Message: To whom it may Concern

Date: 10/05/2012

Time: 01:22:47

Author: Alex Dawson

Subject: Time's Up

/Message Begin:

Finally, I see that my time has run out. I write to you, my reader, that the barrier has been compromised. Now that there is only a single door to hold my attackers back, I fear there is no escape.

Why would I want to? I'd much prefer my death to be in the security of my own home. Security… it no longer provides.

I did alright for myself, surviving nearly two months in this nightmare. I knew that staying here would be the death of me, yet I took that risk. Now it is time to pay the consequences.

To anybody reading, I beseech you to find a cure. With it, you may find…a better death.

/Message End

The first discolored limb smashed its way through the door, splintering the wood as the arm flailed around mindlessly. The green, rotting flesh was tearing itself against it.

I raised my shotgun, setting the sights on the newly formed hole. The owner of the limb pulled it back in and showed his face. Its eyes were dark-red, the skin around its face was peeling and turning greenish, and its hair was merely a white, stingy mop. It hissed and screamed, sending saliva through the hole.

I fired, the gunshot booming and illuminating the dark basement. The recoil jerked me back, and I pumped another round in. The spent cartridge clattered to the ground.

My attacker had disappeared, leaving only a blood stained doorway and bullet holes through the smoke. Another one quickly filled the empty void, bashing the door in a similar fashion.

I fired again, this time, hitting the door and shattering it. The top portion blew out, and crumbled to the ground. It revealed the rest of the horde, a group at least twenty strong.

I fired again, and again, and again, until my firearm was dry. I had knocked them back, but the door was now a mere entrance into my sanctuary.

I tossed the shotgun aside, letting it skidder across the cemented floor. I retrieved my prized possession, my best friend, my guardian angel…my .357 magnum.

The black metal finish shined in the dim swinging light overhead. As the zombies neared, I gently brushed my thumb over the engraved lettering "S&W .357".

"Take me home," I whispered to it. I looked up, at the closest zombie walking about 10 feet away. I raised the pistol, cocked back the hammer, and fired. The bullet ripped through its forehead, splattering a satisfying amount of blood against the walls.

The second one came, a little infected child. There is no rest for the weary, and no mercy for the evil. I felt nothing when the second shot decapitated him.

My third victim was in full sprint, but running while not save you from the almighty. After a quick shot to the face, it tumbled before me and slid to a stop at my feet.

The fourth was a zombie who had most likely already killed a survivor, judging by the bullet holes that were scattered around its chest. He would not be so lucky this time. I added to his appearance, another hole, this time in between its blackened eyes.

Number five, she seemed familiar, and after a moment I recognized her face. My wife…I guess she had finally turned. She had been bitten about a week ago, dying within a few hours. I couldn't bring myself to watch her turn, so I left her outside, to be free. Lord knew she loved me, and here she was…coming back for me.

"Honey, it's time you and I are reunited," I said in a cracking voice. She hissed and snarled, and I fired my fifth shot. She collapsed into a heap on the ground, next to the others.

I watched the blood drip from her forehead, until the zombies began closing in.

The sixth shot…I slowly put the barrel of my .357 against my temple.

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- Legkicker