Pandemic

20:16 Hrs September 11th

Glandice City

54 Carter Street

Vincent snapped awake. He must've dozed off at some point. He turned on the generator and it rattled to life. It was on its last leg, and he didn't know how to repair it. When it died, he would die. He went to the food storage area on the third floor. There was barely anything left. Only a couple cans of green beans remained. Vincent grabbed one, went back downstairs, and placed it on the generator. It was how he heated up food, if only by a small degree. He turned on the radio and listened quietly to it. There were still survivors and they communicated through radios. Most were in desperate situations and were asking, sometimes pleading, for help. Help never came because everyone needed help. Vincent still felt guilty though when a group stopped transmitting. He knew what it meant and though the other men had disregarded it, he felt personally responsible. Today was no different. Groups asked for various forms of aid, but even they knew it was in vain. The thinning airwaves were proof of that. There were conversations that lacked seriousness, but they were scarce among the frequencies. Sometimes, as a unifying form of entertainment, two people would play chess over the radio and everyone else would follow along with their own board. This had not happened in quite some time however.

There was one group that had grown famous among the plague fighters. They called themselves "The Guillotine Squad" and were a beacon of light that reignited the hope in everyone. Every day they announced the happenings of their group and asked that any nearby survivors join them. They were the only group that offered help over the radio. Vincent listened to today's announcements.

"…we have brought our kill count up to 9,353 today, killing and disposing of 37 zombies. One of men was infected in the hunt however. He has asked to be left alive, chained to a table, so that we may study and further understand the process the parasite uses to gain control of its host. Our food supplies are slightly low, but things are looking like they're going to improve soon. We've also had another encounter with 'Alpha Prime'. Lately, this creature has decimated our ranks with its 12 inch retractable claws and regenerating flesh. Today we learned a valuable lesson at a costly price. Fire, despite our hopes, had little effect on it. When it ambushed us we lit it on fire with an incendiary grenade. 'Alpha Prime' simply shed the burning flesh and regenerated it. As a last resort, we expended the last of our flamethrower ammunition on it. After 20 seconds of continuous fire the creature was uninjured, a pile of discarded body tissue surrounding it. We thought we were done for, but apparently the flesh regeneration requires a certain amount of energy to perform, and after 20 seconds of continuous regeneration it didn't have the energy to pursue us. We already know that there is no limit to how much regeneration it can do, no matter how extensive the damage is. How 'Alpha Prime' combats this 'regeneration fatigue' is still a mystery, but now we have powerful insight on how to weaken this creature and buy us some more time. During the encounter with 'Alpha Prime' we lost contact with Squad D and they have yet to return to camp. We believe that they were ambushed by a group of 'Adults' but we hope for their sakes that this isn't the case. We are going to be sending out a search party tomorrow to investigate the situation."

Vincent left the radio and went over to the generator, grabbing the slightly warmer green beans. He took a can opener to it and drank the contents, stopping to momentarily chew before each gulp. Carelessly throwing the can off to the side he returned to the radio. He had missed the remainder of the Guillotine Squad's daily report. Now they were reeling off their coordinates and location, asking anyone near them to join them. "We are at the moment on the outskirts of the Northern desert, near the town of Scarfield. If you are near this area please respond. This concludes our broadcast, but we will standby for one hour for a response."

Vincent sat down in awe. The Guillotine Squad's proximity to his location struck him heavily. The Northern desert was a creation of the apocalyptic destruction. Though he was never allowed beyond the office building's perimeter by order of his father, based on previous transmissions it was just 12 miles south. The town of Scarfield, supposedly the origin of the parasitic mutation known simply as "The Pandemic", was on the other side of the artificial wasteland.

He thought about the situation. His food supplies were depleted, the generator was about to die, gathering missions would have to be run almost everyday, and there was no one left to keep him company. At this Vincent almost choked up but pushed on regardless. On the other hand traversing a city was dangerous, doing it alone was almost suicidal, especially with no intent on returning. The journey would take at least 6 hours meaning he would have to sleep outside his shelter. A dangerous proposition. Even more perilous was the desert itself. If one of the monstrous sandstorms hit he would be crippled, most likely dead. Lastly, he had never encountered a zombie apart from the first encounter, and by the way the others talked about them it seemed like zombies had evolved far beyond their human hosts. They often talked of "Adults", but no one would ever tell him what an "Adult" actually was. Wandering ignorant of these factors could spell certain defeat.

Vincent sat, evaluating and weighing the possibilities of each decision, the minutes ever so slowly ticking away. It seemed like a stalemate to him. If he stayed he would die. If he left he still would probably die. Then he made his decision. Probably dying was better than certain death. He lifted the microphone that was next to the radio.

"Uhh…I'm not sure if this is working…if anyone from the Guillotine Squad can hear me please acknowledge."

There was a long pause.

"We hear you loud and clear." A lady answered.

"Ummm…my name's Vincent. As of now I'm in the center of Glandice city, probably about 30 miles from your position. I was wondering if I could join with you."

"Of course. How many are in your group?"

He froze at the question.

"Hello?"

"I'm-I'm here. I'm the only one"

"What supplies do you have left?"

"Several cans of green beans, and a good supply of bottled water."

"What about weaponry?"

"Hold on, let me check."

"Sure."

Vincent dashed up the stairs to the tenth floor and checked the weaponry. Memorizing the collection, he ran back down stairs to the mic. "I have 3 double barrel shotguns, 4 12-gauges, 7 pistols, a magnum, a high powered sniper rifle, 15 automatic rifles, a long bow, a cross bow, 5 semi auto rifles, and tons of ammunition."

"That's a lot of firepower for just one person."

"It wasn't always just me."

The hurt in his voice caught her off guard. "Oh…I'm sorry. I need to ask these questions so that you arrive safely. We would rendezvous with you but we have a situation on our hands presently."

"A situation?"

"I'll explain when you arrive. Now, do you have any previous combat experience?"

"I'm an okay marksman but that's about it."

"I think you should leave now. It-"

"Now? But it's dark out." He was confused. "Isn't that extremely dangerous?"

"There's no other way. Your food supplies are low and we may be moving to a new location tomorrow. If you wait you may never meet up with us."

"But-"

"I have faith in you. Listen closely. Take the food, a safe supply of water, the sniper rifle, a pistol, the semiautomatic rifle with the largest clip, and all the ammo you can carry. Be as quiet as possible when you walk and make sure everything is strapped down so as not to make needless sound. We'll send someone into the Northern desert to meet up with you. When you see a red flare head towards it. That'll be him. Now hurry. Every second counts."

"But I don't think I'm ready f-"

"It doesn't matter if you're ready or not. There aren't any other options. You won't survive unless you try. So make yourself ready and get a move on."

"I-okay."

Vincent grabbed a backpack and went upstairs, placing the food and water in it, then went further upstairs and collected his weaponry. He strapped on a standard handgun, slung the sniper rifle over his back, gathered the reserve ammo, threw the backpack over his shoulders, and picked out his M1-Carbine.

The lights faded and disappeared, the radio went silent. Darkness and silence crept through the building and a flashback of the first encounter dashed through Vincent's mind, mixed with instinctive fear.

A sputtering groan echoed against the walls and the lights illuminated the building once again as the generator defied failure.

Thank god I'm leaving. That thing could go at any time.

He decided to leave the generator running, afraid of walking through the building in complete darkness. As Vincent walked up the stairs the generator faltered again, and once again stabilized.

He came out onto the roof of the building and felt his way over to the chimney, any hint of moonlight shrouded by cloud cover.

The chimney, with no real functionality as wood was dangerous, if not impossible, to find, was built to keep people busy. Everyone knew there was no point in building it, but no one said anything, enjoying the stimulation, the teamwork, the hope that the chimney generated. A rope was tied to it securely and led down to the ground.

Vincent took a deep breath, understanding that once he left there would be no going back. Ever. He threw the M1-Carbine over his shoulder and, taking one last look at what he was leaving behind, descended into the shadows.