Short story...

Hello, Oisin here, I wanted to tell you guys about the story I've been working on. It's is almost finished I hope you enjoy. 

Chapter one

Origins…

I woke up, someone was grabbing at me… my father “wake- wake up…” he croaked. The real thing that woke me though was the sound of the sawn-off blowing his brains up, speckles of my dad on my face, tears running down my cheeks, running away from my home with a crowbar clenched in my bloody fist, the clothes on my back and my backpack on my shoulder, running, running for my life. I jumped in the car turned the keys, the engine revved up. I kicked the accelerator and sped down the gravel driveway of our old country cottage, SPLAT! I stopped the car and got out. A humanoid grey rotting thing lay there bleeding out in front of me, zombies… “oh-no…” I muttered “oh-no...” I lay there panting trying to regain my consciousness after the raiders came…

Chapter two

Sleeping out…

I stuck my crowbar into the dirt, got out my sleeping bag, and set up camp (barely). I decided to go exploring. On the way I found a corpse, a dead survivor. In his bloody red hands he carried a perfect condition AK47, loads of ammo, what a find! I loaded it, slung it over my other shoulder and headed back, I hadn’t come across a moving zombie yet. I couldn’t say alive because, y’know. One adult zombie was pathetically stumbling on my turf. I’d shot a gun before, my dad’s. I took it off auto and put a bullet in his brainless forehead, KARAFF! Dead. I made a fire, knew how to, wrote in my journal, packed up camp, and walked down the road…

Chapter three

The house…

I trotted up the stone path. My torch exposed the claws and scratches on the dusty rocks I walked on. I looked up at the abandoned house in front of me. Shadows of people littered the dead lawn, of course these were not people. I don’t remember taking my gun off of my shoulder, one second it was untouched, the next I had it in my hands, muzzle down, safety off, BAM BAM BAM! Bullets spat out of my gun into the undead beasts. I looked at the house, its windows were boarded up and the paint was peeling off. The vines were dead. So were the owners. When I kicked down the door they lay there sprawled across the floor. Flies were buzzing all over them. There were two people, a man and I what I  assumed was his wife, hard to tell what she used to look like. I tiptoed to the door and exited the hallway into the kitchen. Glass and caked in rat faeces littered the mouldy carpeted ground. Pots and pans cluttered the bench, dishes lay there broken like humanity now. I opened the door to the pantry and was greeted by the grotesque stench of stale crackers and mouldy donuts, grasped for the bottle of fizz and the tank of water and crammed them in my backpack. I slung it over my shoulder, picked up my gun and opened the crusty door, jumped over the bodies, and ran into the woods…

Chapter four

The forest…

I came across an old shack as I was traveling down the gray and cracked road, I looted it for food and left

almost finished I hope you enjoyed.