Jazzy
Play It, Don't Say It.
Your name is Opal.
You're 25.
You're a human at least.
Your family was a loving one.
But now they're all as good as dead, aside from your 9 year old son.
You're in a post-apocalyptic time. You and your family, wife included, were surviving in an abandoned coffee shop. You had the place secure. Windows boarded, door with multiple latches and locks, all of you armed (besides your son of course). You were, to say the least, safe. Or so you thought. Apparently just a few hours earlier, your father went looking for supplies. You were sleeping during that day, because you had guard duty the night before. Either way, he had forgotten to relatch the locks. The knob of the door had been beaten pretty badly from other survivors trying to break in, and the latches were the only thing keeping that door from blowing open. After being chased by a horde, he ran in and pressed his back against the wall. He was so full of relief at surviving the close call, that he forgot to secure the door.
This would explain why your family is lying on the ground, covered in bite marks. Your son, Ty, is curled up next to his Mommy, crying. You slowly pick him up and move him as far away as possible from the rest of your family. He doesn't resist, just stays curled up and keeps crying. You're crying yourself, staring down at all you had, on the floor. It seems as if you have only a few choices now.
? Leave them there and hope for the best.
? Take your son and get the hell out of there.
? Move their bodies to a back room and stay there with your son, knowing your dead family is a risk to you.
? Kill them yourself and stay.
