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Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Stab, slash, stab. That's the sound of my small butcher knife. No, I am unfortunately not making bacon, but killing the undead. Yes, you heard me. The undead. Zombies. Whatever you call them, they're here, alive, and destroying lives, one uncurable bite-mark at a time. No, they are not green, slightly bloody brain-eaters, though their skin can tint slightly green from decay. They're rancid-smelling, pale, walking corpses that will feed on absolutely anything to keep them from dropping dead once more. So, what caused this mess?

Earlier this year, virtually everyone backed their bags and moved out of this small town, Adsifale. Adsifale had one of the biggest nuclear plants in America, and in 2057, that all came crashing down when terrorists dropped a bomb on it. Those same terrorists unleashed the zombie apocalypse. Nuclear waste was practically everywhere, and it didn't take long to sink into the water supply. It took even less time to reanimate the dead. So, here I am, barely a teenager, fending off the undead. Did I mention everyone I know and love is either permanently dead or undead? Yeah. Even my cat, Oculus.

My thoughts are interrupted by a zombie lunging at me, which I dodge with a lot of trouble. Its teeth skim my skin, leaving a scratch deep enough to bleed but hopefully not deep enough to infect me. While it lingers on the ground, with a few limbs broken off from the impact, I hack my knife into it's brain and split the head in half. The zombie falls like a ragdoll, strange black ooze leaking from where my knife just was. No zombies remain around me. I'm safe for the moment.

Also, my name is Kiwi. That's probably the scariest thing about this situation.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Stab, slash, stab. That's the sound of my small butcher knife. No, I am unfortunately not making bacon, but killing the undead. Yes, you heard me. The undead. Zombies. Whatever you call them, they're here, alive, and destroying lives, one uncurable bite-mark at a time. No, they are not green, slightly bloody brain-eaters, though their skin can tint slightly green from decay. They're rancid-smelling, pale, walking corpses that will feed on absolutely anything to keep them from dropping dead once more. So, what caused this mess?

Earlier this year, virtually everyone backed their bags and moved out of this small town, Adsifale. Adsifale had one of the biggest nuclear plants in America, and in 2057, that all came crashing down when terrorists dropped a bomb on it. Those same terrorists unleashed the zombie apocalypse. Nuclear waste was practically everywhere, and it didn't take long to sink into the water supply. It took even less time to reanimate the dead. So, here I am, barely a teenager, fending off the undead. Did I mention everyone I know and love is either permanently dead or undead? Yeah. Even my cat, Oculus.

My thoughts are interrupted by a zombie lunging at me, which I dodge with a lot of trouble. Its teeth skim my skin, leaving a scratch deep enough to bleed but hopefully not deep enough to infect me. While it lingers on the ground, with a few limbs broken off from the impact, I hack my knife into it's brain and split the head in half. The zombie falls like a ragdoll, strange black ooze leaking from where my knife just was. No zombies remain around me. I'm safe for the moment.

Also, my name is Kiwi. That's probably the scariest thing about this situation.