Nations Vs Zombies .::. A Hetalia Fanfiction

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, everything goes to it's original creators! I only own this fanfic!

Chapter 1

Germany's POV

   Bang. The bullet fired, hitting my target exactly between the eyes. Bang bang. Another two went down. Steering clear of the leering arms of the undead, I pushed my legs forward, thanking all those years of tough training. The numbers were regrouping in front of me, so I quickly reloaded my gun before firing at them. There were so many it didn't seem to do much difference. Putting my gun back in my belt, I pulled my machine gun from it's sling over my shoulder and open fired at the zombies in front. They fell like flies, sending a smirk over my face.

   I continued running. The warehouse I was in was old and rundown, parts of the roof looking very unstable. Certain areas had been boarded up in a hope to keep the thing together, but they had done a poor job. The windows had been blocked, but by the look of things they had only held for so long against the zombies. Crates and other scattered boxes littered the floor, they probably once held drugs or other stolen goods. This warehouse used to be used by a gang, I believe. Located in the outskirts of Genoa, Italy, it had taken me two weeks to reach here. I wouldn't let them be in vain.

   Putting my machine gun back over my shoulder, I prepared myself for close range combat. Curling my hands into fists, I launched a number of punches and kicks at the remaining zombies. Dodging their drooling mouths and gnarled claws and aimed for the weak spots of humans. From what I had learnt, zombies were just like humans and had the same weaknesses, but their lengthened, knife-like fingers nails were definitely something normal humans didn't have. However, zombies didn't seem to have thoughts, instead they just moved by instinct.

   I stretched my arms and clicked my fingers after sending the last one flying to the ground. The groaning sounds behind me told me though that I hadn't paid enough attention, and I turned in horror at it's looming jaws. It's arms grabbed me, holding me still, fingers pressing into my flesh. It's stale breath wafted over my face, smelling of dried blood and mouldy carcass. It was a smell that had entered my nose a number of times on old battle fields, and the memories that scent brought back were all ones I would rather forget.

   Suddenly, the zombie's eyes rolled back and it dropped down to the floor, releasing me. I took a couple of steps back out of instinct, wiping myself down. I looked up, only to a see a Japanese man in a white uniform holding a blood-covered katana. Looking down at the wound in the zombies back, it didn't take a fool to put the two and two together, that the Japanese man had saved me. The man gave me a slight smile, putting his sword back into it's cover over his shoulder.

   "Japan! I thought I told you to guard outside!" I huffed, embarrassed at needing to be saved.

 "I did, but then I thought you may need a rittle herp in here. I was right," Japan replied.

 "Well, danke," I thanked him humbly.

 "Is he in there?" Japan asked, pointing at the door behind me.

 "Possibly, we should check," I answered.

   Walking over to the door, I was pleased to find it locked. If the Italian was in there, at least he'd had the common sense to lock the door. A simple full-powered roundhouse kick sent it flying off his hinges. The room was pretty bare, a desk had been upturned and papers scattered the floor. In the corner, a wardrobe stood, opposite that, a sofa. It looked like someone had left there very quickly. It was empty. He wasn't there.

   "Germany-san, rook over here!" Japan called. I turned and walked towards the Asian man. He handed me a letter, "I found it pinned on the wall," he explained.