His hand trembled uncontrollably as he nervously peeked outside the window of the house he’d so recently seen as a good resting place before he committed to traversing the last few blocks to the library. He thought the house was empty based off the simple fact that he couldn’t hear any of those bloodthirsty monsters that had once been humans. Both luckily and unluckily the former suburban homeowner remained upstairs but locked locked upstairs and Corey had been the lucky recipient of an hour long period of listening to those bone-chilling noises and the uncontrollable fear that it instilled. How he’d managed to make it this far, he had no shred of an idea; so far riding his luck seemed to be it. He’d been lucky enough to be in the parking garage of his apartment complex with his key when those things had breached his apartment. He’d grabbed his keys, hoping someone else would’ve come down before the creatures but all he’d heard was their inhuman growls. He’d nearly made it out of the garage, his V8 Mustang challenging it’s foes to a growling match when Ashleigh, that cute blonde girl from his floor had come running out. 

He’d swung back around but by the time he got there, a wave of death and evil had overwhelmed her and so Corey fled the scene. He wasn’t a man built for this, not a man who had it in him to rescue the girl and overwhelm the monsters yet he’d been the one that’d made it out. Fate it seemed had a twisted sense of humour, a mantra that only seemed more valid with every passing hour. He’d had no clue of where he was driving either, all of the terrain seemed to be the same to him yet there was a repeating message played in his head; back at the apartment one of the police had said an emergency announcement was telling survivors to hole up and wait for military assistance. [i]Survivors[/i], that was the term that they were using now, to Corey and his overactive mind that showed the depth of the strife he found himself in now. He wasn’t one of the normal people, nor one of the uninfected but he was one of the survivors. Were there truly so few left now, that we were survivors?

He shook himself out of his melancholic state, snapping himself back to reality and the current dangers he was facing. “Okay you’ve made it this far mate, it’s just a little bit further” he said to himself, trying to pep himself up for the next leg of this journey which would surely be one of the more dangerous. “Now what does the big action guy do in the movies? What did they do in the Walking Dead apart from massacre zombies with hammers?” The casual nature of his line of questioning was a world apart from the nervous storm that crashed around his body, threatening utter paralysis yet it was working. Slowly the gears in his mind began ticking over as he focused less on dying and more on how he could avoid it. He needed some form of transport that he could easily outpace these things but silent enough to avoid drawing a horde of them. The thought of another car had tempted him but once he made it to the library, he’d be bringing a horde of the mindless creatures with him. That wouldn’t be a very good move for his future health.

A bicycle. That was the answer he was searching for. In his moment of triumph he punched the air and immediately felt like a complete dork for it. “Not like there’s anyone around to notice” he muttered to himself, again taking the more jovial path of snapping himself into gear. He moved through to the already ransacked kitchen, swearing when the best weapon he could find was a pan, good for blunt force trauma but rather unwieldy to the hand. Yet he still gripped it in his hand like it was a weapon of mythical destruction, capable of defeating any foe with one carefree swing. His hand hovered over the pommel of his pistol for a second before he decided against using it. The last time he’d shot it not only had he completely missed his target but he’d brought a horde onto him. Again playing to his seemingly unbeatable luck, he’d tried to be all macho action hero while he still had fuel in his long-abandoned car. It’d nearly killed him leaving his beautiful ‘stang behind a few hours later but there was little point in taking it without fuel. 

With his invincible pan of death pointed out in front of him, he did his best action hero impersonation as he descended into the garage, relying more on his hearing then his eyes in the gloomy darkness. He swore as he kicked a metallic object across the floor, it bounced loudly across the floor and clanged loudly into some other metal object as Corey froze in fear. After a few seconds of no audible change other than a doubling in the frenzied noise coming from above, his eyes began adjusting to the light, or lack thereof in the garage. Nestled in the corner, much to his chagrin and pleasure, was a slightly undersized pink bike. Swallowing his pride he grabbed the bike, trying his best to still project masculinity to the empty room and carried it out into the living room of the house. A quick, fretful peek out of the front window revealed a road full of shambling husks, a rather unappealing avenue of travel. 

He moved across to the back door, bike in tow and sent a silent prayer as he peeked out the frosted back window. A slightly blurred and slightly unreliable view of the back lawn greeted him and just as he went to check through another window he heard an unmistakable crash from upstairs. The door had given way. He forced his way through the back door, dropping the pan in abject fear and rush, yet he was greeted with the most welcome of sites, an empty back yard and an open gate to the alley. He hopped onto the bike, slightly wobbling as his he was far too big for it and began frantically pedalling. In his frantic rush, his outwardly protruding knees knocked his arms away and he did the most inappropriate thing for the situation; a face-first landing off the bike. His second attempt bore fruit as he managed to get out of the backyard and pedalled down the alley, escaping from the rampant creature behind him. 

A few minutes later of the most awkward pedalling witnessed by man or rather lack of man, along with some nervous moments waiting for the things to pass, he made into the library car park which was blissfully free from danger for the moment. Coming to Asheville probably hadn’t been the smartest decision as there would’ve been closer options but this was the only decent library he knew of, having heard of it from a UNC graduate he’d been interviewing for his job application. He ditched the bike with consummate ease, separating from that infernal machine that had tried to kill him wasn’t a decision as he stealthily stalked his away across the car park. A dive behind a car there, a crouched run across another car over there filled his repertoire of stealthy movement as he hoped for an easy entrance into the library. As he reached the last car before an open stretch to the library he took a few deep breathes, calming his body down and attempting to instil himself with confidence. His legs began freezing with uncertainty as he desperately whispered to himself, “no, no, no, you need to get across there” before he did the only thing he could think of to get his reluctant body moving; he fell forward into the open. He scrambled back to his feet, his bag swinging wildly as he instantly regretting not bringing the pan with him. He un-holstered his pistol, with a whole three bullets, as he promise himself he’d find another weapon of some sort in the library. 

Blissfully a fire door yielded an entry with no inhuman barriers betwixt him and his salvation, a result that played a broad grin across his face. A few seconds later that broad grin was shattered as the turn of the handle revealed naught but a soft click. The door was locked. He wanted to hit something out of anger but that’d solve very little so he shelved that rage for the next creature he found. Pistol raised, he moved across the external base of the building, attempting to cover every nook and cranny like the hero always does in the movie. He heard the faintest of groans and growls and he paused, peeking nervously around the corner to see five zombies shuffling away from another door to the library which would hopefully be open. His breath quickened and shallowed, his pulse lifted and his hand became slick with sweat as he begged fate to be kind to him this day. One of the former human’s head shot up, a bloodied middle aged woman dressed in what used to constitute the office worker’s attire. Corey’s heart seemed so loud in his own hears, the blood seemed to pump so furiously his mind played on the thought that he could well burst due to the pressure.

He almost sniggered at the thought of it, only to catch himself on the verge of noise. The seconds felt like eternity before the stumbling body shrieked loudly and set off in the other direction, chasing anything but him. He felt for whoever they were going after but for now he didn’t care, the library would hopefully be a safe haven for now. The handle thankfully yielded to his touch and the door fell away revealing an almost too neat arrangement; it seemed blissfully unaware of the chaos that reigned supreme outdoors. A few seconds of careful listening yielded no results as to anyone being inside, so he mustered his courage, raised his pistol and trudged into the library, eyes up and ears listening. 
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Summary: Corey makes it into the library, body intact but pride somewhat dented.