, oh crap!
The black door opened round the other side and a tall, beefy guy walked round, he has a black leather jacket with a grey shirt on under it, he also had dark blue slashed jeans on and snake skin boots, with one of those classical cow-boy hats on. He reached for his aviator sunglasses and put them in his jacket pocket, looking at me with a 'what the heck are you?' kind of look. I saw in his other hand he had a rifle, and in his jean pockets he had a few hand guns, perfect!
"What ya doin here kid? Should ya be home with ya Mommy and Daddy?" he snickered. "I am twenty-five, so I'm not a kid, I'm Myles, I'm trying to get to Arizona, America, apparently there is a safe house there" I mumbled.
"Woo-Hee you kids ah stupid ta-day!"
"Sorry, what?"
"There no such thing as a safe house, just ah pathetic rumour!"
"Where you heading anyway?"
"None ya business, just goin where ever"
"Mind if I tag along?"
"As long as ya keep that whiney mouth of ya's shut"
I nodded, threatened by his very presence. I got in the passenger seat of the black Land Rover and he started the engine, speeding off in to the distance. "Err, what's your name?" I asked. "Thought I told ya to shut up!" "Sorry" I whispered. I looked in the rear view mirror to see even more guns and scary weapons on the back seat, lovely; I am stuck in a car with some crazy looking killer!
The journey was quiet, but every few minutes there would be a zombie or two on the road and the guy didn't hesitate, not once, and ran them straight down, it didn't kill all of them but they had a hard time walking.
I wanted to talk to him, find out more about him, but I was too afraid, so for now I will call him Aviator, as he seems religious about those sunglasses, even though it was very cloudy with no sun to be seen anywhere.
At first Aviator seemed quiet, but after a while he started talking to me, I wasn't allowed to talk still, but I sort of enjoyed listening to him. He had an interesting story to tell.
"I err, am headin to Arizona too, same reason as you, just lookin for some hope" and other things like "lost all ma family to, Mom, Dad, Brother, everyone" and even more "Ya can stay with me as long as ya keep quiet, and do as I tell ya!"
Then he asked me about my past, and I told him all of it, but slightly different, not the bit about me starting all of this off, but the bit about all of my family gone and stuff. He looked like he might cry, he didn't, but I could see that there was more to him than just a bad-ass scary guy.
The journey was quiet after that, He put the radio on but kept turning it off when the dial went fuzzy and irritating. We drove towards Southampton, to the docks looking for an abandoned boat and hopefully a map to make our way to America. I had no idea how to steer a boat, I don't even know which way is North, let alone which way America is? Strangely Aviator and I sort of liked each other, not like homosexually, but as sort of friends. Let's say we enjoyed each other's company, and it was much better to have one another than to be wondering around here alone. I felt safe with Aviator, he seemed to be a gun expert, and he enjoyed killing the zombie things which I guess is lucky for me. Aviator saw me as a handy man I guess, to like help carry his guns and his ridiculous amount of ammunition. Either way I preferred to be the carrier and not the shooter.
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