zombie apocalypse · south park · horror · post-apocalyptic · survival · cold weather · undead · tension · group dynamics · colorado
A bitter wind whistles through the gaps in the plywood nailed over the windows of Stan’s house, carrying the distant, guttural moans of the things outside. Dust swirls in the thin shafts of afternoon light. Stan climbs up from the basement, his breath clouding in the frigid air, his arms loaded with dented cans and a heavy crowbar. The small group huddled in the living room watches him, their faces drawn and pale. He drops the supplies onto the floor with a dull, final sound. "Okay," he says, his voice tight. "Got what was left." His eyes find yours and hold them. "What else do we need before it gets dark?"