Communicated

Communicated -to give to another; impart; transmit: to communicate a disease

The news about the "Miami Zombie" had some people panicking while the rest of the world shrugged it off, thinking it was just another case of cannabalism. Little did anyone know that what was thought to only be a madman chewing off another guy's face, would actually be the start of a serious viral outbreak that could wipe out the existence of mankind.

Brendon Urie was one of the few who went slightly paranoid when the news broke out. He had been in his house with his bandmate, Spencer, when he first heard about the incident. He was gripped with sudden anxiety and took the news rather hard.

"Dude, what the fuck?"

"Huh?" Spencer looked up from his book.

"The news! Look!" Brendon grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

"A man was fighting for his life after he was reportedly attacked, and his face half eaten by a naked man, here at MacArthur Causeway."

"That's nasty," Spencer commented.

"Shhh!" Brendon urged, waving his arm in his bandmate’s face.

"When police arrived on this truly, bizarre scene, they say they were forced to open fire on the alleged attacker and kill him."

Both men were glued to the television screen until the gruesome news ended. They were sitting still for a whole five minutes until Spencer broke the silence.

"Whoa. That was sick. What is the world coming to?" he remarked.

Brendon remained silent. He wanted to throw up, so he ran to the bathroom. But instead of spilling his guts out, he dry heaved instead. And that was when he thought of the unthinkable.

Zombie apocalypse.



"Bren, you're not serious, are you?" Dallon asked.

"Nope. Is it wrong for us to cancel a show?" retorted Brendon.

"We only cancel our shows if there's a major accident that happens in our band or our immediate family members," Dallon answered. "You know that."

"Wait,” Ian questioned. “Is this because of that crazy, cannibal attack in Miami? Because honestly, you're just being paranoid, Bren. There's no such thing as zombies."

The band was supposed to be on a roadshow for some car company, which was situated in Miami. They were to stay there for three days. Besides the usual VIP shows and radio interviews, they had to do a photoshoot as well.

But Brendon didn't want to be in Miami, let alone stay for a couple of days. After hearing about the cannibal attack, he was paranoid about even going near Florida. His bandmates thought his paranoia would cease in a couple of days. Not become worse.

"Listen man, it's a drug overdose gone wrong. The guy was fucked-up in the head," Spencer reasoned.

"Guys, I'm taking a precaution,” Brendon said, going into hysterics. “Wh-what if it is an omen? That this is the beginning of an apocalypse?"

The other guys just stared at him as if he was mentally ill.

They cancelled the whole of their Florida stopover.



Brendon's paranoia had proved to save his life. Because it was indeed, an outbreak. A month later, the United States was being quarantined.

But that did not mean other parts of the world were safe.

The virus somehow, managed to spread.

Just half a year later, the world was no longer what it used to be.



Brendon was hiding behind the crates, trembling. He peeked around the wooden box filled with rotten fruit and saw a woman chewing off the mangled arm of a dead body.

But the woman, was not a woman. She was one of the millions of the infected.

Brendon almost threw up. Hands shaking, he loaded his Glock 19.

"One fucking head shot, Bren. Just one shot," he chanted repeatedly in his head.

He got up from his hiding place and aimed.

His aim was a bit off to the right side. Instead of hitting the infected’s head, the bullet hit her right ear instead. She, no, it looked up from its "meal" and straight at Brendon.

"Fu-!"

Before he could even finish cussing, it pounced on him. Being the undead didn't mean their reflexes as humans stopped functioning.

Sprawled on the floor with the thing on top of him, Brendon struggled to keep its snapping jaw away from his throat. His Glock was a few feet away from his left arm, tossed aside when he got pounced upon.

It was agonizing, his fingers inching to grab hold of the gun when the thing was madly thrashing on top of him.

BANG!

Everything went still for a split second. Suddenly, the thing flopped itself to the side, truly dead.

Brendon pushed the dead carcass off his body and scrambled to his feet. He turned around to thank his savior when he realized it was none other than his fiancé, Sarah Orzechowski.

"Sarah!" he ran over and hugged her tightly. "I told you to stay put," his voice muffled, having his mouth pressed against the crook of her neck.

"I got worried. You were taking longer than usual," she replied, stroking his hair. "C'mon, let's get the things we need and hurry the hell out of here."

They broke out of their embrace and started running down aisles after aisles of empty shelves. What was once a busy supermarket, was now an abandoned, run-down building.

Brendon and Sarah were trying to salvage whatever edible food they could find. However, luck wasn't on their side as most of the food had either been taken by other survivors or they had gone bad.

Life after the outbreak had been hell. Brendon had seen his friends and family turn on one another. He had to kill his parents in his own home after stumbling upon his dad eating the fleshy part of his mother's thigh. He knew nothing of firearms since he grew up in a family that didn't believe in using guns. Nonetheless, he traded his guitar skills to pick up shooting instead.

"Bren, I can't seem to find anything here. We have to go and scout another place," Sarah remarked.

Sarah was the only living person whom Brendon had now. Her family went on a holiday before the outbreak and never returned. She had found Brendon in his home, lying in a pool of his parents' blood. She thought he was dead, but the slight blinking of his eyelids gave it away. Brendon had been in such a tremendous shock that he wasn't able to compose himself for two days. However, Sarah had stood by him the whole time and now they relied on each other for safety and protection.

"I found a can of baked beans that's expired. We don't have anything here. Let's go. I need to pick up some ammo on the way." Brendon made his way to his forgotten Glock, still lying near the dead carcass.

They were about to reach the exit when a figure came crashing down on them.

Brendon saw things in slow motion.

Flash.

He saw Sarah screaming beside him, but no sound was heard coming out of her mouth.

He realized the figure which dropped on top of him wasn't a human. But he realized it a bit too late.

The last thing that Brendon remembered was the gruesome, snarling face of the undead.

Everything went black after that.