And so, I find myself writing this chapter in my new house. It was an interesting sort of move; there was much falling out and high tension throughout the entire thing. Despite this, there is nothing more satisfying than sitting in your own living room, in your pjs with a blanket covering you, drinking hot chocolate and writing a chapter of your fanfic. This is heaven and it was well worth the wait and crap I went through to get here. :D

Enough about me; it's time for chapter 9 of Zombie Land.

Thanks to Canadian Hero who is indeed a hero for their review! :)

Before I start; I don't own Hetalia. :'(

"What about you?"

"I have… A lot of thinking to do. Don't worry; I won't try anything like this again tonight. Go to bed, America, you look like you need the sleep."

America bit back his, 'So do you' and left the room. After all that had happened that day, he would either sleep like a log or have a night ridden with nightmares. He sincerely hoped it wouldn't be the latter.

"WHAT DID HE SAY?"

America looked down at the awfully loud, blonde-headed Englishman. It was too early for people to be directing deafening, cryptic questions at him. The young man weakly pushed the other out of his face and wandered over to the kitchen bench in search of his morning coffee fix.

He groaned as his vaguely aware mind registered that he was in England's house. England didn't have a coffee machine nor did he keep coffee beans and that meant only one thing: instant coffee.

"America, you have some fucki-"

"England, coffee first, questions later. If you're not gonna help me, shut up." America said darkly; he could feel his head starting to hurt as he groped around a cupboard, looking for the small jar that held deliverance from his own personal hell- caffeine withdrawal.

The elder man grumbled and took over; telling Alfred to go and sit down. Canada, who was munching on some charcoaled toast, moved over a little so that he could sit down next to him. America grunted in thanks. The Canadian mumbled a no problem and muttered something about going to get the post he had just heard come through the letterbox.

It was only after America drank two mugs of coffee that he was able to think on a more coherent level. He looked over to where his host (and his host's brothers) was and jumped a little when he saw them looking at him, each with annoyance in their eyes, but also with a little bit of hope.

"O.K. shoot" he said.

Immediately, all four brothers started talking at the same time, asking different things and giving America a worse headache than the one he had come into the kitchen with. "Guys," he spoke over them, "One at a time!"

They all stopped speaking and looked at one another before nodding, this time it was England that spoke up after cancelling a call on his phone, "America, something went wrong with that spell last night, and we need to understand why. We think you might have the answer."

America, not knowing what England was talking about, stared blankly at him as he continued, "before I tried that spell you saw last night, I tried other ones, ones used to reanimate the dead…"

"That's the one that Wales and South were talking about," America said, "the one that traps the dead person's soul in their body. Why would you do that?"

England, who was sat at the end of the table, lowered his tea and started at his ex-protégé, "I did it because I wanted my brother back. Anyway, the reanimation spells didn't work and so, I decided to try something a little bit more, err, drastic."

"I heard what happened," South said when England got distracted by his phone again, "Basically, the great eedjit thought that since the spells he had tried didn't work, that and the fact that Scotland was Scotland, naturally because his spells never fail, the bastard had become a demon and a simple summoning spell would bring him back."

"Right, but then why did it summon Russia? Did he get it wrong?" America said, prompting a glare from England.

"Well, Wales and I looked at the circle and it seemed fine, it's just that, for some reason England is just not able to summon a demon any higher than mid rank. If he tries, he ends up summoning Russia. Of course, it could just be that Alasdair didn't become a demon…"

"Which means," North butted in, "That Ali has either become a high demon,-"

"-Which I wouldn't put past him-" England muttered as he left the room to answer the house phone that was now sounding throughout the house.

"-Or England is miserably bad at magic and we all overestimated him! Which is what we're trying to figure out."

America's mind whirred at a thousand miles an hour; he couldn't see how they could have a question for him. They knew more about this than he did.

"America," Wales said, almost pleadingly, "what were Alasdair's last words?"

At that moment, a newspaper came running into the room, the headline boldly printed and taking over half of the front page. It then slammed itself in the table in front of the three Kirkland brothers in the room who then jumped as a hand, belonging to Canada, pointed at the headline, directing their attention at the text they hadn't been able to read earlier for Canada's running.

North dropped the spoon he had been using to eat his cereal with and ran out of the room, "ENGLAND?" he hollered.

"Wales and South also stopped what they were doing, fished their mobiles out of their pockets. It was then that America pulled the tabloid over to himself and read the headline;

ZOMBIES IN ENGLAND

Trying to keep his heart rate down, he read on; some of the zombies from the day before had somehow managed to get through the barricade and infected some of the locals. Thinking that their relatives had just gotten really ill, the infected's family then took them to the hospital and from there the virus had spread. The Welsh Assembly and Scottish Parliament had set up another blockade along their borders with strict control over who enters and leaves. For now, Westminster advised for uninfected people in the North of England to go to Scotland, those in the West of England to head for Wales and for those living in the South-East to head to their designated clean zone where they would receive further instruction.

Alfred looked up when England came bursting into the room with North on tow. South and Wales were still furiously talking on their phones and didn't seem to be even speaking English anymore. He marched over to the two North Americans, "You," He pointed to America before moving to Canada, "and you. Both of you get packed and get your stuff into the car from yesterday."

Wales finished his call, "Who was it?"

"Her majesty."

"And?"

England looked at Wales grimly and answered both questions asked in that 'and', "She's been at Balmoral for a week. We've all to head over to yours. We'll take your car and mine?"

Wales nodded, "I'll go fetch Japan."

North had left the room again and America could hear a, "FROG, GET OUT OF THE SHOWER!" coming from upstairs.

All in all, it had taken them all about half an hour to get all their stuff together and into the cars. South decided he was driving England's car and Wales wouldn't let North anywhere near his driver's seat but allowed him in the front passenger's seat.

It was when they were pulling out of the England's street that Wales started the conversation that had been interrupted earlier, "So, America," he began, "What did Scotland say before he left us with this mess?"

"Well," America searched him memory, "I remember him saying he would be waiting for you all…"

Wales chucked, "Sounds like him."

"And there was something about a 'low road'?

There was a screech of wheels and the sound of South blaring the horn behind as he swerved to avoid them. Two pairs of equally wide, startlingly green eyes turned looked back at him at the same time and the two brothers in the front opened their mouths at the same time;

"What did you say!?"

Just before I start explaining stuff, I would like to apologise for the quality of writing in this chapter. Perhaps it's because there's so much speech in this chapter of the fact that there's so much going in but I'm just not completely happy with this chapter. :/ I've been a little bit distracted this week. :')

Now for explaining stuff, America strikes me as the sort of person that would have freshly ground coffee in the morning and have instant as a last resort. England (though I do know a few English people who own coffee machines), is portrayed as an avid tea drinker in this story and, as is in my and most of my friends' houses, has no rituals for coffee. It's just dumped in any old mug with boiling water, some milk is added and it's put in front of the visitor. Whereas tea must be brought in in a tea pot and served in the decent mugs… Yeah.

You may not realise, but in this chapter, I actually told you what month of the year it is. :P Anyone who can figure it out gets to wow all the people (including me) who read my reviews (so probably not many people) or just me if you pm me with the answer with their impressive knowledge. What more could you want? XD

As for the significance of the 'low road'? Well, you're just going to have to read the next chapter to find out.