Wow, you wrote a oneshot—congratulations on surviving the trenches of storytelling. But this one’s is forgettable, I guarantee that. Zombie stories are still kicking, but only when they lurch into bold, mold-breaking territory. Too bad that "mold-breaking territory" had expanded so much that originality isn't there anymore. Yours sticks to the basic of the basics: the shuffling undead, the emotional sibling arc, and, of course, the rain sobbing in the corner like it’s auditioning for another melodramatic novel about zombies.
Rhetoric-wise, the framework I use for storytelling, it’s DOA. Ethos? Purple prose drowns it. Every sentence begs me with “Look how deep I am,” while I'm drowning in metaphors thicker than the apocalypse fog. Sometimes, less is more—trust that rain can just be wet. You could've used those words for something else and have more tight story. Pathos? You aimed for heartbreak, but clunky execution stole the punch. Hal’s arc was predictable, the gang was a collection of zombie-apocalypse bingo cards, and the emotional beats felt rehearsed, not raw. Nothing new and nothing worth to be remembered. Logos? Same old survival script, played straight without a twist to make it memorable.
The only suggestions I could give is stop clinging to “show don’t tell” like it’s gospel. Practice SHOW AND TELL. Sometimes you need to guide your readers, not let them stumble in the generic zombie apocalypse #3231004. Experimentation is good, but remember you have an audience—they’ve seen this movie before and probably written a bad rep about it. Challenge their expectations, or at least give them a reason to care beyond “another apocalypse, another sob story, another implied mutant.”
For a competition? Sure, it’s a solid effort. But next time, ditch the safety net, tone down the melodrama, and let your characters, not your adjectives, do the heavy lifting. You’ve got potential—but that potential is not good enough for masterful writing in a tropefied landscape.