Rating: Unknown. For now, PG-13.
Word Count: 905
Summary: Kris isn't taking this whole "zombie apocalypse" thing too well.
Kris’s first reaction is shock. Abandoned cars are left in crashed clusters and the stop lights at every intersection are no longer working. There is complete silence. Not a single body in sight. No living ones at least. Kris peeks into the window of one car and sees the carcass of a dead woman surrounded by buzzing flies.
Kris’s second reaction is fear. How long had he been under? What happened during that time? The adrenaline is pumping in his system again as he makes his way down another deserted street.
His third reaction is panic. His younger brother— what happened to him? Is he safe? Is he even still alive? Kris doesn’t want to think about what would happen if the answer were no. His pace quickens as he heads in the direction of their apartment, and all Kris can do is hope that all this is just a bad dream.
Kris ends up at a park somehow. It’s just as deserted as everything else. He sees a bike lying on its side next to a curb. He knows that he can’t continue on foot; his scratched feet are screaming in pain and the pain from his abdominal wound isn’t helping him at all. He approaches the bike and lifts it to a standing position. Kris is throws his leg over the seat and is about to start pedaling when he hears it. The sound of a deadly moan causes him to stiffen and his heart to race faster. The sight he sees next does little to assuage him.
A woman is hissing and screeching at him, dragging her body toward him with her decaying hands. She drags herself because the lower half of her body is completely gone, the bottom of her spinal chord and her lower ribs can be seen clearly. Her skin is peeling and left eye is missing. Blood stains the grass as she pulls herself towards Kris. She shrieks and hisses at him and Kris begins pedaling immediately, forcing himself not to stick around. He pedals as fast as he can, but the bike doesn’t seem to go fast enough. Kris turns left onto a street and sees a man standing on the corner. Somehow, Kris knows something is wrong with him too. Finally, he sees his apartment at the end of the street. His heart is pumping and Kris doesn’t know whether it’s from fear or anticipation.
The front door is unlocked and swings open with a light push.
“Jay? You here? Hello? Jay?” Silence. Kris looks in his brother’s room and then in his own room. Aside from furniture, his apartment is completely empty, to say the least. Several pictures that hung on the wall are missing and the only thing of his brother’s that he could find was an old baseball cap on the floor of his room. “Jay?!” he calls out again and again, only to get silence in response.
Kris stumbles out of his apartment, a lump rising in his throat. It scares him that he doesn’t know whether his brother is alive or dead. It angers him that he hadn’t been around to protect him. He gets to the lawn that skirts the front of the apartment complex and does something he never thought he’d do: getting to his knees, he begins to cry. A broken sob bubbles out of his throat first, and then another, then another, and then they just don’t stop. Tears roll down his cheek and Kris wipes them away with the back of his wrist. A thought suddenly crosses his mind.
Kris’s thoughts are put on hold when Kris hears that blood-chilling moan again. It was that man he had seen before. He has a weird limp and drags his feet along with him rather than walking. His hair is extremely thinned out and Kris can see pieces of his scalp gone and oozing at the gaps. Skin and tissue under his lower lip is missing; dried blood covers his cheeks, neck, and arms. Kris gets up from his spot on the lawn and backs up. The man is now ten feet away and Kris doesn’t know what to do.
“E-excuse me, sir,” Kris sputters out. “Sir?” The man shrieks angrily for a moment but is silenced abruptly when a gun shot is fired and the bullet lands straight through his forehead. Kris trips backwards in surprise. He sits up and turns to looks for who had fired the gun but the last thing he sees is a young male swinging a shovel towards his head. And then everything is black.
Kris wakes up with a pounding head ache.
“Ow….” he mumbles. He tries to reach for his head to rub his temples but can’t. His hands are bound to a bed with plastic restraint ties. Kris looks around him in a panic. He is in a bedroom, his hands restrained to opposite sides of the bedpost. Heavy blankets are hung up in front of all the windows and Kris isn’t sure if it’s day or night. Suddenly, the bedroom door opens, a man standing there with a gun in his hand approaching him slowly, the barrel aimed at his head.
“What’s going on?” Kris asks forcefully, tugging at the plastic ties that dig into his wrists.
“Are you bit?” the man replies.