The day all hell broke loose, the day my mother died, the day my dad took me away to safety, the day the zombies took over, my tenth birthday. Yes, I was at the airport with my folks, we were going to see my grandparents in Atlanta. We flew all the way from Florida, but when we got there, the outbreak started. We got off of the plane and were welcomed by people rushing around, panicking, stealing, killing, total madness. I started crying when I saw a man stab another man, then take his suitcase. My mum picked me up and we ran to the exit, when we reached it and went through the doors, only to see flesh-eating zombies everywhere.
My dad dragged us to a nearby car that was abandoned, the driver was being bitten and eaten by zombies. He looked me in the eye, right before my mom shut the door and my dad drove off. I tried to contain my tears of fear, but I couldn't. My dad drove for a few hours (I presume) until he stopped. We got out and ran into an abandoned house. We spent the next few days there. One day, my mum and dad went out to find supplies, and my dad came back. Since that day, I've tried not to remember my mother too much.
I woke up screaming, again. But, this time I dreampt that my mom came after me, as a zombie. My dad told me to shut up, unless I wanted to get killed.
"Shut up, every night you wake up screaming, one of these times someone will find us." he scolded, then went back to sleep.
I squinted my eyes angrily at him, then laid down. I feel like he doesn't he even act like a father to me anymore.
"I'll check this house." I said, holding my gun up.
"Ok, I'll get this one." he said. pointing to the one across the street.
I nodded and we headed to each house. I slowly and cautiously opened the door, pointing my gun in front of me. I took another step and flinched at the wood floor creaking beneath my feet. I closed the door and continued to the kitchen. I entered the kitchen and put my gun in my belt, I opened the backpack I was carrying and opened the old wooden cuboards. There was food, not much, but enough. I took down a can, brushed off the dust, and read the label. Peaches, expired. I didn't care, I put it in my backpack and shoved as many cans in there as I could.
I heard a creak and turned around quickly. I looked at the front door, which was open. I grabbed my gun and pointed it at the door. I threw on my backpack and slowly walking towards the front door. No one was there, so I walked upstairs. I heard rustling in one room, the door was closed though. I debated with myself whether to open it or not. I found myself reach for the knob and slowly turn it. I opened the door a crack and it flew open, hitting me in the face. I dropped my gun and looked at the disfigured zombie in front of me.
Skin was falling off of it's face and I felt like throwing up. I wiped the blood from my nose with the back of my hand and the zombie charged at me. I didn't know what to do so I just stood there like an idiot. It ran towards me and I moved out of the way, it fell down the stairs and I grabbed my gun. I watched it stand up and look up at me, the cold look in it's eyes freaked me out. I shot it, but missed the head. The bullet went through it's shoulder and the zombie tried it's very hardest to climb the stairs, giving me time to aim for it's head. I shot another bullet, hitting it in the head this time.
It fell to the ground and I sighed with relief. I turned around to see another zombie. It grabbed my arm and I dropped my gun again. I started crying when, out of nowhere, it fell to the ground after a gunshot. I turned around, tears streaming down my face. I expected to see my father, instead, I saw a young boy. Well, not young, around my age, maybe older. I quickly wiped the tears from my face, along with the blood falling from my nose again. He just stared at me, blankly. I stood there awkwardly at the top of the stairs. He was at the bottom, he put his gun in his pants.
"Are you, okay?" he stuttered.
I could only nod. I picked up my gun and put it in my belt. I walked down the stairs and brushed past him. I was almost at the door, when I heard his voice.
"D-do you have a camp?" he asked.
I turned around and looked him in the eyes.
"No, I live with my-" I started.
"What hap-" my dad ran in, finally.
He looked at the mysterious boy. My dad pulled out his gun and pointed it at the boy.
"Dad, no. H-he helped me." I wiped the blood again.
My dad squinted his eyes, then grabbed my arm. He dragged me outside and I looked back at the boy. His brown eyes looked into my blue ones. He half-smiled.