Dead Or Alive? || Zombie AU || CLOSED
This had to be a joke. A ridiculous joke all over. What the hell was actually happening? No one knew, no one would do anything against it. This was actually the most accurate description of how the Government handled the upcoming illness, the sickness, the disease, which seemingly just killed people over and over. Which sent them into a thick fever, so they practically burnt to death. Which made them feel their bones like shattered glass with every each shiver which ran through their body. Which made them throw up in disgust, in any desperate attempt of getting rid of this virus, this epidemic. And though, no one seemed to even know this very kind of virus, nor be able to do anything against it. There was no so-called antidote, no wonder drug. There was only pain, death and darkness, and everyone knew it as soon as it had reached the United States. God, it was so damn ridiculous, indeed. How those dead believed people then suddenly, hours, days after their death started moving again. Started rolling from their stretchers, started crawling out of their coffins. It was a nightmare, a true and clear nightmare like an old Steven Spielberg movie, or some kind of hallucinations. The walking dead? No one would have probably even spent one single thought at the possibility of walking dead people, who would suddenly start to attack you, to tear you apart and eat you alive. To try to get food out of your legs, your arms, your chest... who simply tried to feed, no matter how much alive you actually still were, no matter how much pain you felt when they digged their bare teeth into your flesh and began tearing real pieces of bleeding flesh right out of your body. And once you were even scratched... you were dead. You would die on the fever, and then turn into these... monsters. These zombies.
As the man slowly stepped through the seriously too quiet hallway of one of the family houses in the suburbs, gun aimed at the height at which a head would probably appear, as well as his eyes attentively and wide open, he would have probably never thought of actually doing this. Robbing an empty house to be able to still survive. Since the Government shut down, as well as the electricity like TVs went out as well, it was like the next rebellion of people living in the United States. But even this was shut down quite quickly, since this disease mercilessly spread around. And right because of this reason, Leonard avoided big cities like Atlanta, or whatsoever, because right in these cities there were previously the biggest amount of people, which were now probably all just mindless animals, who only wanted to get to your precious flesh. Rapidly, the man turned around a corner, breath hitching as he did so. He now directly looked into the living room of the house, but except a huge chaos in the room itself, dirt and dust lying basically everywhere, and broken glass being spread all over the ground, there wasn't much of use. So he passed the room, looking out for more. The apparent threat of someone, or something, suddenly jumping out of a closet, a door, even a goddamn counter was the mist thrilling, most painful feeling could ever get. Nothing would get you as high as this threat. But as long as you focused on your task, you wouldn't lose you mind... Well, this was at least Leonard H. McCoy's motto.
The squeaking wooden right underneath the doctor's shoes was a pain in the ass, indeed. Every screech scratching at his nerves like a chainsaw, being painfully aware that everything would attract the walkers, the zombies. But nevertheless, all seemed to be fine as the dark-haired eventually reached the first floor, still attentively looking around when he then peeked into one of the bedrooms. Nothing. Again. So he would search further until he could fill his backpack with supplies or ammonution. Suddenly, gaze rapidly turning around he heard footsteps from the basement, and with two quick and large steps he was back at the stairs, though not going down. He tried to see, if he was hallucinating or seriously hearing something, and if he did, if it was... living or already dead. He wouldn't call down, nor would he actually speak at all, but he would slowly sneak down the stairs, constantly peeking around. And then... there was it. A scratching, screeching of the goddamn wooken underneath his shoes, instantly revealing his position. But he was prepared. If someone, or something was now going to take a look, well, a bullet was shot through the brain very quickly.
