Kenneth Reed
Kenneth woke up one morning, yawned, and started to dress. He tossed on his shirt first. Halfway through putting on his jeans, the fateful announcement came over the radio.
Zombies in Malton.
Of course, he didn't believe it at first. It had to be a hoax. No matter that it was nowhere near April 1st; some conspiracy theorists had probably just hijacked the radio station he was listening to.
After a while, though, the truth sank in. Days spent inside his sealed house, just waiting for the inevitable. Rescue had to come eventually.
Weeks passed. Kenneth sat on the couch, rolling a pair of dice nervously. Threw them. Snake eyes. Then, it happened. At long last, a knock on his door - he was almost afraid to look outside. What if he came face to face with one of... them? His hand scrabbled across the table, grabbed an old tennis racket he'd used on the tennis team in high school. Stuffed the dice into his pocket.
He finally peered out the peephole, heart jumping in his ribcage. Luck was on his side, for once. It was the military! He could escape. This nightmare would end, for him.
It wasn't to be.
Gunfire, radio messages, getting out of the car, hurrying to the closest building, an awful crash of smoke and burnt rubber and scrap metal in the distance. Nothing else.
Dartside, his home. The Barstow Arms, the local bar (he'd visited a few times, especially after his girlfriend had left him last year). That was where he found himself, with a tennis racket, a pair of dice, his cell phone, and his reading glasses. Alone.
Kenneth Reed was trapped.
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