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50 Shades Of Shane



They seemed to stretch on forever, the twisting winding roads beckoning you towards the next safe haven. But was there really a safe haven? Was there really any safety now that the world had gone to complete and utter shit?

The roads seemed to drag on for miles, and Aubree was tired of walking them. She couldn't count how many days she had walked them; everything seemed to blur together when your watch no longer worked and the calenders were old and outdated. It didn't do much good to try and look into the when she managed to break into a store; their last date would be the start of it all, back when things were presumed to get better. None of the calenders went past that date though, and more than often blood was smeared all over the remaining dates like a warning label.

The first time Aubree had encountered a calender since the Zombie outbreak had been months ago, when she was still inside the CDC. When the outbreak first started, the ones that were considered sterile enough to enter the facility were allowed to live there. It was much more roomier inside than she had ever imagined, and it was supposed to be safe from the outbreak. When her neighborhood had been given the opportunity to join as long as they passed routine medical tests, Aubree had jumped on the idea. The streets were already becoming infested with the Walkers, and there wasn't any time to try and save the apartment. Most of her neighborhood had been gone by that point, anyway.

But then the infections started.

Whether it was of natural causes or they wondered in bit, undetected, the infection cases started to rise. Suddenly halls were quarantined to try and maintain the disease, but it had spread like wildfire inside of the center. Her block was the last to fall. She could still remember the cries and moans from the Walkers as they charged at the remaining CDC officials. They shot as many as they could down, but they were still bit or dead. And they were infected.

We're all infected.

It was the knowledge that sat heavy on your shoulders, knowing that there was no escape. If you died, you were infected. If you were bit, you were just infected sooner. The only way to avoid it was to stay alive, and in a world so cold, that was an increasingly hard task. At any moment you could fall victim, and Aubree knew it all too well. She had seen too many people fall before the out break really even started, and she couldn't even imagine how the rest of the world was in that moment. The last she had heard from the television before the broadcasts had stopped was that it was spreading from the States, some unknown gene that they couldn't trace. They were trying to trace it, trying to figure out the genetic pattern so that they could make sense of it and make a vaccine, but that had gone to hell. Too many people were dying, and they couldn't keep up. Then eventually they became the dead, and the reports all lie in a blood at their feet, with no memories of the task that they had once been preforming.

A shiver ran up her spine.

If we're all infected, then there's no vaccine. There's no hope, there's no escape. It's either survive until we evolve, or die and become the dead who are roaming the streets, hungry for flesh and to take your soul.

Days, hours, months....time all ran together after a while. With no calender and watch to document it, there was no telling how long this entire disease had been going on. All that existed was the sunrise and sunset if you were lucky enough to make it. It was only by then that you could document that the day had changed. Aubree supposed that if you happened to be an astronomer, maybe the linings of the stars could tell you more. But when you were just trained on the basic need to survive, time didn't matter. The death toll on your belt did.

Aubree couldn't count the number of deaths that were notched into her belt, into the expensive and worn leather that had once seemed like a fantastic thing to buy. That was before money didn't matter—now it meant nothing, and if you had money it got you nowhere. The first one she had killed had been the hardest; he had been a boy in his teens, and by her guess he had been pulled into the CDC by his family that was long lost and gone. He had been wondering the hallways, a guttural, blood filled moan leaving his lips as he caught onto the scent of his very first meal. It almost seemed ironic to her in a way, that the boys first kill was also her first kill. She had been pressed up against the wall, a steel pipe in her hand that she had jarred loose from one of the housing closets. She guessed that they had stored it there so that they wouldn't have to go out and risk contamination in order to get supplies. HAZMAT suits could only do so much in a time like this.

He had stalked her, coming around the corner. She had seen his fingers first, the flesh rotting and the bone protruding as the red lights flashed. They were silent, but consuming. The week prior the lights had gone out and the safety lights had flashed. The power had gone out finally that day, and every foot step had a consequence. Every foot step was cause for your entire world to fall apart if you weren't careful. And the same went for the Walkers that openly roamed the halls, maws open and ready to consume the first thing in their sight. They were hungry, most of them dead for only a day or so. The only thing on their mind was ravenous hunger.

And Aubree would be the perfect meal.

The moment the Walker had crossed the threshold, she felt everything in her body seize up. It was instinct to kill it—she had seen them kill so many times before. But when the Walker stepped into her full view and she saw the face of a boy she had seen roaming the halls time and time again, everything in her stopped. She tensed up, almost dropped the pipe. It clattered against the wall, and the Walker turned. She could see it's maw open, bloody and gurgling, ready for a new meal. They stood like that, facing one another, sizing one another up until it charged, and Aubree's instincts took over. She swung the makeshift bat once.


Three times.

And when she brought it down on the fourth, she would always remember the sound that the steel made as it finally sunk in and destroyed the brain. It was a wet, disgusting thump that made her stomach churn. But the gurgling had stopped, and it's white, lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling, unmoving and thinking. Aubree wondered vaguely if that's how it's life had ended the first time. But a chunk missing out of the boys' side was the only confirmation she needed that he had been bit, but spared. However, spared was how you looked at it—if they would have torn him apart, the boy wouldn't have come back. He had been one of the lucky unlucky ones.

The boys' face still haunted her mind as she tried to breathe in the muggy heat of Georgia. The way his eyes that had once sparkled with so much life, so much boyish mischief, so much happiness despite the situation...and then it had all been ripped away. Those beautiful blue eyes that had out shined most of the people residing in the CDC had turned white. They were lifeless, thirsty, and full of hunger. They were ready to kill, ready to dig their nails into your body and rip you apart, organ by organ if they got to taste your blood.

That had been the first time Aubree truly assessed and accepted the situation at hand. With her steel pipe full of blood and brain matter, she had made her way past her block and towards the front doors. She knew it wouldn't be much better outside, but she also wasn't naive enough to think that if she stayed in the CDC it'd be safe for long. The remaining scientists were fleeting. They had given up hope. There was no reason for her to stay in a disease center that was being over run by the very virus they were trying to destroy.

Aubree had kept the steel pipe tucked into her belt loop all through Atlanta, then it had eventually fallen shortly after she had entered the store. She hadn't had time to pick it up, and with only one bullet left in her gun, Aubree was screwed. She wasn't stupid; she knew that fact well. She had managed to pick up a knife or two from the cars that lay on the side of the road, most of them scavenged for gas and supplies already. But a knife would only get her so far, and she knew she had to scavenge herself if she planned on surviving.

It felt as if it had been a solid week since she had managed to escape from Atlanta. During the day, she walked the roads, once and a while stopping by abandoned cars to see if they held any amount of gas in them. After the seventh car in a row on an empty tank, Aubree stopped looking. She kept to the forests at night; they had more places to hide, and they were more silent and forgiving than the roads that had once been her safety.

As the sun began to drop in the sky once more, like clockwork Aubree made her way towards the trees. Her hand stayed firmly on her knife in case she needed to quickly pull it out. There was no use in risking her last bullet—it would draw the Walkers to her. Besides, that bullet needed to be saved in case the world got her while she was trying to get the world.

Working her way through the trees, Aubree mentally marked every step she took. The crackles of leaves and twigs snapping put her on high alert. She noted them carefully, knowing that it was her steps and not a Walkers or an unknown threat. They were all pointed with her steps, and she allowed her body to relax ever so slightly as she swung her legs over another fallen tree. It felt eerie to be in a forest without animals—they weren't immune to the Walkers attacks either.

But it was the world now, and with the sun to her back, she pressed on. She could hear a brook babbling in the distance, and Aubree knew it would be a safe place for the night. The Walkers got stuck in the mud whenever they tried to cross, and it had proved to be a lifesaver once or twice in the past. She had outrun a few mini-herds that way, and she had stood with her adrenaline pumping over a crossed bridge as they growled and practically screamed for her to come back. Their dangling arms reached out, eager to tear her to shreds, and Aubree would step just out of their way.

She liked watching the thirst in their eyes right before she drove the knife deep into their skull, then washed the blood away in the very river they had died in.

Another step, and another crackle of a twig beneath her boot. It was echoed, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She froze her steps, listening carefully as the footsteps following her own came closer, trying to be quiet but not succeeding well for her tender senses. It wasn't a walker—it was too articulate to be a Walker. The footsteps were made of force, not the awkward clumbering of the Walkers.

Her fingers reached for the glock at her hip, pulling it free from it's holster as she spun around. The barrel of her gun knocked against her trackers, both of them staring one another down. Aubree's finger moved to the trigger, her arms locking and steadying themselves as she never took her eyes away from the man who's barrel was pointed just above hers, aiming right for the center of her forehead.


please update soon

Please update!

Ashleyziur Ashleyziur

This is awesome please update soon

This is so good <3

Cat-182 Cat-182
Really good! So well written and a great take on the story. You are doing an excellent job writing Shane-he is really complex. Can't wait for more.
Alva Starr Alva Starr