“Any survivors, head towards the Reanimated Writers bunker,” the voice over the radio said. “We have food, water, weapons and the best minds to face the undead threat.”
It was day seven following the first outbreak. The infection had spread relentlessly and without hesitation. Man, woman and child didn’t stand a chance. It wouldn’t be so bad if separating the infected from the uninfected was possible, but everyone was already infected – the living a biological time bomb with their death acting as a literal dead man switch.
“It wouldn’t have been so bad,” Tom thought sadly, watching the streets from the window of bodega he was hidden in, “if things actually went to plan.”
Tom had been prepared the apocalypse since his teenage years – he loved planning for z-day, running over hypotheticals in his head. The bug-out bag in his apartment could attest to that. What none of his plans accounted for was him buying a loaf of bread in his flip flops, shorts and a t-shirt when it all kicked off. What his plans also didn’t account for was a fire breaking out and raging through his apartment block at the same time, which he could see spreading closer by the hour. Without his home and any supplies, he was forced to hide while war raged in the streets outside. He had been without hope and without direction, surviving off anything he could in the store – that was until he heard the broadcast. Now, he had to find these “Reanimated Writers”.
Tom took a mental note of the location spoken over the radio and the code “6415”. It was time to formulate a plan. Tom knew the location wasn’t far and wondered what to do next. He could wait another day to prepare for the journey ahead, hoping things would have died down. He could also leave immediately through the front door – it would be a shorter journey on a more direct route, but also likely to be more dangerous. Or he could leave through the backdoor – a longer route, and would require more sneaking, but would be quieter. Tom had to decide what he was going to do.