A/N: This is a one-shot about the zombie apocalypse, set roughly six months afterward the initial invasion. Enjoy!

"They're coming." Jag says, scratching his head and readying his .22 rifle.

"How many?" asks Bones.

"At least thirty. Maybe more." I respond, focusing through the binoculars.

It's been some time since everything went to hell, but one thing is certain: nothing's the same. Including our names.

Before the zombies came, my name was Paul, Or maybe Jack, I can't really remember. Now, though, it's Romero, because of my obsession with the living dead that made our lives hell. Even before they came, I studied them. Sure, maybe people were inaccurate, but nobody could really guess what they'd be like for real. They were just writing fiction for fun or profit.

"Should we tell Grenade?" asks Jag. Grenade's our leader, so named for his explosive temper.

"We'll try to pick a few off while you tell him." Bones and I pull out our .22s and position ourselves as Jag races down the tower.

We took over the Tower a long time ago, maybe two weeks after they came. It used to be an office building, I think, but now that we've killed all the zombies in it and blocked zombie access to us, it's our base. The Tower. Visible everywhere this eighth of the town.

We're the last in the town, far as we know.

I snipe out a few, dropping .22s through their eye sockets, and the bastards go down, but the other zombies continue plowing ahead.

Grenade races upstairs with Jag. "Shit," he says when he sees the zombies. "Why didn't you guys tell me how many there were?"

Then I see the second wave, hundreds strong, pouring down the road.

"Holy shit." Jag swears. "We're gonna have to pack out."

Grenade nods. "Romero, wake everyone."

I hand him my .22 and race downstairs. I hit the level of offices that we use for our sleeping quarters and run into where Artemis, Wolf, Captain, and Tiger are sleeping. One by one I wake them and give them the news.

Artemis is up instantly, grasping her bow. "I'll go up with Jag and Bones." She races away, but I catch her.

"No, you don't." I say. "We're fighting our way out of here, melee style."

Artemis makes a face. "Why are we always fighting melee?" But she puts away her bow and draws her dagger anyway.

I grab my broadsword, looted from the museum in town, as they pack up their bags.

Grenade, Bones, and Jag come into their rooms and grab their supplies. Wolf, meanwhile, runs to where we keep all the dogs so she can let them free. It sucks that we can't bring them with us, sucks even more how long it'll take to isolate dogs from the wild packs and train them after we've escaped, but that's how shit works sometimes. If we survive a day, it's a good day. That's how it works.

I ready myself for a fight as we pound down the stairs. Bones pulls out the boards, lays them over the gap we made, and launches herself over it. Shaking his head, Grenade follows, and Jag and Wolf go after him. I'm next, trying to hide my sweat and nerves as we cross the gap. I don't see the others cross; I'm too busy wiping my sweat.

"Damn." says Grenade. "We're going to have to literally fight our way out." He pulls out his dual katanas and stabs the air as we see the masses of zombies entering the first floor.

Artemis ditches her dagger in her belt and starts shooting into the zombies with her bow. It's like she's Katniss from the Hunger Games, how good she is. Grenade, Jag, and Bones pull out guns as Captain, Tiger, Wolf, and I race into the midst of the zombies. My broadsword cleaves through flesh and skull and bone as I whip it through zombie after zombie. A line clears, and we race through it.

Grenade and Jag cover our backs as the rest of us walk forwards. The smoky dusk looms above us as the zombies incessantly moan in their path down the street.

"Where'll we go?" asks Bones.

"Anywhere other than here." Captain tells her, whipping his scimitar about.

A smaller zombie horde stands at the end of the road, but we dispatch them quickly and continue on foot. All the cars in the area were firebombed or ran out of gas, so they're out as an option.

Captain swears and points ahead. The larger zombie horde sensed us and has turned towards us, moaning with a thirst for blood and flesh to be spilled.

"Damn!" I shout, slashing at the reaching hands. One pulls at my belt, and I hack its hands off and toss them away.

It's like the zombies are piranhas, the way they chase us. Incessant.

Suddenly, I realize what must be done. I don't want to do it, but there's no choice.

"Run!" I yell. They do, but stop when they see me heading back.

"Go!" I cry. "If one of us has to die to hold them off, let it be me."

"Romero, no, dammit!" shouts Captain, but I'm already wading in the thick of the horde.

"Go!" I scream, tears running down my face, and don't wait to see if they comply. I walk through the zombies, chopping and slicing. My friends are too far away, so they all head towards me, moaning. I feel multiple bites and slashes from their nails opening on my legs, but I pay them no heed. I won't become one of them, not like this.

They pull at me, moaning.

Moaning.

Moaning.

Moaning.

I scream in an emotion I've never felt before and decapitate three of them in one blow. But I can't stop the rest of them.

They press in on me, and they pull, ripping at my flesh. I don't resist as I feel something snap in my leg, although I do scream in pain.

I feel their yellowed, broken teeth biting through me and turning blood-red. I hope my friends got away.

There is no more consciousness, just blackness. The pain from the bites keeps coming, but lessens with each passing second. My body throbs with pain.

I crack my eyes open through blood to see the ground spattered red. The red rises to consume me, and then there is just red.

The red is eaten away at by blackness, and then there is nothing.