Snowfall
Blackness crept in from the corners of James’ eyes, turning the old furniture in the abandoned apartment into misshapen blobs and crossed figures. James couldn’t help but slouch against the old kitchen table. He began to fade into unconsciousness until the growling noise from outside the apartment door made him jerk back awake.
His father had given him six survival rules growing up: stay out the middle of the cities, keep moving, ration food, never stop to help anyone, always walk in the middle of the road because the woods are where the undead stay, and never, ever make connections. That last rule even applied to their relationship. His father never met Clarita though. Clarita was worth breaking those rules for. James’ blood soaked hand stained the shoelace bracelet she had made for him.
He was stuck barricaded inside of an old apartment with 3...no…4 members of the undead, or Ferals as they’re called, clawing their way inside the door. Now, he would die alone. He would die alone in an apartment caked with dust and a scent of mildew. James saw the shelf he had propped against the door start to give way and grey, shriveled fingers started to pry through the crack. James looked out of the condensation coated window one last time and examined the murky grey skies. He took the pistol from his waist band and made sure that one bullet was still in there. He prayed that he would see Buddy and Clarita on the…
