He was only 28. Granted, they weren’t amazing 28 years, he didn’t do much special. But it’s not like he deserved the Zombie Apocalypse.
No time to think about that now, as he ran from the horde. Well, five or six of them. Still too many to take on with his arsenal, which kind of consisted of a big knife he found. He had a gun once, but he ran out of ammo.
He didn’t know why the dead walked, or anything. Not that it mattered, anyway.
Only a few weeks ago this was a busy street. Full of life, nice cafes, stores, etc. Not anymore. It looked like something out of a war with corpses on the street, broken windows, the nice cafes transformed into barricaded strongholds. Not that he’d fall for that. He was going to do this on his own. He figured the dead would be attracted to such a large meal. No, he was alone.
A small backpack is all he needed, with some food, water and some things to barter with. Money wasn’t too useful right now, maybe when the dead stay dead again.
No. Let’s focus on the now, and what he had to deal with. Five or six zombies.
He looked back, rookie mistake. They were way behind. Too bad there was one right around the street corner.
Damn. Good thing it’s a loner, or so he hoped. Easily dealt with.
Safe for a few moments now, they never last. At those calm moments, you drop your guard, you’re vulnerable.
He was only 28. No one will probably remember him. He’s okay with that.