Our Days Are Numbered

Four friends embarked on a memorable trip in the countryside to celebrate the summer; however, while they were isolated from the world, they were unknowing of the mortifying reality that waited for them when they returned from paradise. They were young, free, and having fun, if there was one thing they weren’t, it was prepared. Especially for the hell-inflicting disaster of the zombie apocalypse. Darcy, Brooke, Sam and Jamie have one task, and one task only, and that is to survive.

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12. Twelve

My eyes are forced shut, tighter than I thought possible. My fists are clenched, making my fingers numb. Everything is tingling. Cries of pain and whimpers in agony fill the silenced room. Only… they're not mine? My eyes relax. I open them. I'm not dead. I'm not dead. I repeat to myself. I'm not fucking dead!

I bolt upright into a sitting position. Sam brings the candle light over and partially blinds me momentarily. Jamie's on the floor, clutching his leg. "I'm… I'm not… dead." I breathe, my voice trembling like a child in the winter. I'm shaking like a leaf, my skin cold to the touch. Terror. Pure terror. And a little bit of relief.

Sam is looking both flustered and annoyed, but busies himself gathering first aid supplies. Brooke runs in and starts crying. She immediately looks at me with fury burning in her eyes. "What did you do?!" She spits at me, "what did you do?!"
"I didn't… it wasn't…" I trail off because Brooke approaches me and places her knife to my throat. "Brooke." I say, with sad eyes.
"Don't fucking speak to me. Why would you do that to Jamie? You've not even Turned." A virtual hand was clasping around my throat. No words could leave my mouth. A tear ran down her cheek.

"It was me." Sam says, placing a bandage around Jamie's leg.
"What?" Brooke and I say in unison.
"He was going to kill Darcy!" 
"So shooting him in the leg was the only option you could come up with?" She says, turning to point the knife at Sam.
"Darcy is going to Turn, Sam - denying it isn't going to stop it."
"But wait," he says, exasperated, "think about it." He perches on the edge of the bed once he finishes bandaging Jamie's flesh wound. "Darcy was bitten over eight hours… she still hasn't Turned, don't you think that's a bit strange? Most people Turn within an hour, two hours, tops." They all look at me, eyeing my shoulder. As if I'm some sort of mutant.
"Maybe she'll Turn soon." Jamie says in his defence. "I had to put our lives first."
"But… eight hours?" Sam mumbles to himself.

That was when I saw it. A lightbulb. A spark. Cogs turning. Thoughts processing. "She's immune."
Silence.

Brooke looks at Jamie. Jamie looks at Sam. Sam looks at Brooke. They all look at me. I peel the fabric away from my shoulder, only to reveal a bubbly, pink flesh. It isn't pleasant, but it certainly isn't rotting flesh.

It's only now that even the idea seems vaguely plausible. I certainly don't feel any less of a human than I did eight hours ago, in fact I feel more so. Alive. Buzzing. Heart pounding. Blood pulsing. Senses restless. Thoughts manic. Inhale. Exhale.

It hits me. I'm the chosen one.

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