DISCLAIMER: The genius plot of The Walking dead belongs to Robert Kirkman
I am going to die today.
Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and tries to calm herself down. The low growls of the zombies scatter and travel down the desolate hallway on the other side of the metal door she leans against. She slows her heart rate and listens to the sounds that the flesh-eaters create. The worst is the squeaking of shoes against the floor as the dead drag their feet, each stride high-pitched and anxiety inducing. She shivers in her dirty, blue sweatshirt and her black athletic shorts that leave her goose-bump covered legs exposed. Her rough and bony hands shake even though she desperately clings onto an old, discarded box-cutter, her only defense left against the creatures ever since Maria died.
I am going to die today, she repeats to herself.
She licks her chapped lips and tries to forget the gnawing feeling in her stomach. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she had eaten. Was it the day before yesterday? Longer? The last water bottle had been drained this morning and if she didn't go out for supplies, she'd be a goner for sure. But that's how they all died: getting supplies.
She opens her eyes and slowly adjusts to the darkness of the familiar utility closet. The nine-by-seven foot space that used to hold six survivors became vast as people died off. All the other 5 had been taken out the same way: getting food from the hospital's cafeteria only meters down the hall from the tiny closet. Everyone else had volunteered to make the journey; they thought it wouldn't be fair to send the youngest. The girl was 19- only just finished her first year at college. They had thought her youth would have given her the best chance at surviving this goddamned world. The worst part was that she didn't intervene, she didn't step up and say that she would take the risk for their sake. The only reason she lasted this long was because she was a coward.
A faint glow of light peeks through the bottom of the door and illuminates the room enough to see the bare shelves. All of the supplies are gone, just like the people she knew.
Yeah, today is as good as any to die.
She holds the box-cutter in her right hand and gently runs her thumb across the blade. Did she even have the guts to take down one of those zombies? Never had she held a real weapon before; she was a city girl- her parents would've went crazy. She had spent her childhood weekends with a Nintendo 64 and her friends, not outside hunting. The only times she had seen a gun was in movies.
BANG.
The girl's head shoots up. The loud noise erupts into the air again. and again. and again. It becomes continuous.
Gunshots.
Frantically, she adjusts the sleeve of her pathetic weapon to elongate the blade. Another shot is fired, louder and closer than the previous ones. As quietly as she can, she rises to her feet and-
BANG.
The blade makes a loud clatter as it comes into contact with the concrete floor. "Fucking shit," the girl hisses. She clumsily falls back to the floor and feels the ground for the weapon she dropped. Her heart pounds rapidly against her chest and she swears she can hear each pulse. No, no, no. This can't be happening now. Like an idiot, tears begin to fall from her eyes. She had heard about some of the things some people were willing to do to live. By the way this person was firing, it seemed that her time was up.
The hinges of the door screech as the door is thrust open. Bright light irradiates the small room and the girl stops moving, frozen with fear.
"You bit?"
A young man looks down at the figure in front of him with harsh, narrow eyes. His tall, robust frame is clad in jeans and a zipped-up leather jacket, both garments caked in dry blood. In one hand, he holds a large kitchen knife, poised and ready to drive into a skull. In a holster attached to his belt is a handgun. Barrels of shotguns and rifles come out from the backpack slung over his shoulder.
"I'm not infected," she barely whispers. She scrunches her face at the sound of her own, raspy voice. Not only was she found crying, she could hardly get words to come out of her mouth!
"Speak up."
"I-I'm not infected," she stammers with urgency. Her hands shake as she lifts them up in front of herself in surrender. She nods her head, motioning towards the man's weapon. "You gonna kill me?"
Silence fills the air as the dark eyes of the man glaze over; he's contemplating it. Thoughts of killing the other flood both of their minds. The man brings his right hand to rest on the handle of the handgun. The man's shadow grows larger as he looks down at the girl, gazing at her petrified eyes. In a breath of a second, the box-cutter is back in the hands of the girl and she pulls her arm back to strike.
There's a satisfying sound as the steel lodges into the flesh. She pulls the blade out and pounds it back in to hear the noise repeated until she's content. Panting, she sits on the still body and wipes her face on the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
"You've got some blood on your face." She can feel it, the sticky liquid coats her like another layer of skin.
She turns her head to the voice. "You still...thinking of killing me?"
Using the toe of his black combat boots, he kicks the mutilated face of the fallen zombie. He shakes his head and lowers the knife. "You're alone."
She gradually rises and leans herself against the frame of the closet door. "Yeah," she heaves. "I am."
"And judging by your appearance, I'm guessing there's no food in that cafeteria." He points down the hall. She glares at him from under her eyelashes and blows stray strands of black hair out of her face. "You look...hungry."
"Starving. I think the word you're looking for is starving." She spits on her hands and scrubs at the blood on her cheeks. "There's probably more zombies in there than food. If it was easy, I wouldn't be in this situation."
He sighs heavily and throws his arms up in exasperation."Then I came down this fucking wing for nothing." He fishes into his front pants pocket and pulls out a bloody handkerchief, quickly offering it to the grimy girl. When she refuses it, he throws it at her. Annoyed, she catches the material before it can hit the ground and stubbornly cleans her face.
"Sorry for the disappointment," she mutters sarcastically, each word coated in bitterness. "You've only just drawn all the remaining zombies in this hospital to my hideout. Thanks so much." Her arms dramatically gesture towards the trail of dead zombies he had made earlier. "Have fun on your way out." Taken back, he furrows his brow and shakes his head. The man walks into the utility closet and speedily returns, shouldering a black messenger bag. She eyes him suspiciously. "What are you doing with my stuff?"
He grabs the girl by her upper arm and forces her to stand straight. "I'm not leaving you here to die."
Hello! I know this first chapter was pretty rough but I really do hope you found it somewhat interesting. It's been a while since I've actually written something so please bear with me! I'm pretty sure you all found this story kinda weird so far(I mean, I haven't even mentioned the names of the two characters). I promise, promise, promise that this story will make more sense and hopefully become more entertaining for you! Please continue on with reading this story! Feel free to make me smile by leaving a review and telling me what you think!