Hey guys! I just joined this site, and it looks pretty damn cool! Alright, so i love the zombie genre and everything that goes with it. I recently decided to try my hand at writing some fiction. This is my first attempt. im an avid reader but never wrote anything. ok let me know what you think:
My father used to tell me how the world came to be how it is.
“Before all this,” He’d say,” we had everything you could want, food, water, and medicine.”
I guess the war did away with all that. He said it started by someone bombing a white house. From there a war started and then the bombs fell. There was about seven billion living people around at that time skip forward twenty years and there are just the scattered remains and the undead. I used to ask him where the zombies came from.
“They first appeared about a year after the bombs fell, no one really knows how,” was all he ever said on the subject.
My father was more concerned with teaching me how to survive. How to evade the zombie, how to kill the zombie, how to kill a man. In the summer we would plant our food for the year. Repairs to our home were made. Defenses strengthened. Escape routes practiced. Winter was the time for excursions in to the dead towns and cities to find anything of use. Zed heads don’t like the cold, so this was the optimal time to scavenge. We spent most of our time indoors those cold months. Time best utilized by learning how to make radios, how to fix an engine, how to keep the solar and wind generators maintained. I particularly enjoyed when he taught me how to make explosives. My dad taught me everything I know to survive in this hellish place, but his most important lesson? A healthy distrust of everyone.
“People will get you killed son. Our home here is like a beacon to anyone wandering by whether they are alive or dead. The dead, they’re easy, they only want to eat you. But people, they might want that too, and everything else here to boot. You ever see a live person ‘round here, you consider them even more dangerous than those zombie bastards trying to get through our fences.”
In my youth I never really understood that. I always thought we were the good guys and Zeds were the bad guys. I didn’t fully understand what he was talking about until we got our first visitor, and the first person I’ve ever seen besides my dad who wasn’t shambling along trying to eat me. I had just finished planting some homemade landmines outside our western fences when I heard my dad yelling at this guy. Whatever it was they were arguing about, I’ve never seen dad as scared as then. I started running to him. He shot the newcomer and I stopped in my tracks. I heard another shot and my dad was on the ground. A truck rammed its way through our main gate and right over dad. I didn’t hesitate, father taught me to well for that. Two shots and two dead motorists. That left the one at the gate. He was wounded but not dead. I quickly rectified the problem with a well placed bullet. With Dad dead and a compromised fence, I understood why he said people were more deadly than the Zombies. No time for grieving dad right now, with all this blood on the ground, this place will be crawling with the undead soon enough. I fix the gate and bring dad inside. Drag the dead bodies right up to the choke point near the main entrance. Nice bait I think to myself, still warm. I run back to the house and go to the sniper nest. Its gonna be a long night of killing all the Zeds that heard our little shoot out and come to see if there’s any fresh meat.