Uh Oh! I got some bad news. When I was originally writing this fanfic, I wrote it by hand in a folder, then typed it up. But tragically, I lost the folder over the summer, and now I can't seem to find it. That means that unless I find it soon, I will have to redo most of this story. Sorry!
Chapter 7
Soon after the report was over, the cable went out, scaring the crap out of us when the screen suddenly blanked to static and the harsh hiss of white noise.
"Well, that can't be good." I say, looking to Sam. "At least it ca---"
Cutting me off, Sam says: "Don't even finish that sentence!"
"Why?"
"Haven't you ever watched TV or movies? Every time someone says that, things suddenly get a lot worse. Do you want zombies or something worse to bust in here?"
"No."
"Then don't ever say that, because you will always end up regretting it later."
"Fine."
After that little disagreement, I went up stairs to check for anything that might be useful.
"Hello, what do we have here?" I say to myself as I open my dad's old army trunk. Inside are a Remington pump-action shotgun, similar to the one I took from the cop car, loaded with a box of 15 shells, a couple of sets of fatigues, or as my dad called them, "combats", and a box containing 10 live hand grenades. At the last discovery, I couldn't help but shout "Hell Yeah!"
"Find something useful?" Sam called up from downstairs.
"You might say that!" I answer as I start to lug the heavy container down the stairs. 'Those zombies don't stand a chance if the try attacking in groups' I think to myself as I reach the bottom of the steps.
A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update, but I forgot about this story. An excellent story you should read if you like this is "Resident Evil: Project: Lucifer" by Hyperactive Hamster of Doom.