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Dead things Should Stay Dead-Ryan

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Hello sports fans! I'm back, and starting to post back the edited story! Hopefully I can post about one day  of story time every real day until I get to the end! If I edit parts I posted earlier, I'll just edit them or post it all at the end. Enjoy!:)

Dead Things Should Stay Dead


By: TheWraithPlayer

June 17th

Mark, Stan, and I finally got around to leaving St. Louis…


“Hey Ryan, you got any more Slim Jims?” Mark asked me for probably the hundredth time.

“Last one,” I replied, “I’m trying to save these you know.”

“I know, I know, but I didn’t know Tabasco flavor was this good!”

“You should have decided to try them before the world decided to throw a curveball at us.”

“Guys, please quit arguing over Slim Jims already, it’s frustrating enough trying to navigate through this traffic without you two added to the pile,” Stan said.

He was correct, the traffic was awful. If only we’d left St. Louis sooner, but it took too long to pack, and even longer for me to get to Mark’s house. The worst part though, was the wrecks. They created roadblocks, which slowed traffic down to a snarl.

“Hey Stan?” Mark asked.

“What Mark?” Stan replied.

“Well, I was thinking, and, nobody would be driving toward St. Louis, right?”

“Yeah, probably, why?”

“Well, if that’s the case, we could switch over to the other side of the interstate, still heading the same way of course, and escape all of the traffic.”

“That’s genius!” Stan said as he steered Mark’s van that way.

“Can I have another Slim Jim now?” Mark asked me.

“Here we go again!” Stan proclaimed.

I was shorter than Mark and Stan at 5’4, had glasses, messy dirty blond hair, and green eyes. Mark was the tallest at 6’1, had short black hair, hazel eyes, and was very muscular. Stan had brown hair, dark brown eyes, and was about 5’ 10”.

We were trying to make it to Kansas City, hoping to find the military standpoint they had promised in the news reports. Boy were they wrong.


June 18th

Today we ran out of gas…


We decided to pull over at the side of the road so that nobody would fall asleep at the wheel. We noticed a few of the Infected wandering around, but they didn’t notice us. I slept pretty good, for being in the back seat of a van, with creatures trying to eat you alive at every turn.

When I woke up, I went to grab a Slim Jim-Mark and Stan were asleep-and found one missing.

“Must’ve miscounted,” I said to myself, certain that there were 16 Slim Jims in my bag the night before.

It was almost eleven in the morning when we ran out of gas.

“I thought you had more gas,” I said to Mark.

“I did,” he replied “But you let some thief take it back in the suburbs!”

“Guys, calm down!” It was obvious that Stan was having a hard time “The nearest town is about a mile away, that’s 20 minutes walking.”

“What town?” I asked.


That’s what got us out of the cramped van into the open air. We made sure to bring the baseball bats Stan brought, along with basic supplies, water, and Slim Jims -Mark’s idea- much to my dismay. Luckily for us, Mark’s theory was correct, for the most part, but the closer we go to Columbia, the more abandoned cars we came across. We passed quite a few gas stations due to the signs with NO GAS written on them before we came across a Phillips 66, lacking the deterring sign, of course.

“Hey Ryan?” Mark asked me.


“Why did it take us this long just to get to Columbia? We should be in Kansas City by now, right?”

“Well; A we left St. Louis a bit late, B traffic, C we stopped at nine last night, and D military checkpoints. Combine all these factors, and that’s why we’re only this far.”

“Okay, makes sense.”

We passed an overturned semi and went to the closest pump. Mark was getting out empty gas cans from his duffel bag when I noticed all the dead bodies, all of which with holes in their skulls.The smell was terrible, and attracted swarms of flies. In certain areas of the parking lot it was hard to breath due to the smell and the flies trying to turn your lungs into a nest.

“Hey, I’m gonna go look inside, see if I can find anything,” Stan said.

“Okay. Oh! Hey, take this,” Mark then gave Stan a pocket knife, “Figure it might come in handy.”

As he walked inside we started filling up empty gas cans. We had finished filling them up and were about to head inside and find Stan, we when heard the moans. They were up the street about 100 yards, but approaching fast.

“Ryan, go get Stan, I’ll hold them off until then,” Mark said.

I quickly headed toward the building when I turned my head to see how Mark was doing. It was a nightmare, those things were everywhere. For every single one that Mark killed, two more would take their place. I turned to face the building and literally ran into Stan.

“HURRY UP!” Mark yelled.

Stan went inside and grabbed his bat, while I grabbed mine leaning up against a blood covered car. Then we ran.

After running for about five minutes we were tired. We were heading to the van, about 100 feet ahead, with no hope of losing them.

“We’re almost to the van!” Stan yelled.

Mark got there first and started filling the van with gas as they came upon us.

“It’s no use get in here already!” Stan shouted.

“Dang it!” he yelled as he dropped the can and jumped inside.

We got in and quickly shut and locked all the doors. We ended up stuck, in a van, with no foreseeable way out.


June 19th

They never gave up…


The horde just kept on pounding and moaning, never giving up. We sat there for hours before we fell asleep. It rained all night, but dissipated around four in the morning. When we woke up they were still there, pounding away at the doors. Stan got out his pocket knife and started fiddling with it, trying to get it to open.

“Dang it! This thing’s a piece of crap!” He shouted, tossing the knife into the floorboard, which was preceded by a click as the saw blade came out.

“Why’d you do that?” I asked.

“The blade’s busted, won’t come out,” he replied “Hey! I could use the screwdriver again.”

I was a bit confused by the again part, but I understood his plan. A while later we had killed them all by stabbing through the eye.

“My van!” Mark said, “Those Things broke my van!”

It was true, his van was ruined. There were blood stains on it from where they had slowly crushed themselves against the van. It’s canary yellow paint covered in red handprints and dents from their constant pounding on the sides of it. His rear view mirrors were cracked, the right right hand side one had fallen of. The windows had similar blood prints as well, but one was broken from when one of the Infected had tried to get in -we had put up all of our stuff up against the window to block it off, and one of my bags fell out and got drenched in the rain.

“Do you think insurance will cover that?” I asked.

“I don’t think that ‘zombie damage’ is covered in their policies,” Stan replied.

“Dude, they’re not zombies, they’re Infectees. Give them some respect,” I said

“I was kidding, you know that.”

We then fueled up and drove straight through Columbia, still heading west to Kansas City.

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I'm gonna probably edit June 17th in a few days, but for now, more of Ryan, Mark & Stan. I'll warn you though, it's a short, but game changing one.

June 20th

We were almost to Kansas City…


It was almost dark, and we could see the buildings off in the distance.

“We’re almost there!” Stan shouted.

“Finally,” said Mark, “After three whole friggin days, we finally made it.”

“This is great! I can finally replenish my stock of Slim Jims!” I said

“I think I see headlights, there comin- OH FRICK! Mark swer!-”

And then the bus hit us… And everything went black.

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Slim Jims. Slim Jims everywhere. Now that`s advertising, you made me buy myself about 50 today. Hope you`re happy that you ruined my diet =))

Besides that, you can keep the reader electrified from the first word you write to the last period, so you got talent. Keep writing, you`re amazing.

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Thanks ElFtador. And yes, i am happy I ruined yet another readers diet! So far I've gotten nothing but positive feed back from everyone that reads this and responds, which is amazing compared to the track record of the other stories I started on pen & paper (this one started as that, and then I typed it. Time to see if Ryan and his buddies survived now, isn't it?;)

June 21st

    I was awakened by a noise…


    I opened my eyes after waking to the sound of the ambulance I was in running over something. There was an armed guard and a doctor, the latter of which was trying to ask me a some questions.

    “Do you remember anything?” he asked.

“We were heading toward Kansas City when we got hit by a bus.”

“Yeah, they found you on one of their patrols and we got sent out here to pick you and your friends up.”

“First; who's they? And second; where are my friends, Stan and Mark?”

“Sorry about that. They, the military. Who are Stan and Mark?”

“My friends.”

“Oh! The black haired one is in the ambulance in front of us.”

“That’s just Mark. What about Stan?

“His injuries were very serious, we had to airlift him.”

“Why! Is he okay?!?

“Yeah, he just had some tests and stuff that we had to do as fast as we could, so we airlifted him. He was damaged more though, and will probably be unconscious for a day or two.”

“Where are you taking us?”

“Royals- well, Kauffman Stadium. It’s been converted into a FEMA shelter. It’ll take us awhile though, with all the wrecks and groups of… them we have to get around.”

“By them you mean-”

“The infected ones, those that didn’t make it to the FEMA shelter in time.”

I had fallen asleep about an hour later, but woke up as I was being wheeled through some doors.

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Expected that they'll survive, tbh. Because it was logical to keep 'em alive. I smell some Kinky Umbrela Corp. merdre, and bloody hell I love that fragrance. Experiments and corruption maybe? Overrun base? So many posibilities. Please write again soon.

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Sorry to say no Umbrella Corp. stuff, figured corporations being experimenting with zombies was a bit too overused already. One of the things you said was correct though, as you'll see in this section of my story:


June 24th

    Over the past few days since I had gotten there, not much had happened...


    Every day we had to have a blood sample taken, had to wait to leave the fenced in tent area until seven in the morning, and then had to be back there by nine at night. Most of our stuff was taken, but I managed to save about ten Slim Jims. By this point, Mark was well enough to leave the Medical Center, and we were eating a lunch of hamburgers and french fries at a fold up table near first base.

    I took a bite of my hamburger and decided to go get some water at the cooler nearby. When I got back Mark was taking a Slim Jim from a pocket of my jacket, which I’d left out hanging on my fold up chair.

    “Will you stop taking my Slim Jims already!” I yelled.

    “Sorry,” he said, “ Last one, I promise.

    “You said that five Slim Jims ago, remember.”

    “Just hide them or so-” we then heard a commotion and looked toward the main gates. A pair of soldiers were taking a woman into a truck and were starting to leave. As they were leaving, a man started to chase them.


    He got stopped by the gates as they were closed by a pair of guards. After that the guy was a wreck. He just fell down and started crying. He then was taken to the Medical Center by one of the guards, whom ended up dragging him there.

“Don’t trust them! They don’t really care! They’re not what you-” he was cut short by an intercom.

“All refugees report to the Medical Center for an immediate blood test.”

“That’s strange,” Mark said, “We only get blood tests at 7:30, and it’s…” he checked his watch, “11:27”

“What’s really strange is the fact they took that woman, and what that one guy said.”

“He’s probably just some nut job,” Mark said as we got up and threw away our half eaten burgers.

“I’m not so sure.”


    About nine hours later it was time to go to ‘tent central’- Mark’s name for it- before our nine p.m. curfew. Mark and I were inside the fence when we saw the same guy from before heading away from the tent area, and towards one of the soldiers.

    “Sir, go to the tents. It’s 8:52 and curfew is in eight minutes.”

“Where’s my wife!”

“Sir, go to your tent.”

“Not until you tell me where my wife is!”

“Civilian! Go to your tent!” The soldier said as he raised his gun.

“Where’s my wife.”

“I don’t want to have to force you into your tent! Now MOVE!”

“What are you gonna do? Shoot me!?!”

    BANG!!! He fell to the ground, a hole in the middle of his chest. People went crazy. They started beating on the fence and yelling, a few tried climbing over. A group of soldiers came to the fence and raised their rifles.


Nobody listened, then they opened fire.


    Someone trying to climb the fence got shot and fell on me as I ran to my tent.

    “Everyone in your tents! And stay there ‘til noon!” One of them yelled once they stopped shooting at us.

    I headed back to my tent, my back throbbing from where that body had fallen on me.

    “You were right.” Mark told me as he went into his tent.

    I got in and couldn’t seem to fall asleep, the blood and bullet holes a constant reminder of what Mark had said.

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Oh, look! A Ratata! I`ll use my Masterball on it! ( Pokemon fans will understand this)

"Welcome to your prison, plebs." sums pretty much everything.

BTW, who leaves burgers half-eaten?

Besides that, good one. The story is building. I expect drama or something similar, because we both know that it gets dead serious when you bring gunshots into a peisage.


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Yep, drama sums it up. This is about halfway through my story, so the drama shall build up fast, with most of it building in this update here;


June 26th

    They had been taking people…


    The day after the shootout they had started taking people to interrogate them. At about 2:00 they brought me into a room and locked the door behind me.

    Inside the room was a featureless gray table with two chairs, one on each side. On on the far wall was what I guessed to be one sided glass. As the door locked  I noticed just how nervous I was. Up until that point I had been full of confidence. I was certain that I could handle it and expose whatever illegal thing they were doing and send them to prison. But when I got in there all that confidence melted away, just poof, gone. And then I heard voices.

“Thank you, I understand, and you will talk to the other one?”

“Hey, that’s the voice from the riots,” I said to myself

“ Sure thing Sergeant,” another voice replied.

“Again thank’s Corporal Meltez, I’m sure there’ll be a promotion in this for you.

“Happy to help Sergeant Adams.” the guy named Meltez said as someone opened the door.

“Hi, I’m Sergeant Adams. I’m the one in charge of the operations here at Kauffman Stadium.”

“Well I personally think you’re doing a swell job” I said sarcastically.

“Oh, you mean the riot incident.”

“If ‘incident’ is what you call a massacre, then yes, the incident”

“We had to restore order. A massive group was coming from down- town. If we hadn’t restored order when we did, that group would’ve quickly overrun. They would’ve heard the yells and came this way, we would’ve been  overwhelmed.”

“Using that logic wouldn’t gunshots attract them faster, and in larger numbers?”

He evaded the question like a politician.

“As I was saying, I’d like to ask you a few questions,” he said.

“Have at it.”

“Full name?”

“R-Ryan Lee.”

“You don’t have anything to be nervous about. I’m just here to make sure you don’t have any information your withholding. You’ll be out of here before you know it.”

“Okay, understood.”

    He then asked me a lot of other questions, most of them pretty normal. Such as when my birthday was, or where I had lived before I came to the FEMA camp. But after a while, the questions got weird, like what my Social Security Number was, or my sexual orientation.

    “Have you ever used a gun before?” he asked.


    “Have you ever owned a gun before?”

    “If I haven’t used a gun before, what do you think the chances of me owning one be?”

    “Had to make sure. Have you killed anyone since it all… happened?”

    “NO! Why would I kill somebody?”

“Plenty of reasons, but since you haven’t killed anyone those reasons don’t really matter, now do they?”

“I guess not.”

    There was about a minute of dead silence, the only sound was that of someone interrogating someone else in another room.

    “Have you ever looted anyplace or stolen something from someone else?”

    “Yeah, we’ve looted some, at abandoned stores and gas stations, but we’ve never stolen from somebody else.”

    “How do I know you wouldn’t steal something from us?”

    “Why would we have a reason to?”

    “Why wouldn’t you? It’s obvious you and your…” he was searching for the right word, “Gang cause trouble wherever you go.

“What do you mean, gang.”

He evaded yet another question of mine.

“What is your proof you wouldn’t do it?” he questioned

“What more proof do you need?”

“Strike one.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide!”

“Strike two.”

“What do you want from me!!!”

“Strike three!”

He then motioned someone I hadn’t noticed yet forward, who then handcuffed me to the chair. He then punched me in the nose, and then kicked my chair over, sending me flying, and therefore taking my chair with me.

“Last chance bucko, prove it to me.”

“Screw you,” I rasped, the blood running into my mouth and slurring my speech.

“Over the years I have found that pain can be a powerful motivator.”

“Wait, WHAT!!!”

“I would say I wished it hadn’t come to this, but then I’d be lying just a little too much,” He then proceeded by jabbing a knife into my ribcage.

Then I screamed, and screamed, and then screamed some more. I could hear someone yelling in the other room, but that ended quickly with the sound of loud thuds.

I was then dragged to a room which probably used to be a janitor's closet due to the chemical smell. I then waited and waited while trying to ease the stabbing pain in my side. After about ten minutes they threw in Mark.

He had been terribly beaten. His face was swollen, blood dripping on the floor. His ribs had been broken, and he had bruises all over.

“MARK! Are you okay!?!”

“Ribs… hurt. Face too. What about you, you look like you’ve been through it.”

“I’m fine. My side is bleeding quite a bit though,” Mark then took off his shirt.

“Here. Take my shirt, you can use it as a bandage.”

“Thanks bro. Man, what happened to us? We had it good you know. We had food, shelter, didn’t have to worry about getting killed by undead cannibals at every turn. Man we had it good.”

“Yeah. Food, water, a warm place to sleep at night. Cable TV, coffee… as much as I hate to say it, jobs.”

“Netflix, PS4s, iPhones.”

“The simple things we overlooked every day.”

“We as a society are… were so messed up.”

“We still are. I think for most people the only reason they did what they were told was fear. Fear of getting punished. Without that, it’s a scary world.”

“Amen to that.”

“So, what should we call the infected?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking, and if we’re going to survive long term it seems like we should have a better name for them than infectees.”

“How about zombies?”

“You're kidding, not this again.”

“Why not? Zombie seems to fit the description pretty well doesn’t it?”

“I gue-” I was cut off by the loud creak as the door opened and they threw someone else in.

“STAN!” I yelled, catching him before he hit the ground.

He was a nightmare. His face was covered in blood, it literally gurgling out of his mouth. He had had the crap beat out of him, I don’t think he even noticed the molar that he spit out on the ground. His eyes were bloodshot, one had a big long scratch across it.

“Ryan… M-M-Mark?”

“We’re here for you buddy, we’re here for you,” Mark reassured.

“They… questioned me-”

“We know, we know. They interrogated us too.” I replied
    “Thanks guys. You’re… the…… bessssss-” He then blacked out in my hands.

“No no no no NO!!!! STAN! WE NEED A DOCTOR! Stay with me man, stay with me.WHERE’S THAT DOCTOR!!!” Two people came in with a stretcher and took him away.

“YOU KILLED HIM!!!! MURDERERS!!! YOU HEAR ME ADAMS!!!! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!!! YOU MURDERER!!!” I continued on like this for a while, for I had just lost my best friend.

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June 29th

    I was out of it for a couple of days…


    I had stayed in my tent that first day after the interrogations. I didn’t talk to anyone, not even Mark, and I only left to use the latrines that had been dug after the PortaPotties had been filled with sewage.The next day I finally came outside, but still didn’t talk to anyone except to ask Mark to pass the pepper at lunch. I finally talked to Mark on the third day.

    “Have they burned Stan yet?” I asked Mark.

    “NO!!!” I’ve been trying to tell you for the past two days now that he’s alive!”

    “SERIOUSLY!!! Thats amazing! How!?!”

    “I don’t know. The doctors say it’s a miracle that he was alive. He did get hurt pretty bad though, they expect him out be out tomorrow. Unfortunately, they couldn’t save his eye.”

    “Just because of a scratch?”

    “Apparently a piece of his eye socket broke off and got jammed into his left eye”

    “Oh god!”

    “Yeah, they’re giving him an eye patch too.”

    “Who knew we’d be friends with a pirate.”

    “That’s gotta be the first joke I’ve heard since before the wreck.” Mark said, chuckling.

    “Well, see you at lunch, I’m gonna go see if I can check in with Stan.”


    “Hey Ryan,” Stan said as I came through the door, I mean flap, of the tent where he lay in a stretcher.

    “You’re not Stan!” I said, “You’re a pirate pretending to be him, but the costume failed because of the eye patch.”

    “Seriously, pirate jokes are what I first get from you, not ‘hey are you okay, everyone thinks you’re a hero’?”

    “I’m just messing with you, but seriously, are you okay?”

    “Now you care about my health!” he smiled “Yeah, I’m fine. I heard you were a handful for him though!”

    “Yeah, you know me. Always being the troublemaker of the three of us,” I laughed, even I couldn’t get myself to believe that.

    “You should've heard what Mark did.”

    “What’d he do?” I asked.

    “Let’s just say that when Adams interrogated me, he had a swollen eye and a bag of ice for a very uncomfortable place to get kicked.”

    “I did nothing compared to him, all I did was decide I had had enough of his annoying and snooping demeanor.”
    “You did better than a lot of people, I can’t tell you how many people I heard whispering about how stupid I was to resist. I’m telling you man, these people are sheep! And the except getting sent to the slaughter house! They don’t fight back because they’re afraid of what will happen to them! It's ridiculous!” he then went into a spat of coughing, at one point spitting a little blood on the ground.

    “Don’t hurt yourself!” I said

    “I’ve been coughing all day, it’s fine.”

“I’ll let you rest some, okay.”

“Sure. Hey! Thanks for checking in on me. I heard why you haven’t until now from Mark. I understand, I’d probably feel the same way if I thought you died.”

“Bye.” then I left, and wandered over to my tent.

    “Okay, see you then.

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I guess you could call it a 'revolution', not quite gonna be what you expect, and probably not in this entry:

June 30th

    Today I got into my first fistfight…


    Mark and I had escorted Stan to lunch that day. He was surprisingly well all things considering. We’d been talking for a while when someone new came and sat at our table.

    “Hi, I’m Ron,” he said as he introduced himself. He had reddish-brown hair and he had a smattering of freckles in a band across his face. He had a slight accent, not sure where from though.

    “Hey, I’m Mark, and the guy with the duct taped glasses is Ryan, the pirate over there is Stan.”

    “Knock it off Mark, I’m not a pirate!” Stan replied.

    “Shame, always wanted to know a pirate,” Ron said. “I was with a different group of friends until the interrogations, then they kept saying I sold them out. I’m not sure what for, though. I was in and out pretty quickly.”

    “Yeah, not us!” I said. “We all got the living crap beat out of us, especially Stan over here.”

    “I heard that they had some trouble with ‘retaliation’ as they called it.”

    “All we did was try to answer their questions. I just think they needed an excuse to beat some people up.” Mark said.

    “You’re telling me,” replied Stan.

    "Conversation starter, conversation starter… Oh! Are you guys dating anyone, I could really use some uplifting stories to get through my day!” Ron said.

    “That conversation is gonna be short, it might already be over!” replied Mark.

    “Not necessarily…” I said.

    “Ryan! You actually had a girl we didn’t know about! If anybody I thought Mark would be the one to do that, not you! Why didn’t you bring her?!?” Stan exclaimed.

    Mark glared at him in response.

    “I…” I paused, trying to rein in my emotions. “I was going to get her when you told me to come to your house, that’s why it took me so long to get there.”

    I paused for a little bit, trying to think about a good way to go about what I was going to say.

    “Rachael was a nurse and took online med school classes. She was still at the hospital when most others left. She would have made a fine doctor when she was done. She was in the hospital still when they napalmed it. I got there just in time to see her start to run out the door, and then get burned alive.”

    “I… I’m sorry I brought it up Ryan.” Stan said.

    “Wow, y’all have a lot of depressing stories,” Ron added.

    I got up to get my coat when someone ran into me.

    “HEY!! Stay out of way!” the guy yelled

    “I’m sorry man, but you ran into me,” I replied.

    “You’re gonna get a beating if you don’t get out of the way and shut up you piece of crap!"

    “Oh, we’ll see about that,” I replied.

    Then, his fist came straight at my face, and I dodged it. Everything went a heck of a lot faster after that, but at the same time, also a little slower. I  replied to his fist with a knee to the groin, and then a fist to the nose, sending him sprawling into Mark.

    “Hey!” Mark protested.

    “Sorry,” I said as I dodged another punch.

    Someone then came from behind and choke held me, while the main guy punched me in the stomach a couple of times.

    “This is what you get when you mess with actual men punk,” he told me.

    “Shut up you rotten bastard!” said Mark as he brought his foot down upon his kneecap, “And that’s what you get when you gang up on somebody.”

    Two more people tackled Mark to the ground, to which Ron said, “Finally, some excitement around here!” It was obvious he was having a good time as he pulled someone away from Mark by the shirt and punched them in the face.

    After that it was like one of those bar fight scenes in the movies, except outside. Then it was all ruined when Adams shot someone in the arm.

    “TO! YOUR! TENTS!.... NOW!!!”

    We then begrudgingly went to our tents, knowing that there would be punishment to follow.

    “And everyone involved is banned to the tents tomorrow, with no food or water!’

    Knew it.

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Sorry it's been so long guys, but my computer crashed and I was 3 weeks without internet. So, without further ado, lets end this wonderful little short story. I know, sucks, but this was already a planned end. Enjoy!:)

July 1st

    And thus ends our story…


    I woke up that morning completely expecting to be locked up for the day, but that was far from the case. I woke up to screams, the smell of blood and gunpowder in the air, the rat-a-tat-tat of machine guns, and the occasional explosion from some unknown source. I also heard the moan of zombies.I quickly got up and left the safety of my tent to go to Mark’s, and saw utter chaos.

    People lay, on the ground, getting chomped on at the entrance to the stadium, the gates had been knocked down by a seemingly immense force of zombies. A few soldiers still fought, but the rest fled in helicopters parked in Arrowhead Stadium, how they managed to get there, I don’t know.

    I started to sprint towards Marks tent and then saw a helicopter heading my way. It had zombies dangling on, eating the crew members inside. I saw as one, a zombie with a U MAD BRO? shirt fall out of the chopper and get shredded in the prop blade. The blade then jammed, and It started diving towards me. I ran perpendicular to it and dove behind some sandbags as the chopper crashed into the fence, knocking it over. I peeked over the edge and saw a fiery piece of metallic death. Just as I was sure everything was dead and was about to go to Mark’s tent, A pack of flaming zombies came stumbling out. I gasped and ran away, and ran into Mark outside his tent.

    “What was that noise!” he exclaimed when I got there.

    “A helicopter crashed,” I explained, “We need to find Stan!”

    “Already here,” he said as he jogged over.

“Okay, Stan and I will find Ron, you go get a bus ready, alright?” Mark said.

    “Yeah, sure.  Hey! Ryan take this,” Stan handed me a riot baton, “I found some of these and a shield,” he said proudly holding it up, “You want it?”
    “Nah, you’ll need it more,” I said, “If this is the end, take care.”

    “You to man,” Mark replied.

    I then ran of to the bus and got it started up as they went and looked for Ron. I got it started and waited for them to come. As I waited, someone panicked and opened the back door. And let in a dozen zombies. I tried to open the door, but it was jammed.

    “No, this is not happening!” I yelled as I tried to pry it open with my baton.

    I then saw Mark and Ryan coming back toward the bus with Ron.

    “Help!” I yelled, the saw my distress and ran to the bus.

    “LOOK OUT!!” Stan yelled, but it was too late. It had sunk it’s teeth into my shoulder.

    You know how in movies people get bit and all they do is flinch? Well that is far from true. A white hot pain radiated so strongly that I could barely make myself scream, but when I did, I screamed very loudly. As it tore into me some more I was thinking, Run guys, run! But my mouth betrayed me, for it was screaming; “HEEEEELLLLLLLPPP MEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I saw Stan start to head towards me, but Mark and Ron pulled him away. Stan was screaming too, begging, and cursing God all at once. Mark was crying a lot, but he still managed to keep his head. Ron was starting to shed a tear, but he wiped it away and kept going. They all left as I slowly, painfully died, bite by bite.


Memorial of: Ryan Lee

Zombies killed: 0

People killed: 0

Death: devoured alive

Survived: June 17th-July 1st

Total: 2 weeks

Famous Quote: ‘Will you stop eating my Slim Jims already!’

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Hey guys, I have good news! I'm currently working on DTSSD-Stan and may start posting that or other stories in the near future. Also, please share your comments on the story, I'm welcome to any comments, no matter how crappy (the words I just typed don't apply to trolling).

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