Just a little thing I threw together using this scenario thing I was doing with hotwinglover. It's a lot of fun, you all should try it.
Basically just start with a scenario of some random adventure thing, and the next person responds with their reaction. (End that scenario with, 'What do you do?' or 'Describe what happened', and such.) After 5 scenarios, end that 1st part and the next person starts a scenario. Just keep going like that, 5 scenarios at a time, until you reach a conclusion.
Also, a cookie to anyone who can guess what the basic scenarios were in this 1st part!
The banging on your bedroom door is incessant, but you know you can't open it, no matter how tempting. The only things around your room that seems useful were a few pencils, a sharp metal clothes hangar, and your desk chair. Useless. You killed the other 2 easily enough, using your mom's favorite kitchen knife, but you stupidly left that downstairs. Man, you are such an idiot sometimes.
The monstrous corpse that used to be your father burst into your room through the splintered door, looking around for a moment before turning towards you. In a moment of desperation, you throw open your window, and jump.
The ground below comes rushing up, and panic begins to rise in your throat. Pain shoots through your right ankle when you unexpectedly land on a hard metal surface. You inhale sharply in pain, at the same time thanking God that your dad parked his pickup truck right under your window. The mentioned man jumped through the open window after you, scaring the hell out of you as he narrowly misses the trunk you're currently sprawled out in.
Your (former) father and a small horde of the creatures start heading towards the truck, and you look around in panic for the weapons your paranoid mom always had in there. Luckily, there's a machine gun full of bullets, a bazooka, and a long sword.
You relax, only to tense up again. In order to get away from these things, you were going to have to drive the truck. And in order to drive the truck, you had to get to the driver's seat. And to get there, you had to get out of trunk and fight your way through the zombies. With a twisted ankle. With a shuddering breath, you take the sword, and use the hilt to knock your ankle back into place, holding in the whimper of pain.
Then, taking the machine gun, you crawl your way out of the trunk.
It's been several hours since you managed to drive away, and you're pretty sure you're getting close to downtown. Geez, there's even more zombies than earlier. A small cry for help snatches your attention, and you see a small girl running towards you, sobbing, zombies right at her heels. If you help her, the zombies are more than likely to hijack the truck, and you can't afford that with your ankle the way it is. And you'd really rather not turn into a zombie.
After a minute of debating with yourself, your conscious wins, and, trying best to ignore the pain, jump out of the truck. You limped towards the young brunette, and when she got close enough, picked her up and started racing back towards the truck. Leaping into the trunk, you take a moment of self-pity, cursing your stupid ankle.
You offer the girl a weapon, and she reluctantly chooses the sword, wiping away her tears and trying to look brave. Thankfully, you were at least smart enough to open up the window on the roof, and the 2 of you crawl in.
You're driving down... what you think is a street like a madman, the girl whacking blindly with the sword. Literally. You almost laughed at the sight of her big blue eyes squeezed shut, waving a big hunk of metal out the window in hopes of getting something. You turn your eyes back to the road, running over anything moving and moaning.
You're about to think you both are home-free, when the girl-named Holly-shrieks, pointing wildly behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a stray zombie in the trunk, pounding on the little window behind your head in an attempt to break it. You swerve the vehicle wildly, but the thing holds fast. It's hand breaks through the window, glass flying everywhere.
The hand grabs hold of your hair, pulling your head painfully back in an attempt to get something to bite. Your grip on the wheel loosens, and the truck swerves dangerously. You're almost out of town. You're so close. You can barely see the car heading towards a bridge, a river to the left. And just out of reach was a switchblade, but you couldn't grab it unless you let go of the wheel.
The zombie's hand pulls harder, and you let out a groan in pain. Desperate, you let go of the wheel and snatch up the blade, slicing off the zombie's mouth. Blood sprays all over the trunk and your face, but you ignore it. The machine gun, having been on Holly's side of the car apparently, finds its way into your hands. Firing at the zombie behind you, you feel the hand let go of your hair and hear the thud indicating it was most likely dead.
Grabbing Holly, you throw open the door and leap out of the car, rolling on the ground. You both look up to see the car drive onto the bridge and over the edge into the river.
The noise seems to have attracted the zombies in the city, as a large horde appears just over the horizon. You take Holly by the hand and run as best you can towards the bridge, your only weapons now being the switchblade, the machine gun, and Holly's long sword.
Near the entrance of the bridge you see a lone police officer, standing next to a motorcycle full of glass. Upon closer inspection, you see him nursing a bite on his arm. He looks up, his face sickly, and looks at you with broken, pleading eyes. The sight of those eyes reminds you of your little brother, who looked at you with that same look just before he turned. Your heart aches at the sight, and your throat threatens a sob.
In an attempt to do something for him, you reluctantly cut off his arm using the switchblade, bandaging it afterwards. Hopefully this cuts off the infection. You then take the sword from Holly, and hand it to the man, telling him to defend the bridge.
The zombies were getting closer at a remarkably fast rate. You have Holly get on the back of the motorcycle, and get on yourself. With one last look at the now determined officer, you speed off down the bridge, knowing you'll be forever haunted by those broken, pleading eyes.