I wake up with a start. This is weird, no annoying alarm clock? "What is it mom?" I moan as I roll to go back to sleep.

But something is wrong. This is not my blanket. With a jolt of surprise, I open my eyes and take in my surroundings. The walls are bleached white instead of gray and covered with medical charts rather than my band posters. My fuzzy bedroom carpet has been replaced with a checkered tile floor. Why am I in the hospital? I think as my head throbs. I hope I'm not in trouble, but a feeling in my gut tells me otherwise.

I groan as I sit up, not wanting to move but too curious to stay down. I realize that I'm dressed in a scummy white medical gown and a clean pair of khakis. I check to see if my normal clothes are anywhere in the room, but I can't find them. I notice that the door is barred. Wierd. It doesn't look like a clean barricade either, just a few pieces of plywood haphazardly blocking a door. If I was in a hospital, why is the door barred? Was I in that much trouble? What did I do? I think as I struggle to remember any reason I would be in a hospital. Nothing.

I look around the room. The light switch is flipped on, but the lights must be broken because the only light glimmered in from a nearby window. Speaking of the window, it's cracked. The wooden chairs surrounding my bed are also broken, splinters scattered across the room as if there had been some struggle. The tile is stained with dried blood.

Blood. Something is way wrong.

I hear a pounding at a door. The pounding is weird. If a person wants to get in, they could just knock on the door a few times. But this is a constant thump...thump...thump... as if an animal is repeatedly running into the door. I imagine a confused Rottweiler constantly head-butting the door. That sounds pretty stupid.          

I stand up and take a few deep breaths. My heart rate picks up. I need to figure out where I am and what I have to do. Save for the broken chairs and shattered glass on the floor, the room is empty. There are only two exits, the window and the door. The thumping is creepy, maybe I can get out the window. I look outside.

My hospital is on the perimeter of the city. I'm looking away from downtown. There is nothing of major interest, just trees, hills, and more trees. Typical West Virginia. Ain't nothing here. The sky is gray and macabre. The sun is close to setting, so I guess it's about five o'clock. Located about ten feet away from me is an American flag whipping in the wind. The flag bolsters my spirits. At the least, I'm home. Then I look down. I see two bodies lying on the ground. They are splattered in blood. It takes my brain a moment to process. My brain clicks, and I freak out.

My animal instincts tell me to get out of this building -- now. Adrenaline pumps through my body as I rush towards the source of the pounding. I could care less if it was a hundred-fifty pound Rottweiler, I'm getting out of here. Carelessly, I tear away the makeshift barricade and throw the door open, ready for whatever is on the other side.

I scream. Staring straight at me is a man, but he looks sick. Horribly sick. His skin is olive green and rotting off his frame. Flies swarm around his face. Bloodshot deathly red eyes bore into me. Looks like the thing had been messing around with hardcore drugs. His hair is cool, though. It was wild but in a stylish way, a sweet cut really. I’ll have to try it sometime after I heroically escape this awful place. I gag at the smell of rotten flesh. There are various festering gashes on his body. It moans. Well, it's kind of a screaming sound, but it could be classified as a moan. Perhaps the sound is best described as a scream-moan. The creature lurches towards me.

Relying on my animal instincts that had clearly gotten me so far, I pick up a leg of one the smashed chairs and break it across the creature's rib cage. The thing stumbles backward, but it does not seem to feel pain. The man, creature, or whatever it is regains its posture and continues the horrid death march. I realize that without a proper weapon there is no stopping it.

My mind jolts through the remaining options for survival. I have to kill the thing if I want to get out. I guess I could jump out the window. I'm pretty high up, the fall might wound or kill me -- but it's my only choice. I need to distract it and make a dash for the window.

I hopelessly glance at my bed, and with a rush realize that my mattress is on wheels. Desperate, I lunge for my bed and shove it at the monster. The mattress flops off the bed, but the undercarriage smashes into the creature's lower shin, toppling the creature on its nasty face. It moans. Well, it's not dead, but I have more time.

I grab the last intact piece of the chair and head for the window. I look down at the ground and hesitate. I'm three stories up, it's about a thirty-foot drop. I might survive the fall, but there will be major bone damage even if I live. Which I might not. Guess it would kind of suck to die.

The flag catches my eye. The flagpole, of course! It'll be a far jump. I think I can make it, though. I do hardcore stunts like this on a weekly basis.

With the chair leg, I smash the remaining glass of the window, giving me enough room to stand on the ledge. Don't look down I think immediately before staring down. My stomach drops. The ground. The bodies. Dead bodies are messed up. They mess my brain up. My brain gets hyper. I don't know about this I think. Then I hear a scream-moan behind me.

I leap for the flagpole.

Wind rips against my face as I fly through the air. Clang! My head smashes against the flagpole as I awkwardly lock my arms. My hands burn as I slide to a painful stop. Gasping for air, I decide not to move. I have no idea what is going on, but until my arms tire, I will be safe here -- hugging onto a flagpole near some random zombie-infected hospital. Safe for sure.

Chapter 2: Epic Back Story

Ok, if this is confusing, which it really should be, my life wasn't always like this. Yesterday was normal. Too normal really. Guess I'll just recap the day so you can understand. Everybody needs a back story, right? Even me. It's a bit boring, but that's life right? Totally boring until the zombies run in and stir crap up.

Cue dramatic flashback.

Buzz... Buzz... Buzz... I smack my alarm clock. 7:00 already? I think groggily as I sit up. It's Thursday. Thursday's stink.

I throw my blankets on the ground and stumble out of my room. I reach the bathroom and starting brushing my teeth, thinking I hate school.... 80% of my classes are a complete waste of time, most my teachers were either unintelligent, completely lazy, or both, and my peers seemed to be obsessed with drugs, fast food, and sex. I like fast food. The McDonalds dollar menu is amazing.

I throw on a pair of jeans and my favorite Super Mario T-shirt. I unwillingly march down to find my Mom waiting for me. "Hey sweetie, ready for school!" she said with a bright smile.

My mom was in her late forties, but she looked like she was about thirty-five. She grew up in Russia and came to America for education. Although I loved her, she could never understand my problems. If only she had grown up in America.

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"Yeah mom, just let me eat," I reply grumpily. On the living room table, my Mom had set a box of Reeses Puffs, a gallon of skim milk, and a bowl. I pour the puffs into the bowl, followed by the skim milk, and start eating. Skim milk is my favorite. It's protein to fat ratio is untouchable.

Once I finished my cereal, I toss my books in my backpack and head off towards the car. By now, most of my friends had their own cars, but my Mom still drove me around. This really bothers me, because I wanted to be an independent, free person. You know, I wanted to be one of those cool kids or whatever. I try not to complain about it all the time, but it is still frustrating being stuck as an awkward kid.

As usual, my mom is racing to school. "Oh I'm caught behind a slow-poke," she moans. "Look at this guy! He's driving 20 in a 25 zone!" My mom impatiently taps her fingers on the steering wheel. I sigh. I always get to school ten minutes early, there is no reason we have to rush. I've told her that hundreds of times. She just likes to rush I guess.

Once we got to school, I step out of the car -- looking around to see if anybody saw me. I'm definitely self-conscious about being dropped off by my mom. "Bye sweetie!" my mom yells and waves. Why does she do that! I internally fume. With that, she zooms off in her car, rushing to wherever she had to go to next.

And there it is. Thomas Jefferson high school. The jail that I'm locked in eight hours a day every weekday for the last two and a half years. My mind tells me to run away, but there was nowhere to go. What other choices did I have, live in the woods and eat worms? Sleep in a tree or a cave? Sleeping in a cave might be kind of cool, to be honest. I could be like a rad, modern day cave man. But I don't even know where to find a cave.

No, Like everybody else, I have to go to high school so I could go to college, so I can live one of those boring, cookie-cutter lives like everybody else in this boring, cookie-cutter world. There is no better option, at least according to my parents and teachers, so I walk towards Thomas Jefferson, the biggest and baddest high school in the state of West Virginia.

Class starts in five minutes, and the cafeteria is packed with kids eating breakfast and talking. I'm terrified of the cafeteria. There is something about a room stuffed with my peers that makes me uncomfortable. To be honest, social gatherings in general make me uncomfortable, but this is a worst case scenario. To get to the library I have to walk through the cafeteria, so I stare at the ground and shuffle towards the library. As I walk I can hear hundreds of students on either side of me, completely surrounding me. The cacophony of the room sounds like a group of unruly monkeys. It only lasts a few seconds, then I make it to the library. With a sigh of relief, I log onto the computer. I don't have anything to do, so I stare at the blank computer screen for five minutes. I know that staring into a blank computer screen sounds pretty stupid, but it's better than the cafeteria. Anything is better than the cafeteria.

Finally, the first bell rings and I go to civics class. I sit down next to my friend, Dominick Costa. Dom’s pitch black hair is out of whack, and he stares at me with dark eyes. "Dude, morning classes suck bro. Stupid established systems that force the powerless teen to succumb to the masses man."

I laugh. "Dom, this is Coach Snicker here. He is the best in the business"

Dom moans. "Bro, he may be the biggest in the business. I dunno about best though. Imma peace out. I'm done with this." With that, Dom goes straight to sleep, head face down on his desk.

Our teacher, Coach Snicker, was a football coach who also taught Civics on the side. For some reason, people called him Coach Snicker. I could never figure out why, but with a mountain dew in one hand and a sausage biscuit in the other: Coach Snicker looks ready for class.

Coach Snicker may have been a star athlete in high school, but he is in his mid-thirties now and completely out of shape. The man is as wide as a walrus. He had managed to find a belt big enough for him, surprising the entire class. His no-nonsense haircut and strong country accent make his lectures entertaining.

Coach Snicker waddles to the front of the room to start his lecture. "You see kids, let me tell yall how votin' works. What you need to do is register. Now you can either register as a Republican, Democrat, or Independent. Now, I'm a registered Republican, but you have the right to your opinion. If you’re feelin' like a liberal-ass-liberal, you can go and be Democrat. America will let you be stupid. You just better not take away meh shotgun!" Awkward pause in class. Nobody really knows what to think about that.

Coach Snicker continues, "As I was saying, once you get to be 18, go and vote. It's your responsibility as a citizen of America. Bout the most important thing you'll do in your life. Ya see, when you vote, it’s because a thing called democracy. And democracy is a thing called freedom! Alright yall, learn about that freedom in pages 25-35 in yer textbook "

That lecture inspired me and a couple other students to learn about government systems ("freedom") in our textbook. The rest of the class is either staring into empty space, texting, or sleeping.  I trudge through the reading as Civics is a subject that will never excite me. Coach Snicker watches over his class like a bulldog, with only short breaks to munch on his biscuit.

The bell rings and Dom is still out. I shake him until he wakes. He looks at me with confused eyes and flashes a pointed smile.

"Dude, I was having the most rad dream man. There was this guy and this girl and this talking tree, and maybe even a flying polar bear.... Why'd you have to come in and ruin it?"

"Just go to your next class Dom."

"Alright, Alright, I'm on my way. Sheesh chill out." Dom groans as he gets out of his seat and wanders off towards his next class.

For me it's time for the health class, probably the most useless class ever invented. Of course, health and physical fitness are important, but this class, at least at my school, never helps anybody achieve either of those or anything else. Of course, I'm just talking about my health class. I'm not trying to be a hater or anything.

Our health teacher is Mister Robby. Mister Robby has been around awhile, and usually just turns on a movie instead of teaching. He wrote something on the board today, meaning he was going to give a lecture.

Today's lecture is on the same old boring junk. Probably nutrition or something, I don't pay attention.

I'm hanging out in the back of the class with my friend and the class giant, Lenny Rogers.

We are playing paper football. Mr. Robby sees us but doesn't really care.

I flick the paper football in kick off.

"Hey Lenny, why don't you play real football?  I bet you could get all the girls and be cool and stuff if you did."

Lenny knocks the football back with his massive hand.

Lenny scoffs. "Wish I could. Nah, I's got workin' to do. My family ain't got rolls of cash like yers does."

I sigh. Lenny does construction work after school and on the weekends. His dad is a cashier at Wendy’s, so he doesn't get much income.

"Yeah I guess you’re right. Maybe it's for the better. Some football players are arrogant jerks anyways."

Lenny smacks his hand on the desk. "Way to stereotype, yah asshole."

I smile. "Whoa Lenny, where did you learn the word stereotype?"

Lenny looks confused. "It's written on the board, smartypants."

I look at the whiteboard, and there it is.

"Oh yeah. Nice Lenny. Applying class stuff. Cool"

The bell rings, and Lenny and I sprint out of health class. We play a little game to see who can get out the fastest. I usually win, unless Lenny shoves me out of the way.

I get out the door first.

"Skinny lil' jerk" Lenny wheezes behind me. "Ah ya, Eric, yah outta try this!" Lenny says as he whips a can of Monster out of his backpack.

"Eww, I'm scared of that stuff, bro," I reply.

"Nah, this ain't nothing to be scared ‘bout'" Lenny thumps the can in my chest. "It gives me strength when I'm workin'. You outta try one before you run. Make ya' run faster." Lenny knows that I run track and he’s always talking about energy drinks. I’ll just take it to humor him.

"I'll think about it," I promise Lenny as I put away the can.

I say goodbye to Lenny and head to chemistry. This is the class that the whole school hates with passion, but it really is overhyped. Mr. Frigg, our teacher, makes the concepts more difficult than they really are. Today is lecture day. My assigned seat is way in the back of the room. We are going through electrochemistry. I tried to stay awake for an entire forty-five minutes of reduction potentials and galvanic cells. Finally, the bell rings. You know what, I'm tired of this back-story. Let’s get back to zombies.