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Game Over

The name is Brax Newton and surviving is the game.

The apocalypse landed on a Monday, somehow, I wasn't totally surprised by that, and the girls of room 305 were definitely ready for anything.

Well, at least we thought we were.

We raided the hotel's small shop for food and kept to high ground, if my sources were correct, they couldn't climb well.  Naturally, we kept to our room on the fifth floor, blocking the door with the ugly flower couch and its matching pillows.

It seemed to work pretty well, there were no Flesh Eaters getting in so our blockade was deemed a success.

As the days passed by, it became apparent that the Fleshy's weren't our only problem.  We were running out of food.

A quick trip down to the lobby revealed that the small shop had been picked clean.  Nothing but the shelves and some sunglasses remained.  We all knew what that meant, we were going to have to go outside.  We hadn't left the Marriton Inn since the news hit the TV.

Of course, no one volunteered to leave the safe zone, so Survivor style, we voted people off the island.

It seemed pretty fair until I was picked along with Kalani, my dear brother's not-so-lovely wife, to go to the corner store a street over to get supplies.

I understood why they chose me, I had enough zombie shooter game knowledge under my belt to be the female Daryl Dixon, and as a chef, I knew my way around a knife.  Just because I understood didn't mean I had to like it.

So with a frown on my face and decked to the nines in every weapon we could scrounge up, including a ballpoint pen, we took to the strangely deserted streets.

Dodging from hiding spot to hiding spot with the invisible drum of my heartbeat thrumming in my ears, the actual venture to the store turned out to be surprisingly lackluster.

Ten minutes into our bullet proof plan, we were practically dead meat.

A Fleshy managed to get the drop on Kalani as she examined a tube of lipstick and got a decent size chunk of her arm and the previously unseen Fleshy's came to life at the smell of blood that was slowly forming a crimson pool on the linoleum floors.

The gray faced freaks started to push in, forcing me and Kalani against a wall of toilet paper and farther from the sole exit.

This is when I realized that this wasn't going to go exactly like The Walking Dead, we couldn't outrun these things.  We probably weren't even going to make it back to the hotel.

Not going to lie, our odds looked pretty bleak.

The name is Brax Newton and as it turns out, survival isn't a game, but maybe it's game over.




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