Generation Z: Chapter One- Beggining

Back in 2013, a virus broke out. It happened so quick; no one could get out of its way. Newspaper headlines started saying “The Dead Uprising”. Some say the world was coming to an end. I say it didn’t. We are still here. We are still fighting. We are still surviving.

It was late July when my town got its first taste of infection. It started with a tourist from California. Some say that is where the virus originated. Well, he drove in, crashed, was rushed to the hospital, and………

Boom.

The entire hospital was overrun in only a few minutes. Police had no choice; to prevent further infection, the hospital was quarantined. They kept it like that for a while, about a week. Then, this religious nut opened the gates of hell, A.K.A: the hospital doors. It began to spread like wildfire. Right before I got the friendly knock at my door, I packed my crap, grabbed my shotgun, and was ready at the door. The first zed to smash my door open got buck shot in the face. I stepped out of my home, and blasted the neighbors. All hell was breaking loose. Before I got to my car, I had already wasted eight Zack.

Downtown was the epicenter. The National Guard and the police were trying to fight them off. I knew there wasn’t any hope. I dodged vehicles, the dead, and the living. I was probably the only survivor of the outbreak.

Next, I drove to Atlanta, where a few of my friends lived. All were zombie freaks like me. All were ready.

The first was Jason. He lived alone, and was hostile to people he didn’t know. He kept his hair long, even though he knows it’s dangerous to have hair period in a Zack apocalypse. He wore a lot of black, and still loves knives. He had two handguns (that I know of), sawn-off shotgun, and a rifle. When I told him about what happened, he grabbed his stuff, threw it in his truck, and told me he wants to be part of my “survivor convoy”. Of course, I said yes. He loaded a handgun, tucked it in his pants, and jumped in his vehicle.

Next were Jesse and Sara. They were roommates. It’s kinda weird, a male and a female living in the same house, and both have a lot in common. But they weren’t dating. And Sara isn’t that hard to look at, if you know what I mean. Long blonde hair, and a beautiful body. Joe had short black hair, and was extremely built. Joe told me Sara was like the little sister he never had. Sara told me Joe was like the brother she never had. Well, they both were big in the weapon collecting business. From swords to semi-automatic rifles, they had almost everything. When Jason and I got there, they agreed to come with us. They grabbed only the essentials. Few rifles, handguns, shotguns, blades, and a crap load of ammunition. Sara had a Mustang, so she and Joe put all of their equipment into it. Joe had Kawasaki Ninja. Straight black, along with the black jumpsuit, made him look awesome. To make him not only look cooler, but lethal, was a Musashi Katana; beautifully dangerous. And a Glock 21 was at his waist.  Sara kept a homemade machete, and an ordinary nine millimeter. Now, with our growing numbers, we had one last stop.

We call him Jack. This was the kind of guy you wanted on your side if the “shit hit the fan”. Outside of his home, at first glance, he seems like your average guy. But the moment you walk into his house, that image fades pretty damn quick. He used to be a Marine. After he was dishonorably discharged for assault, he started collecting guns. I don’t mean regular gun collecting. He built a secret basement, and stored his “collection” there. Most of the guns he purchased were off of the Black Market. Mainly military issue. When we got to his house, he already knew what was happening. Since he was a big rig driver, he stored all of his weapons and food in the freight box.  Being a rig driver meant he had lots of cash, which would be useful if we needed to buy gas in un-infected areas.

Our first problems began in Vinings. Military personnel were moving in, and the streets were getting crowded. It wasn’t unusual to see people with supplies coming through your town; armed to the teeth, looking like they were ready to take the entire world on. But the military kept eyeballing us. There was major traffic, due to a military blockade up ahead. The convoy came to a halt, and for hours we sat in the Georgia heat.

I sat in my car, radio on, eating a can of sardines. I then told myself, “Damn, I should have brought a book!” But I remembered my MP3 I kept in my glove box. I pulled it out, put one ear bud in my ear, and turned it on. It gave me a little pleasure.

Crap was going on all over the west coast. That was where the virus originated. On every radio station, it was the same story: the virus has completely devastated the west coast, and is continuously spreading. The point of this “trip” was to get to get as far north as we could. The virus can’t survive in the extreme cold, and any undead that reach there will freeze over. We would be able to ride out most of the shit, in somewhat safety.

I look down at my MP3. Battery’s almost dead. I go back through the glove box to find my car charger. I’m feeling around inside when my hand slips over something. Couldn’t explain it at first, then I realized.

I quickly pull my hand out. I’m now staring at the glove box, wondering if it’ll come out. Soon, a small head pokes from a small stack of papers.

“A rat.” I tell myself. I look for something to cover my hand with; I can’t risk getting bitten. I look through my bag, and found a pair of military combat gloves. Forgot where I got them, but I brought them just in case. I put my hand out, and lay it on the door to the glove box. It slowly crawls out, and into my hand. I lift it slowly, and cover it with my other hand.

“How’d you get in here, little guy?” I tell it. It’s brown fur is nearly the same color as the gloves. Black eyes. I lift my hand. It’s ribs are showing. I put in in my bag, laying it on a shirt. It curls up into a ball, and doesn’t move again. I rummage through the glove box again, and find my charger. Plug it up, and watch the battery on the screen blink. When we get near a forrest or something, I’ll let it go there. Doubt it’ll be eaten by the dead, and it should find food and water. I hope it does, at least.

Finally, we start moving again. About a mile ahead, we begin to see more traffic. But I don’t see a road block. Finally, I see the reason. A shambler stumbles into view. Then screams and gunfire follow.