Every Zombie Apocalypse Story

'Hello, all, to the show!'

(Authors note; Hey, Roxmu here! Thanks for picking up my story; just know that, if the first few chapters are a little bad, I apologize! I wrote them a few years ago, and, as of writing this message, I am currently at chapter 12, so it may take me a minute to get up to date! Please, stick through! I promise its worth it! Also, I’m simply copy and pasting this from Wattpad, where I originally write each chapter, so if you have any tips regarding formatting and such, please tell me!)

"-And you won't believe it, he said that he was gonna slay every single zombie! Kid, you're maybe 25, but you do have some potential. Don't let that get to your head though, a lot of great men have died due to their hubris." Ethan, a somewhat tall man with short, curly brown hair chatted to his friend. The pub was full of eccentric characters, however the few men talking were not entirely out of the ordinary for the apocalypse. This 'hub', dubbed 'The Dead Man's pub', was one of the last places where the non-infected could socialize together.

"Funny, Ethan." Erebus would've chuckled sarcastically, but his face remained stagnated in an emotionless, or at least somewhat frustrated expression. Erebus was a tall and defined man, his lightly-tanned face showing very little evidence of smiling. Of course, people don't often smile in a zombie apocalypse, but still, his face seemed to have been subjected to this even before the apocalypse had started. "Almost as funny as when you almost got bit by a crawler. Who is so weak as to die by crawler?" ZAMN! Ethan was going to spit out a comeback when suddenly-

Crash! Boom! Other onomatopoeic sounds! A Spitter was sent flying through one of the pubs' windows, blood mixed with acid spewing from its mouth. Laughter could be heard from the outside.

"What the hell?" The bartender, Caleb said, peering from the backbar towards the (very) recently broken window. "Oh yay, a horde is outside." He groaned, reaching into the underbar for something. He didn't use any sort of technology to come to this conclusion, the groans of around 40 zombies can tend to be somewhat noticeable. "EVERYONE, GET YOUR WEAPONS READY!"

"Of course," Erebus sighed, and pulled out his axe. It appeared to be a modified wood chopping axe, the head clearly having been replaced with one that more resembles a Halbird. A crimson carving spewed from the head to the bottom of the handle as if it was some sort of vain, the main body some dark type of oak. He headed outside, but the moment he exited the pub, another big crash occurred. All 40 or so zombies flew, and more laughter could be heard.

"Gahaha! I was expecting more of a fight!" Said a light, crackly voice from the middle of the carnage. It was not necessarily high, more weightless and oscillating. "But what can I expect, killing these farts is too easy, Gahaha!" Erebus sighed and re-holstered his axe. In the middle of all of the dead zombies was an enormous, 10 foot tall squeaky hammer. While a normal person would assume the Gooner (a variation of zombie known for their clown-like behavior) final boss had just appeared, wielding it instead was a hazel haired woman, average height with light skin. She grinned and lifted the hammer once more. "What are you all doing, standing there?" The girl said, grinning and glaring at everyone who had made their way out from inside the pub. "Never seen a sweet little girl like kill more zombies in one hammer swing than you will in your entire life? Well get used to it, Gahahaha!" She dropped her hammer and pointed to everyone in the small crowd that had formed around her... "My name is Isabella Reed, but you all can call me-" She did a flip, and landed with a one-handed handstand. "...Goonshot." She stayed in that position for a bit, awaiting applause, or some sort of reaction. Once she realized this crowd was dead-silent, she sighed, placing her other hand on the ground, propelling herself into the air and landing right side up again. "Rough crowd, Gehahaha! Wait, is this the Dead Man's Pub? I've been thirsty for quite a while now! So I'm coming in!"

"What the fuck is up with this gal?" Ethan said, taking a puff of a cigar he just lit. "Ah, maybe she got bit and the infection hit her brain, heh. Or perhaps, 'Gahaha!' as she would probably put it." Ethan mocked, gesticulating wildly as he did. Erebus punched Ethan on the shoulder, Ethan sighing. "You're no fun, Erebus. That's why you-" Ethan was about to insult Erebus when Caleb interjected.

"Alright folks, this display has been impressive, yes, however I still have a bar to run. Get back inside or I'll consider you all dine-and-dashers, and deal with you accordingly." Caleb was a lanky, fashionably dressed man, who always wore an eyepatch on his left eye. Many bets have been made about Caleb's eye, mostly due to the fact that there was a visible scar running vertically from it. Cliche? Yes. But this is the apocalypse, who cares about a bartender's eye? Everyone, now including Goonshot, walked inside the pub. Gunshot sat at the very front, not ordering anything but taking a cold, icy cola out of her bag.

"Why pay for a rum and coke when I have one half here, Gahahaha!" She giggled and started to sip, before a clearly buzzed regular, Thompson, placed a hundred dollar bill on the table. To be truthful, the appeal of such bets is fruitless; ever since the apocalypse started, all forms of currency that weren't backed by cans of baked beans, gunpowder or metal scraps were effectively eradicated.

"Yo, Goonshot!" He said, his voice gravely and shaky. "If you can chug that all in one go, you get this hundred!" Goonshot simply smiled and nodded. She started sipping it again, but suddenly tilted her head back and fucking shotgunned it in ten seconds. Thompson's mouth gaped open cavernously. He looked like a fucking idiot, his metal teeth gleaming in the bars light. Thompson was what the average person would describe as, well, an average person. It was common knowledge of Thompsons background, he drunkenly spouted it almost every day. He worked at an emerald mine as a maintenance man, but when the virus struck his town his wife and kids were infected and turned into Walkers, or more simply, what one might first picture when one thinks of 'zombies.' He ran away, and now drinks away his problems. One would say this is tragic, but many working class survivors had the same sad story. His story doesn't come close to the tragedy of many others.

"Gahaha! If you think that's impressive, you should see me with vodka, Gahahah!" Goonshot laughed and swiped the hundred from the table and into a tiny pouch on her bag. It was almost full, and she laughed once more. "Oh, cry about it, you lot aren't the first to stumble upon my radness, Gahaha!" She zipped up the pouch, and instead of getting up like, you know, a NORMAL person, she did a flip and landed with a cartwheel. "Alright you lot! This was fun, but I gotta go, gehahaha!" She walked out the door, and through the window, she could be seen grabbing her hammer and launching herself into the air with it. The bar was quiet, most people were still processing the exceedingly strange interaction they just had, but soon the rowdy environment returned to the pub, with people making bets and questioning the strange events. Erebus' table was debating about the girl's strength.

"-girl has definite potential as a zombie poacher, she could make great money off of it!" Wig said. Wig was a short, blue-eyed man with blonde hair and fair skin. Nobody knew why he was called Wig; Erebus and Ethan, who have been around him since the second grade, don't even know.

"Bah, she's too insane for anyone to hire her as even a guard. Not even the P.O.O.F. would care for her crazy ass." Ethan said, taking a puff of his cigar. The P.O.O.F, or the Proposition Of Orderly Formalities was a group that was notorious for just hiring any stragglers they could get their hands on, no matter their 'quirks.' saying that someone was too crazy for the P.O.O.F. has become a common insult since their founding, mostly since, you know, an apocalypse can inspire some insanity.

"She may have been a crazy ass but she has a crazy ass, if ya know what I mean, huhuhu." Wig said, sighing happily, perhaps daydreaming. Erebus smacked him on the top of his head like a misbehaving dog.

"Wig. Inappropriate." Erebus said, and Wig whimpered. Ethan muttered under his breath, something along the lines of 'do you even like women?', which is probably inspired by Wig's feminine figure; Twink, for lack of a better descriptor.

"She may be insane, but that doesn't make her strength go away. She handled the horde of 40 with no issues, even said it was boring her. She clearly has remarkable capabilities." Erebus said. Ethan nodded, taking a puff of his cigar, Wig taking a sip of his Gin and Tonic. Ethan placed his empty mug on the table, and stood up. "Well, I have things to take care of at my place. See you all soon." Erebus said, beginning to walk out the door, waving his arm in goodbye to those behind him. The patrons in the pub did a collective 'See ya', Erebus walking out the door and turning onto the cracked sidewalk.