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Chapter 1. It All Started....

Ssskkkkrrrrrrrrrrrck. Sktch. Sktch. Sssskkkkrrrrrgh.
The moans of the dead were almost as loud as their broken nails scratching against the metal door. I sat up from where I was sleeping, security blanket pulled over my head and shoulders, leaving my jean clad legs exposed to the cold. Nothing I did seemed to make them shut up or leave. Sleep was becoming a luxury I couldn't afford. In the darkness of the safe room, I picked up my flashlight and shined it around. A habit I developed ever since one of the blood-hungry infected found its way inside. My flashlight never went near the barred door, afraid that the light would attract more than just zombies. Instead the beam flashed over floor and across the walls. Words were scrawled on them. Many were carved in by blunt objects, a few in blood. I turned away, the flashlight clicking off when they began to repeat.
"I love you so much..."
"Please wait for me..."
"I'll see you soon..."

With no future in sleeping, I got up, rolling the blanket up and tossing it into my knapsack. I got up from the ground and dusted off my pants. The scratching at the door became feverish withevery move I made. They were just waiting for me to come closer. I looked over at them, the sight always a nauseating one. There arms, waving in impossible positions just to reach for me. "[********]," I cursed them, and the sound of my own voice only spurred on more moaning.

How I ended up here didn't matter. What did matter was what I was going to do when I got out of here. My family was waiting for somewhere back home. And I was going to stop at nothing until I reached them. Grabbing two medkits from the shelf and five bottles of pain pills to put in my bag, I faintly recalled something. I stared at the supplies in my bag. In the passed few days, I noticed that finding ammo or medkits was becoming increasingly easier. Did that mean that less were surviving? What if I was one the last people alive? I quickly shook my head from the depressing thought. No, I chose not believe in such crap. There were others. I could feel it. But as I shouldered my pack, the thoughts returned again. Were people dying because they couldn't shoot? Or because the zombies were growing stronger and faster? Heaven forbid more intellegent.

I let out a low growl, hitting myself on the head. It was thoughts like those that killed people. The feeling of hopelessness and depression. I had to be better than that. I picked up my uzi from the floor and turned back to the door I was dreading to step close to. My sneakers squeaked softly on the concrete as I took more steps closer, the banging on the metal door becoming more violent the closer I came. Lifting my gun up to my chest, I prepaired myself as I slowly reached out to remove the iron bar. The metal rod clunked on the ground and the groans grew almost deafening.