World War Z, Is this the end?

World War Z, Is this the end?

I got this itial from Crazyailien and Chibitalia. So credit to them. This story is about how the Hetalia charters deal with the Zombie Apocalypse. So enjoy!

Chapter 1

This is a Chapter

by: Just_Koi
America lay sprawled across a maroon bean-bag chair in his den. A chair that could easily seat two and a half people. That is if he wasn't taking up most of it. He had fallen asleep somewhere around the sixth film of his movie night. The tape had hit the end of the reel and rewound some time ago. The whirring of the tape steadily grew louder until it finally clicked. The sudden noise caused America's eyes to snap open. He watched hazily as the screen turned over to snow, eyes slowly fading back into sleep.

Just as he had adjusted to the soft fuzzy light the snow emitted, an odd sound crept up to his ears. A sort of agonized moaning. At first he thought it was himself making the noise, but soon it became apparent that the moaning was coming through the windows. Somewhere down on the street.

"Whuzzat?" America yawned wide, stretching his arms over his head. Suddenly, yells started to echo from the streets below. He had just gotten up to open the window when a loud frantic banging came from the front door.

"MR. AMERICA! MR. AMERICA!" What sounded like at least two young boys were yelling in panic. "HELP US!"


America sprinted down the stairs towards the front door. It had to be pretty late. What could possibly be going on?


Monsters? With this new incentive America leaped over the banister, and crossed to the door in two strides, wrenching it open. Two boys, about twelve years old, came rushing in and threw their arms around America's waist. One of them was holding onto a little girl, who was bleeding badly around her shoulder.

America tried to see what kind of monsters were attacking his citizens, but could only make out shadows running through the panicked streets before he closed the door and locked it.

He then turned his attention to the sobbing children, specifically the injured girl. "Let me see her." America took the little girl in his arms, examining the deep gash in her shoulder. She was faint, only seeming to stay on her feet by what he was guessing was her brother. "Come with me." He lifted the little girl, carrying her into the kitchen, where he sat her down on the counter.

Wetting some paper towels, he began to clean the wound, finding it seemed much worse when the blood was cleared away. The boy who had been carrying the little girl had sprang into stories about what was going on, though most of the words just seemed to jumble together in his haste.

"Whoa, whoa. Slow down." His attention focused on the little girl sitting on his kitchen counter, he probably wouldn't have caught anything he said, even if he wasn't panicked. Though his eyes now shifted down to the two boys. "Now, slow down, and tell me what's happening."

He started into another torrent of story telling that was still quick paced and panicked, but at least he could make out what he was saying. "We were asleep, and I heard this noise and when I went to check on what was happening there were these monsters with blood all over their faces. They ran at me, so I screamed and ran to get my mom and dad, but they were monsters too, and I didn't know what to do." He broke down into hysterics and started crying. "So I just grabbed Carry and ran, but there were more monsters in the street, and they were everywhere. And there were people running, and screaming and they were eating people."

America's head snapped to him at hearing this, a sick feeling sinking into his stomach. "Eating people?"

"Yea, they were. What's going on, Mr. America? What's wrong with those people? Are they sick?"

America stared off at the adjacent wall, a sense of horror and disbelief settling in on him. "Yea... maybe." The little girl slumped slightly, and he put an arm out to catch her. "Whoa. Easy there, Sweety." He ran a hand over her sweaty forehead, her eyes staring off in a haze. "What's your name?" He addressed the young boy again.

"Uh, M-Micheal, sir." He answered, tugging at the hem of his shirt. "And this is Conner"

The other boy, who hadn't seemed to speak, once he'd gotten in the house, nodded.

"Ok, Micheal." America tried to keep the horror from his voice as he spoke, so as not to frighten the children more, and pointed across the kitchen to a small cabinet in the corner. "Why don't you look in that cabinet there, and get me the first aid kit." He looked back down at the frail child laying against his shoulder. He spoke in a soft whisper, stroking her hair. "I'd like to get her to a hospital, but I don't know how plausible that is now."

Micheal had just pulled out the kit when more screams bounded through the window, and he jumped, running back to America's side, where both boys clung to him, shuddering in terror.

America's heart pounded in his chest. This could not be happening. He could feel the two boys trembling at his side, torn between wanting to protect these three, wanting to go out and help the rest of his citizens, and not to mention the fact that he was scared half to death at what he was pretty sure Micheal had just described to him.

"M-Mr. America?" Conner piped up.

His gaze fell down to the three children. The boys were staring up at him expectantly, the horror more pronounced on their young features. America breathed deep, biting his bottom lip. "Come on."

He lifted Carry from the counter and lead the two boys from the kitchen and on down into an underground bunker, beneath the parlor, he had mainly used as refuge during nuclear war. Letting Micheal and Conner enter first, America sealed the door, and moved to lay Carry down on one of the beds. The boys were still clinging to him, but that was mainly because he hadn't turn the lights on yet. He pulled the drawstring, illuminating the small room in an uneven light that swung with the tiny bulb.

There were shelves lining the walls, each containing food rations, and water. Some blankets, and other such necessities. A few rifles hung from the walls, as well as hand guns and holsters.

America ran his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath to try and steady his nerves. "Ok. I need to get Carry taken care of. Micheal, hand me the kit."

Micheal froze, his face turning an off shade of red. "I um, left it upstairs."

America glanced down at him. "You what?"

Micheal backed away a bit. "I-I'm sorry. I was just so scared... and I guess I didn't think about it. I'm sorry, Mr. America."

America rubbed at a knot in his forehead. "No, it's ok. I'll have to go get it. You two stay here, with Carry."

"NO!" They both screamed, running over to throw their arms around him again. "Please, don't leave us Mr. America."

"We don't want to be alone."

"Listen, boys." America knelt down, putting his hands on their shoulders. "You're perfectly safe down here. This place was designed to keep any kind of foreign substance out, and this includes zombies."

"ZOMBIES!" The two boys shrieked, clinging to him again. "Please, don't leave us."

"We don't want to be eaten by the zombies."

"You're not going to be-"

"Don't let the zombies get us."

"Ok, fine." America conceited, nudging the boys back so that they didn't strangle him. "I won't go anywhere. But believe me when I say, 'Nothing can get you down here.' Now." He stood, indicating that the boys should sit down. "Now relax, and I'll see what I can do for your sister." Micheal and Conner sat down, and considering neither of them protested the 'sister' comment he assumed his assumption was correct.

America passed blankets to the two boys, and rummaged around for something he could use to tend to Carry's wounds. He was bound to have something in here. A small box on one of the top shelves caught his eyes. He blew off the dust and opened the ancient kit to see medicine and bandages, still in their protective wrapping. "Bingo."

However, when he turned back to take a look at her wound, the sinking feeling returned to his stomach. He was mainly guessing from Micheal's description of what was out there, but the look of Carry's shoulder made him nervous again. Still, he started to clean it more, using as much antibiotics to try and kill any infection that could be in the wound. "So." He hesitated, not sure he really wanted to know. "How did Carry get hurt?"

Sure enough, his fear was confirmed. Apparently she had fallen behind, shortly after they had ran into Conner, and was bitten by one of the zombies. Carry was still conscious, but barely. It was clear that she was fading fast, but America was always an optimist and hoped that maybe this wouldn't be as bad as he feared.

Micheal looked from his sister, to America, taking into account the look on his face. "Is she going to be ok?"

America started. He wasn't sure whether it'd be good or not to be honest about what may happen to Carry. "I don't know. We'll just have to see." When he had finished mending her wound, he sat down on the bed, brushing a hand through her hair. "Hey, Carry. Can you look at me?"

Her eyes turned hazily towards him. She moaned softly.

America smiled. "Hi there, Sweety. How're you feeling? Can you tell me?"

Carry moaned again, moving her lips as if to try and speak. She managed to mumble softly what almost sounded like, 'I feel funny.' but it wasn't too clear.

America almost felt as if he wanted to cry. "I need you to stay with us, ok, Hon?"

She let out a soft, 'meh' and nodded. Though it wasn't clear how much she really understood.

As hard as he tried to keep her awake, the inevitable fact was that she was just too far gone. Carry's eyes soon closed, and nothing could wake her. Her pulse steadily slowed, and after one last breath it never came back in. America's heart clamped in a vice, staring down at the docile face.

The two boys watched breathlessly, Micheal had started crying again, and ran over. America jumped to his feet, and held him back. "Carry? CARRY!" He called, though America refused to let him go, pulling both him and Conner to the other side of the room.

"What's wrong with her? What happened? Is she... is... she..."

"I'm sorry, Micheal."

"No." Micheal bawled harder, throwing his arms around America's waist again, but those blue eyes were too intently fixed upon the small girl laying still in the bed. "Stay together." He deposited Micheal to Conner, and headed to the wall where his guns were stored. America located his bullets, and started to load the rifle he'd just taken from it's peg, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on Carry.

When the barrel clicked back into place, Micheal looked up. "What are you doing?"

"Just stay back over there." America raised the gun, still keeping an eye fixed on the small girl. He really hoped he didn't have to do this.

"What are you doing!" Micheal shrieked again, running over.

"Micheal! I said, stay back!"

"You can't shoot her! She's my sister!"

"Look, Micheal." America raised his gun out of his reach, glaring down at him. "I don't want to, but there's a chance she'll wake up again. And, if she does, she will no longer be your sister. She's going to be one of those monsters. Now, listen to what I tell you and GET BACK!" He took his elbow and pushed the boy back towards Conner, then turned his attention back to Carry and shrieked, jumping backwards.

The small girl was indeed awake again, staring up at him with eyes like smokey glass. She bit her lip, drawing out blood with her teeth, which contrasted brilliantly against the white-blue tint of her skin. A violet tongue lapped out at the blood.


"Micheal, NO!" America reached out to pull him back, where he'd ran around him to get to his sister, but too late. Just as he dragged Micheal back, Carry jumped forward and bit his outstretched hand. Micheal screamed, pulling back two bloody nubs.

America's hesitation died and he blew the small child's head in half. His attention turned back to Micheal, who was crying harder, screaming, his entire body shaking. "My-my-my-my hand! She-she bit me!" His eyes flew up desperately to America. "It hurts! Why'd she do that? What happened to my sister!"

"She was infected." America knelt down in front of him, using the edge of one of the blankets to try and staunch the bleeding. "When a zombie bites you, they pass on a disease that turns you into one of them." He looked up into Micheal's eyes, seeing the horror spread across his face, briefly wondering if he understood what that meant for him. "There was no way to save her."

Micheal's breathing hardened, his eyes flicking down to the blood covered sheets. "Th-th-then... wh-what about- about me?"

America's expression fell. "She was one of them... I'm afraid you're infected."

"NO NO!" Micheal screeched. "I don't want to be one of them. I don't want to be a monster! Isn't there something you can do?"

"Well." America hesitated, his gaze falling down to the rifle that had landed on the ground beside him. Slowly, he reached for it, and glanced back up at Micheal.

Understanding dawned on the boy's face. All colored drained from his features. "No... NO!" He got up and ran to the other side of the room. "No, no! You're supposed to protect us! You can't kill me!"

"I'm sorry Micheal." America stood, still holding the rifle. "I'm afraid there's nothing else I can do." The screaming was growing louder, though nothing particularly sounded human anymore, and soon banging could be heard on the side of the house.

America's eyes flicked up at the door, in panic, hoping it would hold, then he looked back to Micheal, cowering in front of him. "If I don't do this, you'll just end up a monster like them."

"But you're America! There has to be something you can do! Can't you stop it some other way? I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die! I DON'T WANNA DIE!" His sobs were becoming a bit more hysterical.

Conner had backed up against the opposite wall, and crouched against the floor. He started to cry for his friend.

America's hands shook, the tight knot growing larger in his gut. He held the gun to his side, kneeling in front of Micheal again. A hand came up to stroke the side of his face. "I truly wish I could, Micheal. Believe me, I would give anything to not have to do this, but once you're bitten, there's no going back."


This sudden burst startled him more than the zombies outside.

"I'm sorry. I should have listened to you, and stayed back, but I didn't. It's all my fault, and I'm sorry. Just please, don't kill me. Please, I don't wanna die!"

America's eyes started to burn with this confession, and he traced a hand over Micheal's hair, then pulled him into a hug. "No, I'm sorry. I should have been able to protect you from this, but I didn't. It's not your fault, Micheal." He pulled back, still resting a hand on the side of his neck. "It's just bad luck."

"No. No, Mr. America, please!"

Shaking, America stood, and took a few steps back. His gun raised against the protests of the sobbing child in front of him. Biting his lip, America closed his eyes and pulled the trigger, instantly stopping the pleads for his life.

The shaking in his hands, ruptured through his body, weakening his legs. America collapsed to the ground, breaking down into sobs. This wasn't fair. He felt so helpless. His people were dying, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Crashes ruptured from upstairs, and both his and Conner's eyes flicked up to the door. They had made it into his house. Some of the inhuman muffle of noises became more distinct, and America gasped when he recognized two of them as all too familiar barks.

"Away from the door!" He cried, rushing over to the ladder, and wrenched the door open. His head snapped around to see that no zombies had invaded the immediate room, but their forms were clear in the distance. America placed his fingers between his lips and whistled loudly for the two barking dogs.

The barking stopped, and soon two dogs skidded around the corner, closely followed by at least three zombies. The gray and brown Husky pulled ahead in order to reach her master, but America's beloved Pariah yipped as one of the zombies lurched forward and grabbed him around the ankles.

"NO!" America sprinted out of the door, and picked up a boot-rack, breaking through the mass of long blonde hair to crack her skull with the wooden rack, which splintered in his hands. He then picked up his Pariah and ran back for the bunker, yelling for the Husky to proceed him.

Once all three were back inside, America sealed the door, and slumped to the ground to embrace his dogs. "You two ok?" He asked, checking them both over for any injuries. His Husky was uninjured, but there was a bloody gash on the back leg of his Pariah. "Oh no." The dog whimpered as he tried to determine what had made the wound.

They both jumped when the Husky barked suddenly. "Alaska, hush. They can't get in-" But America trailed off when he saw his dog wasn't barking at the door, but at Conner. He made his way over, stroking her soft fur. "What is it, Girl?" She barked up at him, and sniffed around the cuff of Conner's pants. There was what was unmistakeably blood blooming through the dark fabric.

America seized the cuff of his pants and examined the wound, then looked up at Conner in horror. Tears trailed down the small boys face. "I'm sorry. I should have said something sooner. My big brother bit me."

America's eyes started to burn again. This was not happening.

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