ScoutingMature

Word Count: 514

He had always been tall and muscled for a sixteen year old boy and it was just now that he saw the major advantage of this. He grabbed another corpse by the front of its shredded shirt and dug his knife right through the eye socket. They were coming in their hordes, there was gonna be too many for him to fight off.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ he growled as the door gave way and a fountain of them poured in. Grabbing the bag from the floor he ran through the kitchen and out of the back door. How the hell things had gotten so bad in such a short amount of time was beyond him.

As soon as he was in the garden, he began looking for ways out. He was running out of time and if he didn’t find a way soon, he’d be dead. The gate that led onto the driveway was out of the question; the moans and violent thudding against wood told him there were more on the other side.

He darted over to the bottom of the garden and chucked his bag over the fence.

A quick look behind him told him the creatures were in hot pursuit. He put one foot in a groove in the wood and sprung himself over with ease. The sight that greeted him was not one for the faint hearted.

Blood stains decorated the windows; an upturned trampoline and what looked like a hand lay uselessly in the grass. Picking his bag up and slinging it over his shoulder he ran straight through the house, ignoring the groans from upstairs and back outside into the front driveway.

There weren’t here waiting for him, like they said they would be.

‘You bastards.’

He ducked low behind the car and tried to control his breathing as a couple of zombies passed him. They were too slow and stupid to spot him although he knew that they weren’t all like this. He called the others runners because my god they could sprint when they saw you. Clutching the large knife in his hand, he poked his head round the side to see where he could go next.

An engine rolling by caught his attention. The car stopped and he ran towards it, diving into the passenger seat.

‘You son of a bitch you’re late,’ he shoved the driver hard.

‘Fuck off; you can walk if you want.’

‘I nearly got eaten because of your incompetent ass.’

‘Did you get the supplies?’ The driver’s eyes fell on the bag.

‘You bet,’ he grinned. ‘I got a little something for myself too. It’s mine though and if I catch anyone so much as looking at it there’ll be trouble.’

The driver reached into the glove box and pulled out a black marker. ‘You should probably write your name on it. Once they see that nobody will touch it.’

He took the pen from the driver and reached into the bag to retrieve his item.

Writing in capital letters, he made sure it was bold and clear.

HARRY ACKER.

The End

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