... A Dead End.

... A dead end. Alex flung his body around furiously to face the horde of undead, gauchely but undoubtedly closing in on him. Six shells left. Two in the sawn-off, four in his pockets and at least six... seven... eight of them, those grunting dead things slowly approaching their long awaited dinner. Alex unloaded all six shells in mere seconds and tossed the now empty shotgun to the ground before realising it still had its uses. 

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" 

The remaining two shambling things had grown more angered and with that, more hungry. Alex was cornered in, sure to be eaten alive, torn limb from delicious limb until the flesh from his body had been completely devoured down to the bone marrow. The only remaining pieces of Alex would soon be stuck between the rotting teeth of some lifeless monster that would only hunger for more. And now they were. 

"Argh! Fuck you Romero!" 

Alex paced up and down his room, past the mound of filthy crockery that called out for its place in the dishwasher and a good soak.

"That would never have happened in real life! I would have just smashed the fucker's teeth in and been done with it!"

Alex threw the controller to the ground fervidly, as if the wooden floor boards had somehow caused his shameful failure. He was certainly full of himself, proud in the knowledge that if ever there were a real zombie apocalypse, he'd be ready for it. Alex pictured his old school bullies and anyone else who even so much as jeered in his general direction or called him 'fat boy' or 'pussy'. They would fall to their knees and grovel, begging for his protection and he would take much joy in denying the lot of them. 

"You'd just get in my way, pussy"  

Alex would repeat those words over and over until the red-hot crimson anger finally subsided. But kids like to think like that. People like Alex, fickle and malleable, could just as easily have developed a burning desire to join the army after a Call of Duty marathon, becoming hostile when an online friend points out that unfortunately for Alex, physical fitness is a whole lot important than the ability to perfect a '360 no-scope'. But that was Alex, he'd played every zombie game to date, seen all the films, studied them back to back endlessly. His drawers were filled to the brim with notepads detailing his every move, every possible route of action should the end-times finally come. It was only ever a fantasy, though he had no doubt that it would come, as arrogant as he was. Most people with dreams for the future will see them pass by, just out of arms reach. Even the most modest of dreams; true love, happiness, a degree in dentistry. Naturally however, and holding true to that exhausted stereotype that teenagers turn into heartless, self-absorbed bastards when they want something, Alex's own 'dream' would render probably more than half of the world’s population into blundering corpses. Children turned orphans, parents left childless, lovers loveless; but as long as Alex remained alive and conscious he could live out his sick fantasy and he didn't give a shit about anybody else. He longed for that fateful day.

'Luck', if you have some bizarre, twisted interpretation of the word, must have at least been on Alex's side that day... 

Alex jarred in his sleep. The usual blur and static of the TV wasn't present to wake and comfort him. Odd. Nor could the daily hustle and bustle be heard from the kitchen, either. No clanging of pots or steaming from the kettle, no frying of meat or the usual menial bickering that forever plagued his parents' loveless marriage. Alex often mocked his parents' sundry disputes under his breath and out of sight in a conscious effort to avoid being dragged into some pointless argument against his will. 

"It's nine in morning woman; I wish you'd just leave me the fuck alone!" 
He'd say.
"Be careful what you wish for you ungrateful prick!" 
She'd reply.

Alex repeated their words in his head, assigning them both with ridiculous voices to match their equally ridiculous opinions.

 "No bacon sandwich this morning, fucking great"

Alex tossed and turned among twisted sheets. He lay on his back briefly, staring up at the blank ceiling until turning back onto his side and slowly directing his eyes back down at the wall. Some menial, entirely unimportant thought wafted through his mind like tumbleweed, aimless and dull. The thought left him wondering what colour the walls had originally been painted; he couldn't quite make it out for the clutter of torn and marked posters, carelessly taped on the walls in years previous. The images consisted of what every mid- pubescent teenage boy loves and dreams of respectively; games and girls. He lay in awe for a moment, staring intently at the wall until a faint smile protruded onto his oily face. 

Alex sat up. His hand formed a gesture of salutation upon his forehead. 

"Master Chief."

He flung his arm forward as if to commemorate the lifeless sheet of coloured paper, paying no attention to the fact that the Chief quite clearly wasn't going to be answering back any time soon. Alex limped out of bed. The door let out a loud creek as he pulled it towards his chest and peeked out.

"Mum?"

 No answer. 

"Mum!" He demanded.

Still no answer. They must have left for work early. But they knew about Alex's final exam, and how his grades were slacking and they were always unreasonably harsh whenever the time came for exams or report evenings. Such deep concern only ever seemed apparent in the company of their peers, as if to assure themselves that their parenting skills were even somewhat adequate. Assurance in this sense, shares the same definition as delusion. Pure delusion; they couldn't give a shit any other time of year. 

"You've gotta look the part, even if it's just a dumb lie"

This had become a commonplace saying in Alex's humble abode. It was his Mothers world philosophy and by god they stuck to it. What an inspiration she was. 

Alex pulled a t-shirt over his head and proceeded down the stairs. He noticed the softness of the carpet under his feet and the silky smooth varnish on the banister that lightly tickled his palms. As quickly as that feeling of bliss had seeped into Alex's body it was gone, almost in an instant. 

His Mother, bent on all fours, ploughed her hands and teeth through the chest and into the thorax of what could only be the remains of his Father. Alex's eyes widened in horror until he could feel the plasma rushing towards his skull with such force, as if it were hitting the crown of his head and pounding back at the brain tissue. The dress she wore was soaked from top to bottom, dripping dark red and thick droplets of blood onto the kitchen floor. After a few moments more of immobilising shock, Alex came to what was left of his senses. He sought to charge over and wrench his Mother away, to stop the brutality, but he knew all too well what this was. The moment Alex had been waiting for had finally come, except now he wasn't so equipped to handle it. Behind his repulsed and teary eyes, Alex had a few sudden thoughts. The first being 'my parents are dead', the second, after quick contemplation of the first, being something to the same effect with the addition of a considerably larger number of curse words. The third and final thought that swung viciously back and forth in his mind, which seemed all the more potent than any other was a phrase he'd often heard his Mother say; the same phrase he'd often shrugged off and ignored; 

"Be careful what you wish for".

Now, Lets take a step back to ponder the situation.

Alex. A Seventeen year old man-child with about as much wit as a mule and as much experience to scarcely even fill a single post-it note. Overweight and proud of it, unemployed and wouldn't want it any other way. Obnoxious, with a know-it-all personality. You think he's ever taken no for an answer? No chance. Stuck up, and stuck in a rut which he finds particularly comfortable. Spoilt so he'll keep his mouth shut, has everything his parent’s money can buy but as the saying goes, money can't buy him love. It's rather sad in all honesty, had the kid been born under different circumstances the end product might have been a touch more desirable. Had he been blessed with attentive parents who took pride in raising their son because he gave them a reason to feel so, Alex could have turned out to be a pretty remarkable kid. But his own parents were insolent, insufferable and completely inept in the parenting department; you could say they didn't warrant any less than the fate they received. Needless to say, to bear witness to the 're-murder' of your Father by the hands and teeth of your own Mother takes its toll on a person, and the heavy burden that manifested within Alex was undeniable. For better or for worse, it changed him.

In the days after the outbreak, Alex, like any clueless soul, went into hiding. His Mother, or at least what remained of her pastel-white, lifeless body, hobbled around below for what seemed to be an eternity when in fact it had only been a couple of days at most. The boy gently rocked himself to and fro in the corner of his room and wept piteously until an abrupt 'thump' stopped him in his tracks.

It was different to the familiar grunts and groans or the scuffled noises of clumsy feel being hauled helplessly back and forth. Something stirred up within Alex and he finally mustered up the courage to investigate. He began his descent down the staircase, paying no attention to the lavish carpet and the smooth varnish of the bannister that he had relished in such immense detail just a few short days ago. Edging his head around the corner, he set his sights upon two motionless corpses. They lay apart from one another, still and silent, with none of the typical murmurs to be heard. Alex made no effort to appreciate the irony of the scene before him, instead brushing off the fact that he now found himself standing in what was once unbecomingly known as the 'living room'. The boy took a moment to recuperate, shutting his eyes to force the tears back down and inhaling long and harsh breaths. Dead. Like, dead dead. It must have been the lack of food, Alex assumed. She'd been stuck in a room with no other food source than her dearly beloved bastard and she'd already bitten off more than she could chew. There was virtually nothing left of the man and soon, when the decomposition began she would be just the same pile of bones. Alex contorted his face in an effort to bottle up his emotions as if he had some kind of audience watching his every move, and used all the strength he could muster in his cheeks to hold back the tears. The mixture of emotion whirling through his body felt like nothing he had ever felt before, no other experience could evoke the same feelings of despair, bewilderment and oddly enough, a strange sense of relief at the same time. It was a shameful way to feel after the events that had transpired in previous days and he certainly knew it, but a resounding emptiness inside Alex led him to question whether he ever really felt much more than contempt towards his 'parents'

The boy shuffled the almost indistinguishable bodies to one side and buried his head in his hands. A lone thought crept up on him.

"Fucking hell. Is the same for the rest of the town? The City? Is it all like this?

Only then did it dawn on the boy to peer out of the window and onto the streets below. Alex lived in a fairly large town, home to around forty thousand residents. Whether those residents were alive, dead or a complete contradiction, he was soon to find out. The street happened to be completely unoccupied, which would have been a welcome relief but for the distinct and unnerving lack of and human presence whatsoever. There was obviously a good recent for this; maybe the remaining survivors had flocked to the adjacent churches to pray and beg for mercy. A bit too late for that, he thought.

As a general rule of thumb, the feigned escapades that are to be had whist sitting arched in front of the box smashing colourful plastic buttons should never be applied to real life, but quite astonishingly, and for the first time in the boy's life, he knew exactly what to do. Whether it was the right or wrong course of action would have to be put to the test but for the first time he took control, packing whatever could be considered supplies into a brown duffel bag. Alex checked over the contents one last time and then he would have to leave for somewhere, anywhere, as long as that place was safe. He made his way down the stairs, focusing now on making as little noise as possible as opposed to the warm rug resting between his toes. As a final precaution the boy made for his Fathers tool cupboard. Alex endeavoured to remain absolutely silent as he removed a hammer, a spanner, a dozen batteries and a torch from a large toolbox, though he may as well have been routing through a box of bells and whistles. He got up without hesitation and headed for the door.

The boy stopped in his tracks. Why was he leaving so soon? In fact, why was he leaving at all? Nothing else in the house posed a threat to him and if there even was some kind of outbreak Alex hadn't seen any evidence of it yet. Perhaps his parents had been inflicted with some strange disease while sunbathing in the tropics on one of their many getaways and the incident that occurred  just a few days ago was one of a kind, a freak accident, an exceptional sight only ever witnessed by his own eyes. But he knew in his heart that this wasn't true. Alex needed no further proof that the affliction he had witnessed rotting the flesh of his parents at such an alarming rate was at the very least an epidemic. He didn't need specific orders from the government stressing the utmost importance of staying indoors, boarding up any possible entrances and conserving food until help arrived, for he already knew what was happening. The boy thought back to that day just short of a week ago when it had all started. He wanted this then, even fantasised over it. A great sense of regret overwhelmed him.

Alex decided to venture back up the stairs, if only to check the radio for good measure to see what, if anything, was wrong and when it could be expected that the neighbouring towns or cities would send help. He flicked the switch on the radio and began adjusting both the volume and frequency knobs on the control-face simultaneously. Out from the corner of his eye a slow moving silhouette on the corner of the street came in and out of view and the radio picked up a weak but distinguishable signal.

"This is an automated message. Please remain calm. Stay in your homes and do not leave for any reason. This is a worldwide pandemic. Help will arrive soon."