I kneel in the cold mud in the crawlspace. My feet and legs start to ache from it, but I dare not try to repostion myself more comfortably. I can hear the hungry moans of the undead just outside my not-so-secure hiding place. All I can do is keep quiet and hope they don't smell me.
I wince at the pain in my legs that is reaching epic proportions. But I've known worse pains. And I'm still not sure which life Iprefer; on the run from zombies, fighting for survival, or the one I had before the outbreak. I used to live with my mom and her stupid, drunken boyfriend. They were my only family, and I can't saythatI'm sorrythey've been cheerfully gorged on by the dead. The only thing I'm sorry about is that they were eaten completely, and I never got the chance to bludgeon their reanimated zombie faces.
I don't hear any moans, so Idecide to risk sitting back and giving my legs a break. I sigh in sweet relief.
Big mistake. An earsplitting, gutteral groan breaks the silence. It sounds like it's right over me. Sure enough, there's pounding and thumping on the wooden boards above my head. There are zombies on the porch. How lovely for me. I know it's only a matter of time before their moans attract others, they break the boards, and I'm completely surrounded. It's time to go.
I army-crawl toward the exit, a small break in the fencing. Poking my head out, I see zombies already beginning to converge on me. I can also see that the rain hasn't let up a bit. It seems the forces of nature are doing their absolute best to make me quite uncomfortable.
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