Author's Note: Thanks for reading! This is my first Total Drama fanfiction. I don't know if it's going to be a story, or a oneshot. I have many ideas, but I can't seem to write them. I hope this is good enough for you readers, it took a while. Cody is a difficult character to write, because there's so many different ways to write him. Anyway, thanks for reading.

(Also, I'm terrible formats for fanfictions, just to let you know.)

Warning: Language, violence...and ZOMBIES!

"Shoot!" From a distance, I could see the vague figure fighting off a hoard of undead with a baseball bat. It shouted at me, demanding I shoot the approaching creature in front of me.

My heart pounded in my chest. My fingers wrapped around my crappy gun, but they refused to move even an inch despite me trying to force the muscles to move.

Well, shit, shit, shit. Come on! Fuckity, fuck fuck! Come on, Cody! I scolded myself. Move! Move, damn it! Don't be wimpy...this is what Duncan always mocks you about. You're proving him right!

The creature moved slowly toward me, not caring about my internal conflict. Apparently, he (or she, I couldn't really tell), had a limp. How can I be afraid of a slow zombie? Noah and I would have conversations—slow zombies, alone? And not only was this a slow zombie, it was a disabled zombie, for Pete's sake! That's like being afraid of old ladies! And old ladies give you cookies and knit sweaters with cute little kitty-cats on them.

Okay, Cody, I breathed in. Stop distracting yourself. Focus. Just shoot the damn thing, for Pete's sake, it's dead! Well, er, undead to be exact... It can't feel the impact of the bullet, its second death. It can't feel emotions. Just like Heather. (Heh) Oddly enough, I felt a smile on my lips (man I'm funny.) I readjusted my sweaty fingers on the gun, and I felt confidence. It probably doesn't even remember the love of its family, the touch of a girl. (heh, I haven't even...) The smile dropped right off of my lips.

My fingers felt weak, my new-found confidence faltered. My legs trembled beneath me. My breath came in short gasps.

Okay, Cody. Focus. Don't think too much. Just shoot. Shoot, shoot, shoot...

But, as I took in the grisly features, that seemed too much. Its eyes were dark and dull. The oddly colored skull was missing skin and had various hair clumps scattered around the surface. Worst of all, its chest was a gaping hole with pus oozing out. Oh god, oh god, oh god, I think I see an animal in there. As I stared and stared, I thought of how it had a heart once. It was someone's daughter or son. A human. Maybe it even had a Gwen in its life.

Soon enough, the zombie inched closer and closer. Its mangled foot dragging behind it. A low, angry moan escaped its dry, cracked (oh god, is that dry blood?) lips.

Well, I'm going to die. I have to accept that. I don't want to, but I have to. (All because I'm a wimp, damn it.) I wasn't ready for this—my death and the zombie hunting.

The zombie leaned into me. I took it all in—my death. The creatures indescribable flesh made my stomach twist, I stared at the cracked lips and wondered whose blood splattered against its lips to get it that color. The smell of the creature—like garbage-made me dizzy. And, then, I met its dark, lifeless eyes. It was all too much. There was...there was still some life in there. Not much, hardly any, but still enough. It seemed to begging to be saved. My breath stopped. I closed my eyes and hoped that it was toothless. My legs buckled and I fell against the cold ground.

Damn it, I never even got to kiss Gwen.

There was a loud bang, which rang in my ears. Oh man, was that my heart? Am I dead already?

And then there was silence.

Something hard fell against my aching shoulder. Or was I imagining that?

Feeling brave—somehow-I opened one of my eyes and peered at the scene. Nothing was in front of me. No zombie, nothing. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something.

Ooh, why did I have to open my eyes?

A fracking zombie was against my shoulder. The top of its skull was caved in, which I guess shouldn't surprise me, nothing should anymore. And, as I stared at the decayed face of the creature, I realized it was not any zombie, but a splattered, bloody zombie—the exact one which was approaching me.

(Did I mention it was against my shoulder? So close that if I had even turned my head a yoctometer, I'd be met with a slimy, bloody pair of zombie lips. )

And..

Wait, what? The zombie is dead? I let out a huge sigh of relief, and slumped against the ground, clutching my chest. Did I kill it in somehow? Like in a rapid adrenaline filled blackout? (Possible, but improbable.)

I scratched my head in confusion. And then I shrugged. At least it was dead, right? I gave an exhausted giggle and bit my fingernail. (A habit I had once beaten before the Virus. Now, its in full force.)

Then I tasted something. A familiar copper taste mixed with something I didn't recognize, not to mention a really disgusting texture.

Holy crap. Blood.

My hand fell away from my mouth, shaking. Holy moly, is that...brain matter? My heart pounded. "Holy shit! Gross!" I jumped up, spitting at the ground, trembling, shaking my hand like a dog and trying desperately to get the undead germs (and well, to be blunt, brains) off me. My striped shirt was soaked with red and green. (Green?)

I heard a snicker and turned. Noah, in all his smug glory, looked from his gun (where'd he get that?) to me, and with a sigh (that snarky little bastard) simply stated, "I told you to shoot."