Status: This writing is a bit dated. It'll progressively improve through the series.
Pandemic
The World In Ruin
One year later…
12:13 Hrs, September 11th
Carter St., Glandice City
The world was in ruin. Buildings had crumbled. Vehicles clogged the streets, windows broken and dried blood spilled all over the seats. The sky was a dull grey color, yet there were no clouds. The smell of rotting flesh hung in the air. Everything was silent, everything was still. There were no humans or animals. The city looked like it had been a war zone, yet there was not a single body to be found. The wind was almost void of sound, though it gusted about violently. All the trees were long dead, along with almost all other plant life. Only grass remained, dormant, but slowly dying in turn as well. Suddenly a large office building collapsed and a cloud of debris was kicked up into the air, and quickly diffused by it. The sound, this sole break in the silence, echoed about the desolate grid of concrete before disappearing. The silence returned, seemingly more intense than before, as if it was proving to the sad, barren world that it was in control.
Gunshots pulsed through the city. Then a man wheeled around the corner as fast as his legs could carry him. A split second passed and over a dozen zombies cleared the corner roaring threateningly.
The man weaved through the mass of vehicles, pushing his body as far as it's limits would allow him. The wounded pursuers followed suit.
His legs went numb and rubbery with fatigue, and they burned incessantly. The zombies' pace was constant, as if fatigue was beyond their spectrum of weakness, if they even had one.
They were on top of him now, clawing and tugging at his shirt. It tore off the crying man, the memories of his life appearing through the distorted lenses of the tears. Despite this he continued running, slowly slipping beyond his limit, his will deteriorating.
A set of nails dug into his back and he screamed out in pain as he fell to the asphalt. They were surrounding him now, blocking out what was left of the sun.
There was a gunshot and a zombie fell in a burst of brown liquid, a hole clean through its chest. The group of attackers paused, looking for the source of the sound. There was a flash of light from atop a building about a hundred yards away, followed by another bang, followed by another dead zombie.
They looked around quickly, then turned and ran back the way they came.
Once they disappeared a piece of the roof shifted, but it wasn't the roof. It was a person perfectly camouflaged in their surroundings. A teenage boy, roughly nineteen, stood up. His skin was lightly tan, but was mostly covered in several layers of dirt and camouflage gear. His hair, black in color and covered in dirt and grease, was severely knotted. He stood at slightly over six feet and was lightly built. He held an advanced sniper rifle in his hands.
After seeing the man injured and barely moving, he disappeared into the building. Several minutes later he reemerged and slid down a rope that hung loosely to a chimney. Once his feet hit the ground he whipped around, drawing out an M1 carbine from behind his back. A standard pistol was strapped to his hip, along with a crowbar.
The boy ran quietly over to the wounded victim.
The man looked up at him, tears sliding helplessly down his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'd do it myself if I could."
"Don't be sorry." Tears of his own accumulating. "We've already decided. There's no turning back now."
"It doesn't matter. No one should have to be put in a situation like this. It's my fault Vincent. I should've been more careful."
The teenager didn't reply.
"I love you son."
Vincent wanted to say something but his mouth wouldn't function. He lifted the rifle and fired.
12:13 Hrs, September 11th
Carter St., Glandice City
The world was in ruin. Buildings had crumbled. Vehicles clogged the streets, windows broken and dried blood spilled all over the seats. The sky was a dull grey color, yet there were no clouds. The smell of rotting flesh hung in the air. Everything was silent, everything was still. There were no humans or animals. The city looked like it had been a war zone, yet there was not a single body to be found. The wind was almost void of sound, though it gusted about violently. All the trees were long dead, along with almost all other plant life. Only grass remained, dormant, but slowly dying in turn as well. Suddenly a large office building collapsed and a cloud of debris was kicked up into the air, and quickly diffused by it. The sound, this sole break in the silence, echoed about the desolate grid of concrete before disappearing. The silence returned, seemingly more intense than before, as if it was proving to the sad, barren world that it was in control.
Gunshots pulsed through the city. Then a man wheeled around the corner as fast as his legs could carry him. A split second passed and over a dozen zombies cleared the corner roaring threateningly.
The man weaved through the mass of vehicles, pushing his body as far as it's limits would allow him. The wounded pursuers followed suit.
His legs went numb and rubbery with fatigue, and they burned incessantly. The zombies' pace was constant, as if fatigue was beyond their spectrum of weakness, if they even had one.
They were on top of him now, clawing and tugging at his shirt. It tore off the crying man, the memories of his life appearing through the distorted lenses of the tears. Despite this he continued running, slowly slipping beyond his limit, his will deteriorating.
A set of nails dug into his back and he screamed out in pain as he fell to the asphalt. They were surrounding him now, blocking out what was left of the sun.
There was a gunshot and a zombie fell in a burst of brown liquid, a hole clean through its chest. The group of attackers paused, looking for the source of the sound. There was a flash of light from atop a building about a hundred yards away, followed by another bang, followed by another dead zombie.
They looked around quickly, then turned and ran back the way they came.
Once they disappeared a piece of the roof shifted, but it wasn't the roof. It was a person perfectly camouflaged in their surroundings. A teenage boy, roughly nineteen, stood up. His skin was lightly tan, but was mostly covered in several layers of dirt and camouflage gear. His hair, black in color and covered in dirt and grease, was severely knotted. He stood at slightly over six feet and was lightly built. He held an advanced sniper rifle in his hands.
After seeing the man injured and barely moving, he disappeared into the building. Several minutes later he reemerged and slid down a rope that hung loosely to a chimney. Once his feet hit the ground he whipped around, drawing out an M1 carbine from behind his back. A standard pistol was strapped to his hip, along with a crowbar.
The boy ran quietly over to the wounded victim.
The man looked up at him, tears sliding helplessly down his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'd do it myself if I could."
"Don't be sorry." Tears of his own accumulating. "We've already decided. There's no turning back now."
"It doesn't matter. No one should have to be put in a situation like this. It's my fault Vincent. I should've been more careful."
The teenager didn't reply.
"I love you son."
Vincent wanted to say something but his mouth wouldn't function. He lifted the rifle and fired.
♠ ♠ ♠
And so begins part two, "The World In Ruin." I have better versions of all of these chapters, but im not getting paid for any of this so fuck it. read it as it is now, or dont.