Zombie Apocalypse Outfit Novels & Stories

“Also, no matter what pants you’re wearing, your mate’s an alpha werewolf. You’re mine. I’m the only one who gets to have my mouth on you. Understood?” Nate nodded, and I took my hand away. The zombie groaned, scratched at the door, and started thumping again, rattling the door handle. I’d locked it. But still. Not super reassuring, even for me. I liked enemies I could kill, and things someone had already killed once coming back at me gave me the creeps. “Get dressed,” I told him, and added, “Maybe skip the skinny jeans. I’m going to do the same, and then we’ll figure out how to get out of here without making a mess on the floor inside. The porch is going to be bad enough.”

Sarah muttered, rolling his eyes. Favour adjusted his glasses. “I’m going to sleep for a week. Maybe two and never read any book that has to do with zombies again.” “Boring,” Justin said with a grin. “Me? I’m hitting up the biggest buffet in town. And I’m not leaving until they roll me out.” “You’d be doing that even if there wasn’t a zombie apocalypse,” Collins quipped, earning a round of laughter. Jeff smiled faintly. “I just want to see my family again.”

I showed up looking like I'd been hit by a bus and then dragged through a swamp. Ripped jeans that were actually ripped from wear, not the ones that cost like $200. One of Zane's hoodies that was three sizes too big and smelled like his cologne mixed with gym socks. Hair that looked like I'd been electrocuted. Zero makeup, which basically made me look like a vampire who'd been living in a cave for the past decade. If Carson was expecting some polished princess to parade around at pack events, he was about to be majorly disappointed.

Is it often passerbys would come in lacking foot coverage? “No shirt. No service.” She nodded at the back wall where there was a handful of shirts hanging on a rusted old Z rack. He found one men’s large it was the only one that wasn’t pink. The shirt was black and had the shape of North Carolina on it and it read Come on and Raise up. Well then. This is it I guess. He turned to the clerk grinned and put the shirt on. It was a tad snug on his biceps and he felt ridiculous. He looked in the reflection of the drink cooler and he looked like something from a wrestling poster.

The mutated zombie’s claws tore through Jenkins’s chest. He was dragged off the terrace before he could even scream. "Fire! Fire!" Ethan shrieked. Gunshots cracked through the night sky. But the creatures were too fast. They had evolved in the bitter cold. White fur. Beast-like speed. A single bite snapped Rodriguez's neck. The blood froze instantly. "Fall back! To the base!" Ethan grabbed Chloe and scrambled for the snowmobile. The two remaining guards laid down suppressing fire.

The good vibes didn't last. That night, the first scream since the apocalypse ripped through the complex. *** I watched the zombies go in. Three of them. I shoved the kittens under the bed and slid in after them, barely breathing. The first-floor residents were dumb enough to light candles and draw a bath. They were the first ones cracked open. One zombie looked like he'd been a beggar—filthy, matted hair, yellowed teeth. Like he hadn't eaten in years, he tore the man's stomach open with his nails and dug in.

"This was a birthday present Hans gave me last year." I gripped the gunwale tightly, my nails digging into my palms. This also happened in my past life; she deliberately emphasized Hans's special treatment to her in front of everyone, while I could only force a smile like a fool. I heard my own calm voice. "How is that possible? It's just a bag; it's worth it." Winnie's expression stiffened. Just then, the barbed wire snapped with a piercing sound. "Roar!" The first zombie broke through the defenses, its rotting fingers grabbing the edge of the deck as it climbed up!

The next morning, the guards and chef were already awake before I was. I had barely finished washing up when I saw them standing in the main hall waiting for me. Judging from the looks on their faces, they had already seen what was happening outside. I turned toward the street beyond the one-way glass just in time to see a swarm of grotesque zombies roaming the roads. Some still vaguely resembled humans, but most were drenched in blood, their faces twisted into horrifying shapes. A few were so badly mutilated that their organs spilled out as they ran.

For drinking water, I ordered five hundred jugs and had them moved into the bunker, along with ten high-powered water purifiers. Aside from food, medicine would become the rarest hard currency in the zombie apocalypse. I cleaned out five pharmacies, buying antibiotics, anti-inflammatory medicine, fever medicine, painkillers, and all kinds of first-aid kits and surgical tools. Finally, I made a trip to the black market and got three military-grade compound crossbows, several thousand steel bolts, two machetes, and a stab-resistant suit. When the last batch of supplies had been moved into the bunker, the reinforced blast door slowly closed.