Collaborative series of the life of the survivors of the Zombie Apocalypse.
2 months ago, July, was when it all started. What was reported as a new but non threatening virus became an epidemic. No one knows what truly caused this virus, but theories like some new avian flu, government experimental weapons, or aliens, cropped up everywhere. What was clear, was that the dead was rising again, and were feeding on the living. The military tried to hold off some highly populated areas, but by most accounts they failed. Civilians were forced to leave their homes, or highly populated zones because of the rampant spread of this virus. As they were torn apart from their friends and family, they were forced to seek out food and shelter before they could try and reconnect, but for most it was too late. This new world is something you must fight against, to rebuild, to survive. The question is, can you?
Trudging along under the overpass, Jack constantly checked his surroundings with a sense of paranoia. With one hand gripped on his utility belt, near his holster, and the other around his backpack strap, he made his way to the wall of a nearby abandoned building and shimmied along to the corner. The sound of the dead could be heard around the corner, as many cities had been seemingly overrun with the dead. He turned his head and leaned to look around the corner and analyze the situation, with the surprise of the street scattered with the dead walking, and on appearing from just around the corner and taking ahold of him. Jack let out a gasp then fell to the floor with the zombie on top, biting down, trying to get at his face. Jack got a hand around the zombies neck and reached toward his belt for his baton. After a short but heated struggle, Jack armed himself with the baton and struck the zombie over the head constantly, until it stopped moving, but the thudding sounds of falling to the ground and the repeated baton to the scalp had drawn the attention of the other walkers and they began creeping over to his location.
Jack pushed the body off of him then rushed to get to his feet as a walker approached him reaching in for a meal. Swinging the baton, he hit the walker across the head and knocked it to the ground, but didn’t seem to kill it as it had begun to rise again. Jack made a sprint through the scattered group, knocking them over or slipping past some to avoid getting surrounded, and made his way to a nearby alleyway. He then slid to a halt and let out “Ah!”,as he had seen there were even more walkers in this alleyway. With the zombies gaining in on him from before, and the new group asserting their attention to him, he seemed surrounded. In the heat of the moment, he drew his pistol and fired four shots and the first few walkers, killing them and dropping their corpses to the ground, creating a sort of pile. The following walkers behind began stumbling over and then creating another pile, with them crawling to him. He used this time to spot a dumpster near a fire escape, and climbed on top of it, but the walkers from the street had now arrived one began grabbing at his leg, which cause Jack to immediately react and kick it directly on the snout, then make a leap of faith and jump for the ladder. Grabbing it with one hand, he swung the other to take hold of the ladder and began a frantic but successful attempt at pulling himself up to the floor of the fire escape. After a short while of a breather, he noticed through the window leading to the apartment room that it looked clear so he entered in. From there, he made his way through the apartment, rushing to make sure the door leading to the hall was closed, and upon arriving spotted a walker turn around to spot him. He ran to the door and closed it quickly, then made an attempt at barricading with a tipped over bookshelf and a couch as support, and fell to the ground, leaning against it in a sense of relief, as he felt he wasn’t getting a break….and he wasn’t.
From the bathroom and the bedroom stumbled out a female and a male walker, most likely a couple from before. “Oh come on”, he let out before coming to his feet and quickly bashing the female walker across the head, but got taken ahold of by the male, who pushed him into the counter in the kitchen, causing Jack to drop his baton. Struggling with this walker, Jack reached for something on the counter, making contact with a coffee pot, and smashed it across its head, sending shards of the glass into its face and knocking it over. Jack then grabbed the rest of the coffee maker and began smashing its skull in, then knocking the recovering female walker over and doing the same for her. Then something unexpected happened for him. Moans came from the bedroom, and a small child trudged out. A little girl, in a dirty pale white dress, with bite marks around her calf and ankle. Jack looked up to her with a realizing horror, that she was already dead too, and that he would have to stop her. “N-..no…please…no”, he let out as he began to tear up, as she drew near. He pushed her back as she got close and then grabbed his baton and swung at her child face knocking her on her back. Holding her down he began bashing in her skull repeatedly until the job was done, and he rose up, dropping his baton, and shook his head, then turned his gaze onto a mirror, seeing the blood all over him, his face, his hands, seeing what the world had made him have to do.
“That’s five.” He silently uttered to himself before reverting back to his still form. He realized it would be a while before another one happens to land on his arm. He lifted the bottom of his mask, and took a bite of the raw bird, spitting out the feathers. He didn’t have to enjoy it, he just had to survive. He made sure nothing was around to see his face, not even the tiniest gnat. After eating, he sat still… waiting.
The old house seemed safe enough. Sleeping in the car was NOT a safe option, as she realized two nights ago. Since then, Samantha had stuck to using abandoned houses along the backstreets for temporary shelter on her long drive to South Bridge.
The walls were clean, a faint lemony yellow, and most of the furniture had been left untouched. Some cold tea mugs had even been left strewn on the counter tops, as if the previous owner had only been out for an afternoon stroll. The epidemic had affected everyone in different ways – some had fortified their houses, set up base camps, recruited in groups. other’s simply left.. as was the case in this home.
A shuffling noise in the background caused her to tense up. Pivoting on her heels, she whirled around to come face to face with another ‘one’. The old woman it once was gazing straight into her eyes “Fucking dammit.” She cursed, raising her driver above her head -when suddenly the woman raised her hands in defence and cried “STOP!”
it was a survivor.
Samantha hastily scanned the room for any more lurking ghouls. Finding none, she turned back to the old woman watching her. “Are you hurt?”
“..yes, just on my left forearm.”
Instantly her eyes averted to the welted mark near her wrist.
She was bit.
“how long ago was this?”
“it’s been two hours…”
And by the looks of you, you’ve only got one more hour left, She thought.
“Is there anybody upstairs?”
Without further ado, Sam helped the woman into the master bedroom of the house.
“What are you doing?” The old woman whimpered. her sweaty hands clasped around Samantha’s shoulders.
“I’m treating your wounds… It’s the least i can do. I was a doctor back in South Bridge before the virus hit.” She paused and looked at the wound once again.
She’d read about it in books – she wasn’t stupid – The zombie apocalypse brought an epidemic which was transmittable bodily fluids. If one was bitten by the infected they would only have a limited time left to live based on their current health and status. Of course, this wasn’t written in a Mayo medical journal, but it was all she had for reference in this time of need.
For Sam, working in a profession dedicated to saving lives was tough in a time where people had to kill to survive. But to her..what this meant was that any surviving life was worthy of attention – and she was going to give it all she got.
If you work for any one government long enough, you see, you hear the strangest things. After a while you start to wonder just who is serving who. One day, those lines they tend to blur – and grey, well that becomes the new norm. A man who served the army, his country and his God knows how the system works. He knows, that at the end of the day…you all be serving the Man. Only the Man don’t always want what is best for the people. No sir. Ever seen the long lines outside the soup kitchens. The many broken, shattered men that had served their country and then come home only to find that the country would not serve them. Now these same men, they were trained. Taught all the secrets, seen the horrors of war and botched foreign policy that served a goal to appease some sections of what we call the right wing. We are taught in our schools…brainwashed; that this is all for the good of the country. But all too often, its only to appease that one percent. The ultra rich. The men that make the guns that fall into the hands of the believers and those that seek to bring them down. Then there are those that make the weapons of the biological age. The ones that can bring a nation to its very knees, but they would not dare release it on their own home soil. They would not let such a cocktail of chemical destruction go rampant on God’s own people. Or…has sin itself fed the greed of these same men…and now..God…has turned away from his children. Left them to suffer….the fate that they…brought upon themselves. War is Hell…but a living hell…is worse.
Rufus had served his nation with pride. Watched boys…not men, die alone in a distant land, clutching a picture of their sweetheart. Dreams whispered in their final breathes that never became fulfilled. That last war however, there was no honor. A man who knew nothing but the life of a soldier came back to a country that he didn’t even recognize. His own family, they’d have nothing to do with him. Some lab coat flunky called it Post traumatic stress syndrome. Pills didn’t work. Living in society? Nope, that near drove him crazy. But out in the wilderness. Places where man had not left its foul footprint. That was the only place that Rufus could breath. Where he could think. For a few years…it was his sanctuary. But like all good things, it would be spoilt. Spoilt by the same men, that had brought war to so many countries.
Our veteran had a two way, and he heard the chatter. Some man made virus getting loose in the city population. Rufus remembered, one quiet night by his camp fire. Was listening to some good old country songs, when the news broke. He just sat there, clutching his mug of whiskey. Unlike the folks of the big smoke, he had an advantage. Rufus could make ready for when the storm came…..and…it did.
6 months later.
It had been a long time, since Rufus had slept in the comfort of his RV. He’d ran out of gas and had to leave it behind off some of beaten track near a thick wood thicket. Rufus had lost count of the number of infected he had slain. Wearing his machetes slung across his back for easy reach, he made his way down through an old walking track. Hoping to find a source of fresh water. Water that had not yet been contaminated. The crunch of the autumn leaves under foot were the only sound he made. Rufus knew a way to regulate his heart rate and maximize his energy output during long days like these. With a keen eye, he kept a watch of the surrounding area. You just never knew when a lone walking corpse would cross his path. If it did…then may God bless him send the wretched back to his maker.
She was woken up by the sounds of loud, dragged foot steps against the leaf littered floor. She sat on her branch and watched. Despite her waist being tightly secured against the trunk of the tree using her scarf, the fear of falling from 15 feet high made her insides churn. They were a group in which what seemed like a family of four. A man, woman, and two children almost her age.
“What is he carrying…” She whispered. The walkers moved forward, not noticing she had spoken out loud. What she made out to be the ‘Father’, seemed to have been carrying something on his back. She peered in closer. “It’s a baby carrier…” She said, a little louder than anticipated. The group looked up towards her, they turned and made their way to her tree. She knew that if she kept quiet, they would forget about her and move on, but knowing never did stop her from not feeling safe. Trembling, Callie took this chance to take a better look at the carrier. “Is there a baby? Oh i hope the baby is alive… What am i saying, what a horrible life to live! To sit, strapped against a monster’s back… But what a horrible thing to wish, to hope that a baby is dead. Maybe someone saved the baby, maybe they’re with better people, maybe-” She stopped mumbling. Her eyes widened, her mouth left slightly gaping open. She let out a small sob, in which she started to cry. The carrier held not a living, healthy child, but its body-less remains. “I should’ve known,” She muttered, her words trembling alongside herself. She stared at the two children, gnawing and scratching against the tree trunk below her.
It isn’t long. She thought. It isn’t long before i become one of you.