LunaescenceLunaescence
 
"God Bless Zombieland" by Mozart


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I'm not going to answer "why" until you answer "why not?".

Yeah, as I was writing this, I had the end in mind, so I incorporated some..."elements" into the story. :p Can you pick them out?
It was one of those days that didn't boast sunshine or daisies...one of those days that made you wonder if you were running around in circles. Except, your own vicious circles were a little more unique than others'.

"Hey, ______, there's one coming up right behind you!" America was calling to you as you two sprinted down the narrow hallway of the abandoned hospital.

"Nice warning!" you called back cheerfully, turning around to blow the head off whatever hellspawn was on your tail. It turned out to be a zombie nurse, blood pouring from her toothless mouth, sprinting after you and aiming scratches at you with yellowed talons. You only had to shoot once to make her disgusting cranium explode, blood splattering against the broken windows that lined the hall. "Ahh, a perfect shot!"

You two made it out of the hospital untouched. You counted up the ammo you two had found as America barricaded the door. You'd found a pretty good supply of bullets, and better yet, a flamethrower had been lying around, so you happily added that to your supply of weaponry.

England, who preferred not to go in on raids, was waiting nervously outside for the two of you. "Should we burn down this burning, or no?"

You shook your head. "That'd attract too much attention."

"Like it'd look any different from the rest of the world..." England scoffed, looking around at the city. The once-gloried metropolis was now painted in a palette of grays and blacks. Buildings and skyscrapers, once used for some activity or the other, were now destroyed--nothing more than corpses on the barren landscape. Dead bodies, once strewn across the streets in various gruesome positions, now lay in burnt piles. You had burned the bodies, half to be safe and half because the stench and the flies were getting out of hand.

The three of you--the apparent sole survivors of this calamity--set off once more into the ruins of the city. You had to keep moving at all times, lest you fall victim to the disease. None of you exactly knew where you were heading, or what you would do when you got there, but it was the journey that counts (or some saying like that). You and America went into any situation, guns blazing, while England preferred to stay back and heal up any wounds. He was useful, you supposed, but he was usually on the end of all "wuss" teasing.

You looked up at the buildings. The three of you guessed that this was NYC, but none of you could be sure. Every place in America looked the same right now. You remember years past, before this happened, where you would vacation here--where everything was bright, vibrant, and exciting. Once in a while, you would nearly lose your hearing from the loud, noisy soundtrack of downtown. Now, everything was solemn and quiet. The only sounds that dared break the tense silence were the coughing of crows in the distance, and the occasional crash of a building caving in on itself.

"Ah, this used to be a great country." You shook your head in disappointment. "Now it's a giant battlefield. Oh, well, at least it's a welcome change from...boring."

"Yeah, but bloody hell, it's annoying," England grumbled, kicking a severed head out of his path. "We can't go anywhere without almost getting killed. This disease is sure-hell tedious."

No one knew where the disease came from, or where it started in the population. Some say that it came overseas, other said that it was a genetic defect. You didn't care about the theories, as most of the theorists were long dead by now. The only thing saving you from most dangers was your immortal status as a nation--or so you thought. As you tried to contact other nations, you found all communications dead. Perhaps if a whole nation became infected, then that nation would inevitably fall.

But that gave you some hope--if the three of you were still fine, then maybe there were some survivors that you could look forward to. So far, you either hadn't found any--just zombies, or the occasional suicide victim. It was disappointing, but you pressed on.

In the distance, you spotted a dark figure lumber over to you. Judging by the uneven nature of its gait, you guessed that it was a zombie, and sighed. You really hadn't felt like causing trouble so soon after your last fight.

"Hey, America, want to take care of this one?" You yawned, passing him the rifle.

"I'm on it...hey, where were you even keeping that?" America took the rifle, waiting patiently until the zombie approached. The zombie was a big old bastard, but his ankle was broken, which understandably limited his movement. You watched with morbid curiosity as he dragged the exposed bone along the ground, screaming at what he supposed to be his next meal.

"He sure is a loud sonuva bitch." America tsked, aiming and firing. He hit the zombie's chest, and you could distinctly hear the crack of ribs as the rifle obliterated the zombie. You nodded in satisfaction as he fell, squirming, before lying still.

"I don't have a match." You sighed. "We'll have to find some more, in the next city, maybe. I think the infestation here is too big. We'll run out of ammo!"

"We have a flamethrower." England pointed out. "Besides, we'll have to spend the night. Night's approaching."

Night was a fairly awful time here, for reasons that you'd all found out the hard way. You would have argued that you all had to move to a more secluded city before nightfall, but there was no point. Sunset was approaching fast, and you need a place to hide, now. The zombies seemed to enjoy starting raids during nightfall, running through the streets screaming and crying out. In the daytime, they usually avoided open areas, and even if they were out and about there were only a few of them. At night, they were in packs.

"_____, could you go search for some...place? There's a motel over there..." Something in America's tone made you turn to him. He was bent down, breathing heavily. As you moved towards him, he waved you away in an attempt to appear fine, although when he coughed into his sleeve and drew away, you could see the blood there.

No, being a nation didn't make you indestructible. And even though he'd survived the initial onslaught...

America might die soon. You frowned at England, who shook his head. We need to find survivors soon, or his condition will only get worse.

"Yes, sir," you answered quickly, running to the broken-down hotel without looking back.

The motel was a dismal abyss, with unlit corridors and empty hallways that echoed. A common person would have been disturbed by the emptiness and darkness, but you enjoyed it. If there was no one here, then your job was easier. You equipped your fire axe, decided to test and see how alone you really were.

"I'M A LUMBERJACK, AND I'M OKAY," you started singing, swinging your axe and cutting through the nearest door. Empty. "I sleep all night, and I work all day!" Crack. Second door, empty. Your mood was lifting. If you weren't attracting attention, then there was probably no one here. Crack, crack, crack. You split locked door after locked door, but no flesh-eating hellspawn lunged at you. Yet.

You were about to call for England and America when an awfully familiar screeching began from around the corner. Well, at least you could try for a little catharsis. The zombie--the motel worker, by the look of his clothing--was running at you, and damn, he looked pissed.

"Well, at least it gives me something to do." You sighed, and prepared to fight. You cleared your mind, readied your reflexes, set your nerves on end--and began to sing.

"We're no strangers to love~ You know the rules, and so do I!" You sang casually, cleaving your axe through the collarbone of the zombie. Blood spurted like a fountain, coating the faded white walls in red. The zombie screeched in pain and fury, attempting to claw out your eyes, but you backed away easily and aimed another blow. "A full commitment's what I'm thinking of--you wouldn't get this from any other guy!"

Crack. You cleaved through the zombie's skull, earning another round of blood. The zombie fell to the floor, and you prepared to behead the thing. "I~ just want to tell you what I'm feeling~ Gotta make you understand!"

"Never gonna give you up--" Crack

"Never gonna let you down--" Crack

"Never gonna run around, and desert you!" You made your way through the jugular, and the zombie was turning his clawing talons towards his own throat, rather than yours. He wriggled in his own blood, trying and failing to rise.

"Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say good-bye, never gonna tell a lie and hurt you~" You finished, smiling, as you cut the final blow. The zombie stilled, and the motel was quiet once more.

You opened the window to the motel, leaning against the sill and smiling at America and England.

"Hey, guys, we're good." You laughed, presenting the severed head and dropping it casually on the pavement below.

The night was quiet and passed without incident, much to your pleasure. You hadn't slept a full night since the disease began, and you were thankful for the chance to sleep without some worry. Your slumber, however, was always the same--brief, dreamless, and when you awoke you felt that only a few moments had passed. It didn't discourage you, though.

That morning, you were awakened by someone shaking you gently. You stirred gently, then rose, startled. Were you under attack? You fumbled sleepily for your sidearm, but you heard someone chuckle and move your hands away.

"Relax, ______." America was saying. "Nothing's happened. I just wanted to show you something."

You yawned openly, but you complied, tiredly rising from your mangled bed to follow after him. You passed England, who glared at you sleepily and rolled over to return to sleep.

America lead you to the roof of the motel. At first, you didn't know what he was getting at, until you saw the sunrise. It had been months since you watched the sun rise, and you were almost shocked by the amount of color and hue that it had to offer. Sunsets had become bland to you due to their announcing of the dangerous nightfall, but sunrises still seemed to hold a sense of innocence for you. It promised that there was a new day, maybe some sort of hope that this all might end. You weren't sure about it yourself, but...maybe.

"Hey, _____, look!" America pointed at something in the distance. You squinted to see a somewhat familiar shape, halfway sunken in the water. It looked to be what remained of the top half of the Statue of Liberty. "You were right. We are in New York." He laughed, then sighed. "Man, things used to be different, huh?"

"I guess." You shrugged. "I can't remember it too well. It almost seemed like...nothing happened before now. My memory's betraying me, man."

"Mine, too." America mused. "Hey, _____, what do you think would have happened if the disease never spread? What do you think we'd be doing right now?"

You stared at the sunrise, waiting for it to dissolve to gray, as it inevitably would. "Hmmm...I don't know. What do you think?"

"I think I'd make you my girlfriend." America said proudly. "But for now, I don't think it's quite the time, eh?"

"I guess not." You sighed, disappointed. You turned to leave, but not before reaching out to press his hand. "There's always hope for the future."

"Maybe." America nodded, leaning forward to cough into his sleeve again. You frowned, and decided that you should talk to England about getting his condition checked out. You wandered away to find him, but...

Where was he? He wasn't in his room. Growing nervous--England wasn't much of a fighter--you hurried off to find him, making sure to grab your best weapon. The farther you traveled, the more nervous you became. Things that had definitely been normal were now knocked over and destroyed. Filthy footprints lined the worn carpeting. And, oh--there were fresh bloodstains on the walls. This wasn't good.

You ran to the next room, calling for England and America, but it was no use. You headed in the lobby to find England, dead on the floor, half of his neck eaten through. He was leaving quite a mess. You sighed, rather aggravated. That meant that someone was nearby.

"_____? Have you found England?" America called for you, returning. "Ah, I see. He's dead. Where's the zombie?"

"I don't know..." You shook your head. "I haven't heard any screeching. And I've never heard of a silent, sneaky, or otherwise subtle zombie, so..."

America was being oddly quiet, so you turned to ask him what was wrong. Instead, you glimpsed him being dragged off into an adjacent hallway.

"Ahh, shit!" you swore casually, grabbing a shotgun out of nowhere to go after him. By the time you reached the hallway, it was too late. The zombie had bitten heavily into his neck, and even if America lived, he would probably be a zombie.

Wait, that zombie that was attacking him--

"Canada?!" you demanded. "Ahh, see, America, that's why we didn't see him! It...well, that makes sense."

So America was dead, England was dead, and you were alive. You blew Canada's head off, with some pity for the quiet and polite nation. Unfortunately, the commotion had spawned other zombies from outside to race in, wondering what all the fuss was about. You scrambled to kill all of them, but with your allies dead, you had no chance with the horde. You were torn apart, and although you felt no real pain, everything faded to black...

...And...

GAME OVER

You threw your controller down in annoyance, turning to glare at America.

"Really, America?! You didn't see Canada? He was right on your map! You should have seen him!" you scolded, thwacking him lightly on the shoulder. "I swear, that was the farthest we ever got on that game, and you blew it."

"I blew it?" America smirked. "England was the one who died first! Honestly. That man can't last five minutes in any video game."

"Shut up, arsehole." England returned from the next room, glaring at you before reconnecting his controller. "You both take all the experience points and the best weapons, how am I supposed to defend myself--"

"Well, if you bothered to practice outside of when we all play together--"

"Like I would bother with that--"

And you all began arguing over the logistics and strategies of the game, before dissolving into laughter and deciding to try once more. You restarted the game, configured your controllers, and...

It was one of those days that didn't boast sunshine or daisies...one of those days that made you wonder if you were running around in circles.



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