“I think that door could budge any minute now,” I said.
“Eh, it’s fine as long as you’ve got enough shells,” said Rob. He clutched his shotgun like it was his first born.
“How many do you think there are?”
“No more that twenty, tops.”
“Oh, well that’s a relief.”
This is how the typical day goes for a teenager. When you live in a post-apocalyptic, zombie-infested wasteland. It’s funny, we always thought we’d end up traveling around the world, blowing zombies away and recruiting new people for some sort of survival team. However, that’s not really how things went down. Guns are still common, that’s why the majority of survivors are rednecks. Looks like “The Walking Dead” was right after all. We still have school, though. I guess there’s no escaping that. It’s hard to live on the road when you have a science project due the following Friday.
Today was day 243, and I was spending it as usual, behind locked doors with my buddy, Rob. Usually guarding the door was my dad’s job, but we have to keep him chained up now for...certain reasons. Rob hadn’t seen his parents in a while. Last time he checked, they were off to Wal-Mart to get more pudding. That would’ve been about 243 days ago, I think. Boy, does time fly.
“So, who you gonna ask to prom?” blurted Rob. He was a master at small talk.
“Mmm, I don’t know. Maybe Becky?” I said.
“I think Becky got bitten last week, man.”
“Really? Dang it.”
“I mean, you could still take her to prom, just don’t dance close, alright?” he quipped.
“Shut up, man.”
Suddenly, we heard a loud banging on the door.
“Hey! Let me in!”
It was our neighbor, Jeremy. Jeremy was a cool guy. I went to his birthday parties and he had a really nice Remington collection.
“They got into my house, guys! I need you to let me in!”