The Decay.

The Decay.

Collaborative series of the life of the survivors of the Zombie Apocalypse.

Lith:

Location:Virginia
Month/Season:September/Autumn
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.

 

Space:

 

Roy sat atop a tree, using the leaves as cover from whatever was on the ground. He sat still, hearing a Spook stumble by every so often. Once in a while, one would catch his scent and start scratching at the tree, until finally giving up and wandering away. He’s been here since the night, and has been sitting here, still. A passing chickadee hovered above him, than landed on his lap. As it walked along over too where he rested his hand, it started nipping at the little crumbs laying on his palm. In one swift move, he grabbed it, and crushed it, placing it in hit pocket. ​

“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.

 

Doge:

 

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.

fucking. damnit.

“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?”
“no.”

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.

 

Razor:

 

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.

 

Skink:

 

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.

 

 

RPC – Rufus Tucker.

Name: Rufus Tucker
Age: 59
Picture:
Location: Prince William Forest Park.
Bio :  A rough and tumble kind of bloke, one that you most certainly don’t ever want to cross.  Formerly a US Marine, with over thirty five years of active service, he has since retired and has been living off the land in a kitted out RV.  Rufus has done more tours in countries that the US would rather not have the general population know about, he is something of a maverick.  Respected by his brothers at arms, but one that was not afraid, to tell the top brass where to shove it.  His survival skills out in the open are second to none.  A tracker as well as a skilled hunter, he has been able to adapt to civilian life, so long as it was as far away from the cities and towns.  On board his RV, he has enough weapons and arsenal to arm a small army.  It’s no secret that a few government agencies have him down on their lists, as a man that though loyal to his country, his mental stability was questioned towards the end of his term of service.  Seeing one too many horrors, does that to a man.
Background: Once a family man, his many tours caused him to become emotionally detached from his family, and thus he now walks this earth alone.  He is loyal only to those he serves with.  His motto – Win…or die.
Weapon(s): An automatic rifle, machete, a couple of home made grenades, and twin daggers he keeps in his boots.  Along with a bull whip, from a stint down under.
Skills: Extraordinary rifleman, tracker, and survivalist.
Other: Rufus can be considered a joker…but you have to wonder if the joke is on you.

A few dead penguins – GS.

 

Leaving the boy behind with the nuns was a very bad idea.  Father Thomas and Rufus were in for a terrible shock.

Scene setting : St Luke’s Cathedral – Gantz series.

Co-written with Zu.

 

Zu:  

https://i0.wp.com/i1268.photobucket.com/albums/jj561/Voreh/Voreh_IMVU/KiraKousukefull1325446_zps6c9faae9.jpg
Finally, after things had settled, Manny left himself on his knees, a large and sinister smile on his face while looking up at the portraits of baby Jesus, the man who could not save the nuns devoted to his lifestyle. All he could do was laugh: laugh at their pathetic lives before his arrival, laugh at the establishment he ripped through, laugh at the thoughts that could run through the others who had left the women to their deaths. He found it funny, bone-chilling good. When his laughter died down, he just got up without even thinking, let alone speaking, and walked off with a dead-serious expression on his face. He’ll leave this mess for God’s children to clean up.

 

Razorbackwriter:

After an exhaustive search that had seen Father Thomas and his trusty side kick Rufus come up empty handed in trying to find Sister Stevie – they were on their way back to the Cathedral. Slowly walking along the now empty streets, Rufus was sucking on a blueberry slurpee, while his boss, Father Thomas was muttering to himself. How could a bloody nun just vanish like that? All she was to do was buy a packet of cookies and bring them to the church, but she couldn’t even get that right. Rufus, who had bought his slurpee in the 7 Eleven that Sister Stevie was meant to go to, had asked the Indian shop keeper if he had seen the nun. No one in a nun’s habit had been seen in his shop that night, but the footage on the surveillance camera did show her walking past over two hours before. So…she had been on the street, and then simply vanished. This was partly why Father Thomas was so cross. His skills at apprehending and sending evil doers onto God, were something of underground folk lore. He considered himself to be a modern day Van Helsing. He just didn’t look as hot as Hugh Jackman, and he also had a nasty temper.

As Rufus tried to keep up with him, he asked. “So why are we going back to the church? Why not try the east side? Maybe she went to stop in at the homeless mission?” This was a good reason, but still didn’t add up. Father Tom was just about to enter the cathedral gates, when he noticed that the nun’s van was still parked out the front. They should have locked up and gone back to their home hours ago. The door was partially open, but….there was no sound coming from within. If they were still there, surely they would be able to hear them. Rufus bumped into the back of the priest, spilling some of his blue slurpee on the ground.

“Ugh..” He started wiping the ice cold drink off his jacket, while Father Thomas was pulling out a gun and holding it in front of himself, as he crept slowly towards the open door. Glancing up and seeing the priest go stalking up to the church, Rufus scampered along behind him – his shoes making a din along the leaf and snow covered ground.

“You going to go in armed? You might shoot a penguin.” Rufus whispered in a hushed tone, as Father Tom brought his finger up to his lips to make the bell ringer shush.

Creeping ever closer, the Priest pushed the door gently as he dared, but it still make a rough squeaking sound. Someone should really oil those hinges. Rufus poked his head in behind the Priest only to see a sight that had him instantly throwing up and gagging from the shock.

The nuns…every single one of them had been slaughtered. Like lambs….their bodies covering each and every pew. Blood splattered on every wall, every statue – even the pulpit. Glassy eyed women staring out at the void. Their lives lost so horribly.

 

“Oh…. my ….God.” Rufus stammered, while the Priest slowly lowered his firearm to his side. Rufus wiped the blue coloured vomit from his lips and staggered about, turning and bumping into body parts. His eyes wide as plates as he looked up at the Priest for answers.

“Father….they all been butchered.”

“I can see that.”

“But….what did this?”

As Father Thomas turned over the body of Sister Marjorie and stared at her bloody face, the Priest gave his answer.

“A vampire…laddy…….the little shit we left ‘ere.”

 

Rufus gasped. He remembered the boy that the Nuns had said would care for him. Could a little boy do all of this? It was hard to believe…murder on this scale done by one so young.

“No…would have had to have been a heap of them, Father. One child can’t do all this.”

Taking out his flashlight, Father Tom turned it on and pointed it to the floor, where you could see a trail of small bloody foot prints heading for the door. Father Tom looked at Rufus’s shocked face and added …“No? Think again, laddy. That face was not so innocent after all.”

The pair just stood there in the middle of the horror scene. First Sister Stevie….and now all the nuns. The devil must be dancing over this….

“What are we going to do?” Rufus said, his hands now trembling from the fear and shock. The boy could be watching them from the shadows.

“Hunt the little fucker down.”

~RB~

Father Tom – GS.

 

 

https://i2.wp.com/www.lifeofanarchitect.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/Nidaros-Cathedral.jpg

 

Scene setting : St Luke’s Cathedral.

 

Razorbackwriter:  Another Friday night has rolled around once more. It seemed that the bitter chill brought by the first days of snow had kept many of the die hard bingo ladies snuggled under blankets at home. The door to the church was open and a welcoming light shone from within. Only it was not as it truly appeared. Rufus had been setting out the wooden chairs for the procession of elderly that started to trickle in just after eight o’clock. The slow dragging of the wooden legs across the tiled stone floor creating a strange echo that resonated throughout the whole church. Rufus was more than just a bell ringer. Before being taken in by Father McGowan, he slept upon the streets and under bridges – pan handling when money was truly tight. Now, his future was brighter – somewhat. The Priest with the rugged looks and chiseled chin held a dark secret that the hunchback would come to discover, only by chance. None of this was spoken out in the open mind you. There are some whispers that should remain within the confessional – even if it is the Priest doing the confessing.

A long shadow hovered just above Rufus, who was putting the last chair into place on table ten.

“There we are Father. All’s ready. Are the sisters coming down tonight?”

The sisters he meant were the nuns that helped out at the Cathedral and were great supporters of the church’s bingo night. Father McGowan, or Father Tom as he was more commonly known folded his arms and stared down at his assistant with a look of disdain.

“No…they promised to deliver toys to the Children’s hospital. Bah. It’s just not the same without that brood of penguins.” Penguins being a pet name for what Father Tom referred to as the nuns. The sisters always made the tea and biscuit platters and handled the more annoying bingo ladies that often grated on Father Tom’s nerves. Rufus fidgeted nervously as he smiled up at the Priest. He knew what Father Tom would rather be doing this eve and it didn’t involve calling out bingo numbers. The Priest was a hunter. A hunter for God. The more souls he could send onto God…the better.

“I wouldn’t worry, Father. Saturday night is much better. More wicked sinners out and about. Heh. Right?”

If this was Rufus’s way of cheering the Priest up, it fell on death ears. No sooner had the hunchback spoken, when the first of the old bingo biddies started to parade through the door.

“Oooo Father Tom! You look handsome as ever. I’m feeling lucky in my waters tonight.” This was the first of many such compliments and the Priest faked a smile that would be sickly sweet.

“Just so long as you can hold your waters in till the end of the night, Mrs Jones.”

A light titter of laughter came from Mrs Jones, while the other ladies started taking their places and pulling out all manner of lucky charms, bingo marker pens and bottles of soda. The noisy chatter of the old moos, was like milking time at the shed. Slowly, the Priest made his way to the top table, where the bingo ball cage awaited. He took his seat and grumbled under his breath – low enough for no one to really notice. His hand reached for the crank and slowly he turned it as a wave of excitement went through the room.

How….exciting.

“Two fat ladies…..eighty eight.”

 

~RB~