Rules Of The Zombie Apocalypse

"Shit! Run!" Taylor sprinted towards us, feet barely hitting the ground, spraying gravel behind him when they did.

"Really? Because I thought we could just wait here for you, maybe sip some tea?" Grace turned to run, Taylor close behind.

"Shut up, you stupid Brit," Taylor scowled and shot a glare at me, "I knew we should have left this little sheila were we found her."

"Come on, you know you like me," a grin made its way to Grace's face as she sped up a little when Taylor came up beside her.

"You guys fight too much," I breathed. Taylor and Grace always were faster than me.

Rule Number 1 of the Zombie Apocalypse; Never Fall Behind

"A British woman, an Australian, and two Americans are running away from a horde of zombies in the middle of the woods," Jace came up behind me, "sounds like the beginning of a bad joke."

"Or a really, really good one," the zombies were far behind us by now.

Rule Number 2 of the Zombie Apocalypse; Never Underestimate How Fast Zombies Can Run.

So pretty much run as far as you can and only stop when you feel like your about to go into cardiac arrest. After about 20 minutes of solid sprint, we got to a run-down shack in the woods.

Rule Number 3 of the Zombie Apocalypse; Loot Everything Short Of Zombie Infested Malls. [But Don't Be A Jackass, Other Survivors Are Important To Befriend]

I never liked that rule. Part of me thinks it would be safer to stay away from all that and go deep into a remote area. Although you never know what things you might find.

"I'll scout around the back, see if there are any dead ones," Taylor walked around the back of the house. It wasn't much, I don't think there would be anyone in it.  

Grace looked around suspiciously and added, "I suppose I could take a gander." 

I swear one of these days, those two are going to drive me insane with all their British and Australian slang. 

The zombie apocalypse isn't exactly what you'd call luxury, but the house was ramshackle. It wouldn't be safe for someone to live there. Rotted boards fell through the ceiling and damp wood flooring sagged under the weight of the house. Broken glass sat on the porch with a layer of dust covering it. "Hey," I called, "it doesn't look like anyone's been here in a while."

"Well, whatever bloke used to live here didn't take care of his home very well," Taylor walked around from the other side of the shack.

"I didn't see anyone," a voice behind me said. I jumped and quickly looked behind me. 

"What?" Jace was walking back from the woods surrounding the house.

"Jesus! Don't scare me like that!" I punched his arm and let out a nervous giggle.

"Hey, it's not my fault you're as jumpy as a rabbit," Jace joked, punching me back.  

"Rule number 4 of the zombie apocalypse; never let your guard down," I pestered.

"Yeah, yeah, you got that from a-"

"HEY!"

The scratchy shout cut through our light-hearted conversation. I saw a shotgun out of the corner of my eye and threw myself to the ground, the others following my example.

Rule Number 5 Of The Zombie Apocalypse; You Are Not In An Action Movie. If You Get Shot, You Will Die.

"Get out of here! You darn whippersnappers," a scratchy voice sounded from inside the house.

I paused. Are you serious? I got up and look at the man with the shotgun. It was an elderly man, wrinkles, and age spots covered his face. He was balding, grey hair surrounded the edges of his head. I never understood why they didn't just shave their head at that point. He wore a tattered bathrobe and a pair of orthopedic sneakers. You can't be serious.

"Hey! Hey, let's be calm here!" I exclaimed. I spoke the same way you would talk to a toddler with a pair of scissors. "We didn't mean any harm! We thought this place was abandoned."

"Yeah, well, it ain't. You better get off my property before I blow your darn head off," his thick Texas accent made me want to laugh, but I had to hold it down.

Rule Number 6 Of The Zombie Apocalypse; Smart People Survive The Apocalypse, So Do Jackasses. Appeal To Ego.

"I'm sorry sir, we thought this house was abandoned," I started to slowly get up and back away. 

He puffed up his chest and scowled. "Well, it ain't, and you best get off mah property before I blow your darn heads off."

"Hey now, we're all here out in the bush, no need to get violent," Taylor raised his hands and tried to not look like a threat. But his accent and shaved head made it look like you pulled him out of a Rambo movie, "c'mon mate, we could sit down, have a cold one."

"Hmpf, you just go now you weasels, I ain't helping you," the man cocked his head forward, a gesture for us to leave.

"We can go," I said gently, and backed away a little quicker.

"Ey mate, before we go, you got a coldie on yah?" Talyor took a step closer to the man.

"Taylor," I said urgently, "let's not bother this man anymore." 

You see, the apocalypse is not the kindest of places. On top of the zombies, lack of food, constant struggle for shelter, and the underlying tension of living a kid's comic book come to life. The people who do survive always seem to be idiots. I mean, you'd think that it took a somewhat high IQ to survive an apocalypse, but no. The most arrogant people seem to endure. They're like cockroaches, you could drop a nuke on Chicago, and you'd still find a flat earther. Maybe its because they spend their free time watching Survivor and The Walking Dead. Ah, yes, I can see it now, if you're in a building that's on fire and we're coughing, it's okay! We can just put a bra over our face. I saw it on a 5 Minute Crafts video!

"Give it a rest Meg, its a beut of day. We might not be able to have a barbie, but we can be friends," Taylor looked relaxed and started to walk towards the man. 

"Taylor, I swear to God, let's go," obviously, Grace was ready to go too. She walked towards Taylor and tugged on his sleeve.

"Yeah man, let's go," Jace joined in too.

"C'mon mates," Taylor walked towards the elderly man, "we can be friends, can't we?"

"H-hey you back off you," the man was shaking a little, and started to back away, then obviously remembered that he had a gun. The chk chk of a shotgun being loaded made me half shout.

"Taylor lets go!" I watched as Taylor walked up to the man and, with a friendly smile, grabbed the shotgun out of the startled man's hand. The old man was shaking, and his eyes were wide. Taylor swiveled and pointed the shotgun at Grace. 

"What the bloody hell?" Grace raised her hands up in a defensive gesture.

"I've always wanted to do this," and with a grin, pulled the trigger on the shotgun. 

"No!" I dove towards Grace.

And promptly fell into a cloud of confetti.

"You bloody wanker!"

"Stupid brit."

"What the fuck?" I got up and dusted the colored strips of paper off of me, "what the actual fuck?"

"Well, I wasn't actually going to shoot her, as much as I wanted to. I knew he had a fake gun before you even saw him."

"Well, I didn't know that," Grace punched Taylor in the gut, "you scared the bloody hell out of me!"

Between coughs, Taylor managed, "was that supposed to tickle?"

"Yeah, tickle my arse," Grace walked away, muttering something about not her cup of tea. I let out a nervous giggle and looked at the old man. He looked shocked, shaking, wide eyes, looking around a lot. But I guess that's what happens when you mess with Taylor.

"Okay guys, I think we should go," and I walked off into the goddamned sunset.