People said I didn't care. They said it was strange for a teenage boy not to have a passion. In Pine Creek the passion was always football. Pine Creek was one of those small backwaters you wouldn't notice unless you either lived there or broke down there. It made sense that in such a small dreary place that the population would get behind the football team, and I was corralled into joining the team. But now the football team, like the town and most of the country, was dead, whereas I am alive.
You see, I did care about something. I had a passion, and even though I was on the football team, that wasn't it. My passion was horror movies and survival video games. More specifically- zombie horror movies and zombie video games. Shite, I could spend hours playing any old zombie game. Forget Skyrim. Forget Call of Duty. My games were the Resident Evil Series and Red Dead Redemption Undead Nightmare. I love zombie books, comics, movies and TV series. It drove my boyfriend nuts. Still does. So I was ready when the undead started shuffling down Main Street.
My dad was also ready. I'm thankful he was a doomsday prepper. For him, though, it was Yellowstone going up, or the North Koreans launching, so he damn near bankrupted himself building two separate shelters which were well stocked with guns and food. It was a pity he thought zombies were a hoax and stayed put at home with my mom and younger brothers while I got the hell away from town with my boyfriend and crazed uncle.
So here I am. Me. Charles Woodword, hold up in a fortified complex made out of shipping containers with my boyfriend Richard and my gun totting, whiskey drinking, drug using hippie Uncle Jeb.
Our home was four shipping containers in a loose square around a garden of sorts. All four were connected by corrugated iron tunnels. The only views we would have of the outside world would be from the roof. I could see cabin fever in our future.
This is my story.
I woke up that first morning hoping everything was a nightmare. But the moment I opened my eyes I knew it wasn't. The cold metal ceiling and walls of the shipping container used as a sleeping quarters told me otherwise. I lay still for a moment, missing the warmth of my boyfriend, and thinking about my family. Were they still alive? I hoped so.
I got out of bed and walked through the corrugated iron tunnel connecting the sleeping quarters to the "kitchen." There, I found my boyfriend Richard dancing to One Directions "Live While We're Young." My Uncle was sitting on the kitchen table in a meditation position, the image ruined by the gun across his lap. I immediately turned down the volume on the radio.
"Any news on Radio Z?" I asked.
Radio Z- or Radio Zombie- was the only source of information we had from the outside world. Some DJ, Karen, had started broadcasting from Dallas. A mixture of news and music. She had input, via CB radio, from other survivors around the country.
"That's what we are waiting for dude," my uncle said from the table. I looked him over. He was wearing his customary tie-dye shirt, yellow and blue shorts and sandals with socks. His grey hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and when his opened his eyes, the pale blue iris's were magnified by his huge glasses.
"Yep," Richard said, popping the 'p'. He was wearing grey track pants and a grey muscle shirt, which showed off his massive biceps; his brown hair tussled from sleep. "Turn up the volume."
I shook my head, which caused a strand of black hair to fall into my green eyes. The song was just ending, and Karen's voice reverberated around the metal container.
"Welcome back to Radio-Z. News just in from our roving reporter, Mike the trucker. The supposed safe haven set up in New York is not a safe haven any more. It has been overrun, with a high mortality rate. According to Mike, there is a lot of guns, ammunition, medical supplies and food for those brave enough to attempt to get them."
Karen paused for a moment. We knew what was coming. It had been the same when the news about Boston and Philadelphia came through.
"Let's have a minutes silence for all those who died."
There was silence for a minute, then the National Anthem played, then Karen was back brining us reports from various other camps from around the country. Rogue elements from the military had attacked a family in North Carolina who were holed up in their farm house. Another listener had gotten in contact to say that he and his wife wouldn't be listening anymore due to the fact they both had been bitten and were "ending" the process of infection. The Civil Defence in California was crumbling and had abandoned south central LA. The President and Vice-President had been split up and put in different locations. Beijing had been bombed, but no one knew whether or not it was the Chinese Military or the Russians, who had vowed to defend their borders.
"Dude, the news is really killing the vibe. I'm gonna have to plant some herbal remedies," Uncle Jeb put in. He took a swig of whiskey. Richard turned his large brown eyes to me.
"We are safe here, right?" he asked.
"More like a sitting target," I murmured.
"But, no one can get through the three layers of barbed wired and scale the containers?" he asked.
"If the military has gone rogue, I don't think so. What if they get a tank out at us?" I pointed out.
"Forget the news, you are killing the vibe man," Jeb said, but he was still nodding his head in agreement.
Richard looked at the two of us, the look on his face saying he was scared. He scared easily, which was surprising. He was so big, so muscular; he could probably send a Navy SEAL crying for his mommy by just flexing his bicep. I needed to ease his nerves, and to clear my head.
"Come on," I said, "we will do a sweep of the perimeter. I'm sure there is no one out there."
Authors Note: This is my first story guys, so please me gentle.