AN: I've been reading World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War by Max Brooks and it's pretty good. And that's how I got this.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Stephanie Meyer. The zombie-ness (the outbreak and panic and stuff) happens like in Max Brooks' novel...except I probably have fewer people surviving.

I stepped quietly across the forest floor. It's something you pick up after a while-how to move without making noise. Noise was dangerous. I paused, wiped my hands quickly, and drew the gun from my pants. All I knew about it was that it would be classified as a "handgun" and it did the job. It did the job well. I cocked my head, listening for the tell-tale moans and shuffling that meant danger. After ten seconds of silence, I knew it was safe. Those things wouldn't be quiet for so long. I tucked the gun back into my pants and continued on to my safe spot.

I had found it...well, I've lost track of time. It may have been as short as a month ago, but no more than three. I think. It had obviously been someone's storm shelter. Or bomb shelter. Or maybe they had built it to protect themselves from the current plague but still succumbed. It was stocked with bottled water and canned food. I didn't care about any expiration dates-I had no idea if they were past or not anyway. But I still tried not to depend on the goods. I could take care of myself anyway.

Three or four years ago (I think it's only been three) something happened. Something bad. People started acting strange. People were getting bitten, then collapsing, and then they'd get back up. They were slower, violent, strong...zombies. Seriously, who expects freaking zombies? I can't remember where it started, or when it got really serious, but I remember the reports. You had to destroy the brain to kill them. And for God's sake, don't get bitten.

I pulled the door open, slipped inside, then shut it. I pulled a lock across the door-one of those metal bars that latches into the wall. It helped me sleep. Not much-but enough. I stood for a minute-allowing my eyes the chance to adjust, then I lit a candle. The shelter wasn't big, but it could hold another person or two. There was a wide cot, a few blankets, and shelves with food and water. It was all concrete. But that was good. It was like summer now. The concrete kept the building cool. I pulled my book put from under the cot and started reading by the candle light.

This was one of the reasons I still ventured out. I had to do something to keep my sanity. Reading helped. I could imagine myself there, with people. People were the other reason. I knew a lot of people were...zombies. Or just dead. But I refused to believe I was alone. I couldn't be the only one. I just...couldn't.

A bang on the door roused me from the book. In an instant, I was up, gun drawn, aimed at the door, average head height. I waited for the moans. They didn't come. Something I never expected to hear again came instead.

"Please, if you're in there, open up!" a muffled voice shouted. "They're getting close!" Another voice screamed.

I slammed the lock back, pushed the door open, grabbed an arm, pulled in two people, and slammed the door shut again. I slid the lock home, and turned to look at the two. One was a man about my age, or a few years older. The other was a young girl.

So, let me know if you like it. I'm going to do my best to update quickly.