Z is for Zed

Zed strained against the latch, doing his best to keep out the throngs of — Well, he didn’t know what they were. He couldn’t bring himself to say zombies, or undead. Those were stupid, childish words that had no place here in the real world.

But the hundreds of pale, rotting creatures outside the door must have missed that memo.

Zed had been in this portapotty for what felt like days. It was probably only hours, but between the smell of those things outside, and the things under the toilet seat, time dragged on. Actually, now that he thought of it, his nose was starting to numb to the smell. Which only made him more nervous.

Have I hurt my sense of smell? He wondered. Wait, isn’t smelling tied to tasting? Oh no! Am I ever gonna be able to taste food again?!

He laughed. Man, I gotta calm down. I’m being attacked and I’m worried about that? Hell, I should be worried that I won’t survive!

He thought about that a moment. Ah Crap! Am I gonna survive?

Just then, everything went quiet.

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