Author's Note

I'm worried that a lot of my writing seems too 'over eager' in this story, and I would like to know if it bothers anyone else, or if it's just me.

How to: Survive the Apocalypse

Marcus was around 19, average build and not the worst when it comes to physical condition. If it was needed, he could run away from a pack of hungry zombies, or fight off at most 3 of them. The first one would come in handy a lot, but the second one needed to be upgraded. Fast.

He was currently running from an extremely large group of undead chasing him, through a city he had traveled to by car. Didn't seem like such a good idea right now. He made a turn that brought him into an alley and up against a wall. Turning around, he saw the living corpses quickly closing the distance between him and themselves. Taking another glance at the wall, he found that there was no way out of this.

"Alright. Uh... Shit, this isn't good... Let's see, obvious choices... Die, die, or uh... D-"

Before he could finish the sentence, something fell on his head, and it was lights out for him.

When he woke up, he could hear perfectly, the undead running toward him. There were exactly 34 running through the alley, all pushing and shoving to be the first to the feast. He got up, and noticed that they were moving slower than they should be. It was like they were in a weak form of slow motion.

Before he could think any more about it however, he lost it. These maggots thought that they could even come close to hurting him. He laughed at the thought. He would crush them underfoot like ants.

Falling forward to land on all fours, he forced his fingers into the cement ground, and moving slightly back, pulled himself forward with his arms, launching himself towards them. The first one he got to had a slight gap between him and the rest of the group.

Separated. Easy prey. Crossing his arms in a sideways slashing attack, he gutted the rotting maggot, his hands carving a pathway through flesh and organs alike. But he wasn't done with the walking corpse yet. Continuing with his momentum, he tackled it to the ground, grabbed it's head, forced one hand's thumb into one of it's eye sockets, and digging his fingers into its neck, he grabbed the corpse's jaw with the other hand and pulled, tearing its head from its shoulders, the spine following the skull.

Tossing his prize to the side, he focused on the rest, which had barely moved an inch closer to him and his first victim. He leapt into the crowd, and the sound of flesh being torn, limbs being ripped off, and skulls being crushed filled the air. Among the physical things, limbs were tossed aside, blood flew, and bones and sinew alike shared a new home on the wet ground.

In short, it was a massacre. It would have been, at least, if they were alive. Marcus himself was soaked in blood, and covered in gore ranging from internal organs, flesh, bone, even a few teeth.

He wasn't out of breath. He wasn't hurt, he wasn't even scratched. All the blood on him wasn't his. He was just amazed. He had blacked out for a second, and then started to remember things that had just happened. He had just torn apart a horde of walking corpses with his bare hands. Bringing them up, he looked at them. They were covered in blood, intestines, bone fragments and what he thought were parts of an eye.

"Holy shit... The fuck just happened?"

He stood there for a good few minutes before he realized that it would probably be a good idea to get cleaned off. He made his way out of the alley, and, surprisingly went for a nearby park to clean off in one of its streams. After all, it had only been a few weeks into the apocalypse, and there was sure to still be working showers in any of the nearby houses, but he hadn't even thought of that.

He had thought to bring his backpack from the car, and tossed his old clothes to the side before getting into the cold water.

It was after a few minutes that he realized he wasn't alone. He didn't see them, he heard them. When he opened his eyes, he saw what he thought was a wolf, but couldn't tell whether it was that or a coyote. Either way, it had three pups following it, and he could tell it was afraid of him. Which filled him with a sense of pride he never thought he would feel. He watched it in amusement as it avoided him, moving off to look for another stream.

He stayed in the water for another five minutes before getting out and shaking himself dry like a dog would. Didn't seem very effective though, as only his hair was dry at the end of the shaking.

"Why the hell did I do that?"

He began to think if anything was wrong with him, if he might be infected before he realized how stupid the thoughts were. He was the strongest. He wouldn't let himself be taken down by a pathetic disease.

He went through his backpack, trying to find the extra clothes he had packed, and when he did, put them on and took his backpack to a nearby tree to lay down and go to sleep. He wasn't really tired, it just seemed to him, like a good time to preserve his energy.