Snippet #2480078

A short teenager with dark purple shoulder-length hair sits against one of the windows, looking down at the farmland below. Everything was so different here. It might even be exciting under different circumstances, but right now she was just scared. Very, very scared. It was only a few days ago that her parents were declared "infected" and she was sent away to live with her grandmother in Ireland. She didn't get along with her parents very well -- she was 17, after all -- but it still sent a pang of guilt through her when she thought of how easily she left.

She was so lost in her thoughts and the book on tape she was listening to that she didn't even notice the commotion happening in the aisle next to her row of seats. It was only when the man next to her started screaming and blood spattered across her face that she woke from her waking dream and looked over, eyes wide and startled. The tall, successful-looking businessman who had been shooting her unusual hair strange looks the whole hour of the flight was being mauled by another, more heavy-set businessman with crazed, rabid eyes and loud growls. Jade frantically unbuckled herself and climbed over the seat behind her -- empty, now that everyone seemed to have noticed the zombies -- and dashed into the aisle, bolting back toward the rear of the plane and sliding underneath one of the serving tables. She hoped to whatever god might be up there that they wouldn't notice her. And that was her last thought, before she was thrown against the back wall and knocked unconscious.

She awoke to the sounds of terrified screams and loudly whirring exposed jet engines. Her vision was a bit fuzzy, as she had taken a fairly hard hit to the head. She also seemed to have a pounding, excruciatingly painful headache, which she hoped was temporary. She shakes her head to clear her vision and looks about. There are people gathered all around her, trying to push back the horde of rabid people with pocket knives, fire extinguishers, and multiple other assorted items that aren't meant to be weaponry. She stands up and staggers about for a moment, until the yell of another awoke her fully. "Come on!" it said. When she finally regains her composure, she dashes between two of the survivors and narrowly dodges a zombie's shambling dash to try and grab her. She scoops her satchel up from her seat and vaults over a piece of steel blocking her path, dashing out into the blinding sunlight, where there are even more of the things. She takes a survey of her surroundings and dashes toward the possible safe haven of the farm like a frightened squirrel, hopping over a few dead bodies as she goes.