Apocalypse Of The Damned (BMC fanfic)

1

"Agh- Fuck!" Michael yelled to himself, trying to push a body out of his backdoor. It smelled bad but he had to get rid of it.

The smell will attract the zombies, he knew this, but his house was all he had. He didn't have a group of people to hide out with, sadly, because he was pretty sure his friends were all dead. His parents weren't even in the state, so they couldn't help him. If they came back and he was gone... well, he'd hate to be them.

He'd been here for the two months the apocalypse lasted, alone. He didn't have any connection to the outside world. The cell phone towers in his area were all down, as was the internet. He was beginning to lose hope.

I have to leave. He thought. Who gives a fuck if I don't have anywhere else? I can't stay cooped up here forever. I need to be with other people.

He kicked the body out into the back yard and slammed the door shut, sighing as the smell began to let up. He ran upstairs to his room, looking around for supplies that he'd need.

When him and Jeremy were kids, they used to pack their backpacks with supplies for a zombie apocalypse, even though they knew it wouldn't happen... boy were they wrong.

He found a first aid kit, a flashlight, a box of matches, a radio, all the packs of batteries he could find, glow sticks, a compass, a small pillow, and a little survival book he had.

He threw it on his bed and was about to go get supplies from the bathroom, but something told him to pause. He turned, staring at the cork board above his bed. All the pictures were of him and Jeremy. He felt a lump in his throat as he walked over, pulled off the most recent picture of them, and put it on the bed.

He went into the bathroom and took everything out of the medicine cabinet, then grabbed two rolls of toilet paper (because... duh) and threw it all on his bed. He ran downstairs and grabbed all the food then would last a good amount of time, along with every bottle of water they had and a can opener.

He dumped everything out of his school back pack and put all of his supplies in. He changed into clothes that would help him survive the winter, and shoved his army knife into its holster on his belt. Running downstairs, he opened his dad's safe and grabbed a rifle and a pistol, then put the pistol in his back pocket, pulled on his back pack, grabbed his rifle, and headed out.

First order of business: Go to Jeremy's house. Just because Jeremy hadn't come to get him didn't mean that he was dead. He could have been hiding, like Michael.

Michael hopped out of his PT Cruiser and knocked on the door. No one answered, so he opened the door and walked in.

"Jeremy?" He called, glancing around with his rifle up and ready.
"Jer-Bear?"

No answer yet again. Michael continued to wander around the house, looking for some sign of civilization.
The kitchen was ransacked, as was Jeremy's room. He didn't hear any grunting or groaning, so he figured the house clear of undead, but he still didn't feel safe with his gun put away.

He decided to check Mr. Heere's room. That was a bad idea. When the door opened, an awful smell hit him like a brick wall, causing his to cough and grimace as he walked in. He rounded the bed... and cried out in alarm.

Mr. Heere lay on the floor by his bed, a pool of blood surrounding his body. His skin was pale, his eyes were dead, and there was a entrance hole in his head where someone shot him. Michael covered his mouth, feeling he might cry.

Jeremy's dad had turned, and Jeremy had to shoot him. Jeremy had to shoot his father. And just as he was getting better too.

Michael quickly turned and left the room, shutting the door tight behind him. He stood up straight and left the house, feeling worse than he did before entering.