Peter?'s Story

Peter was beyond scared right now. Not only had he been rudely awakened from his nap by gunshots but whoever was out there had brought a shit ton of zombies with them. Peter frowned,

"Shit ton? I must not of been good in math class if that is how I am measuring the amount of zombies out there."

He groaned as he brought himself to a crouched position. Sleeping on nothing but concrete floors and flat cots takes a lot out of a person after a few days, never mind weeks. The sun was hiding behind clouds today, just like yesterday and the day before that. Peter wondered if the sky had always been grey and stormy. The roof he was taking refuge upon had a great overview of the surrounding area. Looking carefully over the ledge he scanned the streets below looking for the source of the gunshots. While he saw no living people, a massive herd of zombie could be seen heading straight toward the local gas station. Peter felt sorry for whoever had holed up there. There would be no easy way out in that fight. He checked his backpack. A few granola bars as well as several fresh bottles of water. He was amazed he was able to stumble upon a unopened, uncontaminated mini fridge stacked with bottles of water the day before. His stomach grumbled but he decided to put his next scavenger mission on hold until he found out who these new wanderers were and if they posed a threat. His battered machete lay beside him. Luckily he got out of most sticky situations by stealth and sheer agility. Peter recalled running to be a familiar motion to him and he liked the adrenaline spike it gave his body. To this day he had never had to use machete and he wanted to keep it that way. The weapon felt dull and clumsy in his hands and he had a better chance of hurting himself then any would be attacker.