1
It Begins
____Four months later…
____Thomas woke up on the couch, his hands and feet pressing against moving boxes as he stretched. Bright morning light poured in from his apartment windows, the cold shining brisk light only the Windy City could have. Gray.
____Thomas yawned and rolled off the couch, hitting the floor to help wake him up. He was always the most tired when he first got up, regardless of how much sleep he got. It’d be easier just to turn his back to the light and try to make up for it with more shuteye, but there was no time for that. He had things to do.
____Cardboard boxes shortened and widened like people growing old and fat as Thomas stacked them on top of each other. He never realized how much junk he had until it all had to be packed up. The television played in the background and a toaster cooked frozen waffles as he worked.
____A short knock on the apartment’s open door was soon followed by an elderly woman stepping into the room. Thomas acknowledged her with a glance and looked back down at his work, “Angie, Angie, when will those clouds all disappear?”
____She gave him a tight-lipped smile, “Must you always greet me with that song?”
____“Sorry, force of habit.” Thomas said, “Thanks for helping me with this.”
____“Oh, it’s my pleasure. You’ve been a good neighbor.” Angie glanced at the TV. There was a filthy man with an unkempt mess of a beard holding a big cardboard sign and shouting something incomprehensible, “With all those nutcases out there, I’ve been lucky to have you.”
____Thomas smirked as he rooted through drawers and desks, tossing a torn stack of pictures, a rusty metal can opener, and a Bible into a box labeled Junk, “Well, that and you’ll get all this stuff.”
____Angie opened another box and looked through it, “You got me. I’m just that kind of old lady, Thomas. Can’t let go of anything, even if it’s not mine. You sure you don’t want this stuff?”
____“I’m travelling light. Everything in these boxes here is yours when I’m gone.” Thomas scanned the kitchen counter, “The Junk boxes, the I Don’t Think This Is Mine boxes… There’s a half-finished bottle of wine here too if you want it. Anyways, holding onto all this is a waste.”
____“That’s sad.”
____“It’s really not.” Thomas walked back over to the toaster just as the waffled popped out. He took one and crammed it into his mouth, not bothering with syrup. He nodded to the TV, “Besides, haven’t you heard? The world’s ending soon. No use clinging to stuff.”
____“Yeah, there’s that.” Angie picked up one of the smaller boxes, “Okay, so where do you want all this?”
____Thomas pointed, “All this stuff I’ll get myself. Pickup truck’s parked in the alley so just put it there. Moving guys’ll get the furniture later.”
____“Lord, you parked in the alley? How long has it been there? What if it gets stolen?”
____“Most people wouldn’t think it even works.”
____Angie shrugged and walked to the door, “Alright, alright, I’m going.”
____“Right behind you.” Thomas picked up a box of his own and followed his neighbor out. The apartment hallway was narrow and cramped, the ugly green and brown wallpaper only making it seem more confined. But that’s just how it was: the entire apartment was a tall building stretched thin, like a giant domino. Fortunately Thomas lived on the second floor, so it wasn’t too far of a venture down to the truck and back.
____The rust-colored vehicle was snugly fit between two buildings in an alleyway, parked directly beneath the apartment’s fire escape. Thomas’ greatest fear for his truck was that those rickety black stairs and ladders would collapse onto it. That had already happened with the second floor’s section of the fire escape around a year ago. They never had gotten around to replacing that. Thomas pessimistically figured a city with such a rich history of fires would be more on point with that sort of thing. But after today that wouldn’t be his problem any longer.
____He and Angie set the boxes in the bed of the truck, the old woman returning inside while he organized and secured them. He didn’t have a cover for the truck, and the last thing he wanted to do was hit a pothole and lose everything he needed.
____Boom… Boom! In the distance he heard the faint sound of two soft explosions. Thomas took a step back and glanced down the street. It was quiet again. He frowned and shrugged, figuring it to be either construction or gunshots, neither uncommon. Maybe the noise just reminded him of how quiet it was today. Still plenty loud around the world according to the TV, but not here. He didn’t mind that though. All the best parts of life were the silent ones. With a few exceptions.
____Back to work. Going up and down the steps, passing Angie halfway each time, Thomas fetched one thing after another and brought it back to his truck. It was fairly short work, all the boxes not even enough to fill the back of the truck, but better that than the alternative. It didn’t take long. He probably didn’t even need to ask Angie for help in the first place. She must’ve thought so too, because he didn’t pass her at all on the last walk up.
____Thomas walked into the open apartment room and approached the last couple of boxes, any others in the room now Angie’s property, stacking them up on top of each other and trying to get a good grip underneath. The sound of a siren, again not uncommon, wailed in the distance. Thomas glanced at the TV, seeing another rally of countless people running about. He smirked again, making silent assertions about “most people” and walked out.
____As soon as Thomas entered the hall a man barreled out from the stairs and landed on the floor. The man picked himself up and glared at Thomas, panting heavily. Raising an eyebrow, Thomas stopped in his tracks and examined the fellow from a distance, confused. He seemed off. Very off. Now was a very bad time to be holding a stack of boxes.
____“…Sir…?” Thomas questioned, “Are you okay?”
____“Gah…” The man rose back to his feet and stumbled forward. Thomas now saw that the man’s shirt was extremely bloodied, an observation that only gave him a split second of a warning. The bloody man broke into a run, charging straight for Thomas.
____“Hell!” Thomas threw the boxes at the attacker, stalling for a second and running back to his apartment. He turned and slammed the door shut, the bloody man’s arms getting in the way. Thomas pressed against the door, tired and panicked, as the unknown assailant tried to force his way in.
____Thud!! The man slammed against the door, pushing Thomas back and running into the room. Scooting back along the floor, Thomas looked from the man to the desks to the boxes and back, looking for both an explanation and a means of defense. The bloody attacker advanced.
____Thinking quickly, Thomas grabbed the Junk box and tore it open, grabbing the old can opener. It was a little rusty wrench of a tool, hardly a worthy weapon, but desperate times. The crazed man didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest, lunging for Thomas and grabbing him, jaws opening wide.
____“Get off!” Thomas shoved the can opener into the man’s open mouth, wrenching it about and feeling blood dripping onto his hand. He tore the tool out, kicking the assailant back and scrambling to his feet. A good kick to the face knocked the bloodied man down, where he twitched and moaned in pain.
____Thomas dusted himself off, backing away further. What the hell was happening? Who was this guy? More unanswered questions were postponed as the sound of fast-approaching footsteps down the hall heralded the entrance of another crazed-looking guy running into the room. This one too sprinted straight for Thomas, arms flailing about wildly and drool flying from his open jaws. The man barreled into Thomas and slammed him back against the kitchen counter, trying to get in a bite just the same as the first attacker.
____“Sh*t!” Thomas struggled and put his hand on the man’s face, trying to hold him back. Reaching back with his other hand, he grabbed the half-empty wine bottle on the counter and swung it forth, smashing the man upside the head.
____“Graah!” The crazed attacker stumbled back, Thomas getting up and quickly stabbing him in the gut with the remnants of the broken bottle. Too scared for his life to turn down murder, he turned around and seized a wrench from one of the I Don’t Think This Is Mine boxes. He’d borrowed it from a long-gone friend years ago, for what purpose he couldn’t remember. For right now though it was a godsend. Swiftly bringing it down on the man’s head over and over, Thomas beat the assailant back and down with the tool until he stopped moving. Blood splattered the floor and his hands. But there was no time to worry about that.
____The other crazy man had gotten back to his feet, moaning and groaning and stumbling forward. Thomas stepped forward and struck him across the face, breaking his jaw in a single severe blow. The man again stumbled in place before slowly facing Thomas, seemingly unfazed by his jaw hanging limp.
____Thomas stepped back. Not human. He gripped his weapon tighter in fear. Kill it. Sucking up the gruesomeness of the bloody scene to be, he stepped forward and struck the man again in the face, this time knocking him back down to the floor. Thomas continued to beat the man until his head was also soaking in a puddle of blood, shattered.
____It was still and again quiet. Thomas breathed heavily, looking around the room. Seeing the open door, he cautiously approached it and listened down the hall. More footsteps, heavy and fast.
____“Sh*t!” Thomas repeated, shutting the door and locking it, turning and pacing around the bloody room, “Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t!”
____What the hell was going on!? Thomas looked down at the two dead men in his apartment. Already they reeked of death, broken heads ajar and limbs contorted. He slowly approached, eyeing the two with morbid curiosity. What are you two?
____“…Ah, the TV!” He raced to the television, picking up the remote and flipping between channels. The crazed men, the sirens… if there was something going on, there’d surely be coverage. Finally the screen flickered to life with a live broadcast, the words “Chemical Attack” in big letters at the bottom.
____“The explosions occurred in separate locations across Austin, Chicago, and New York respectively. More reports are still coming in, reportedly in San Diego and London. First responders are on the scene. Authorities have confirmed that it is indeed a chemical attack but are yet to confirm any other specifics.”
____Thomas stared at the screen in disbelief, unsure what to say or even what to think.
____“People in affected areas should remain indoors and avoid crowded areas. Wait… we’ve just received confirmation of an explosion in Camden, London. We’ll keep you up to date as things change.”
____“This is an emergency broadcast. Stay inside and do not panic. We have the situation under control. I repeat…”
____Another distant boom made Thomas jump, along with a heavy and noisy pounding on the apartment door. Thomas whirled around and approached the door. The banging continued relentlessly. After witnessing these two crazed savages and seeing the disaster unfolding on TV the last thing Thomas wanted to do was open his door again. He needed to look after himself for a bit until things were under control. But what if it was someone who needed his help? What if it was Angie? Dammit. Thomas took a deep breath, the first one he’d taken since things went to hell in those last few minutes. He took a look through the peephole.
____Another one.
BANG! The door pushed back against Thomas again as the attacker pounded the door. Thomas leapt back and rushed into the next room, hoping the lock would hold as he hastily dragged the couch over and in front of the door. That awful pounding continued endlessly, the door shaking but holding steady. Thomas breathed a sigh of relief and carefully glanced back through the peephole.
____The man stood there on the other side, repeatedly ramming itself into the door over and over. Its (yes, “its”… Thomas didn’t know what was going on right now, but he knew that these things were no longer “he’s” or “she’s”) head was bleeding from the impact, a few teeth falling out as it battered its face into the door. Yet it seemed unfazed.
____What kind of chemical does this to a man? Thomas questioned,
He’s like some kind of zombie… Yeah, exactly like a zombie! This can’t be real…
____He turned his back to the door and slumped down onto the couch,
I’m moving out. This can’t be happening to me. Not now… What am I supposed to do?
____The pounding at the door continued and continued for a long time, Thomas just sitting there on the couch staring blankly forward, out the window. What else was there to do? The banging at the door went on, the sirens kept on wailing, the voices on the TV continued to ramble.
____Well, I’m safe in here at least. What else is there to do but wait it out?
____He turned and laid down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Trapped, with a killer inches away on the other side of the door. And still tired. Closing his eyes, Thomas laid there in silence waiting it out. Maybe he’d doze off and fall asleep. Or maybe he’d wake up.
____After a few hours, Thomas did drift off for a bit. When he awoke, he was dismayed to discover the corpses were still on the floor of his apartment. The smell of blood permeated the air, awful. Disappointed in the event not being a dream, Thomas sat up and glanced around the room, listening intently. The banging at the door had stopped. The TV had dropped the narration in exchange for a deep buzzing sound.
____“Damn.” Thomas said groggily, getting up and pacing around the room.
____Outside he could faintly hear the sounds of further commotion. Screams and bangs and the buzzing of distant helicopters and planes. He was still trapped in this hellhole.
____Thomas just kept right on waiting, unsure what to do but otherwise unwilling to leave his apartment. The only motivation came in the form of a feminine scream, coming from the floor above.
____It sounded faintly familiar. Angie? Her room was on the third floor. In the chaos and shock of the incident he had already forgotten about her. Surely there was no way she could have survived all these hours with these monsters running about? Or was that nagging cowardice begging him to stay safe in here? No, he’d have to go out eventually. He couldn’t count on anyone coming to get him, and he was without food in preparation for his move. He had to get out of here, if not now then eventually. And if Angie was still alive she needed his help. Thomas grimaced at the thought of these creatures devouring her and summoned his courage.
____Taking another deep breath as he approached the front door, Thomas advanced with all the slowness he could excuse himself with. It would be easier just to sit it out in here. Safer too. He had no idea what was out there. The closed door seemed ominous, if for no other reason than what he feared to find beyond it. Best to just leave it closed. No, he couldn’t. He had to leave. Thomas was so focused on it that he nearly tripped over the bodies on the floor as he passed them.
____He muttered a curse under his breath and got back up, spotting something in the open mouth of one of the corpses.
____“Huh? What’s this?” A little white rectangle, soaked in spit. It was out of place. Reaching down, Thomas slowly, slowly grabbed the object and pulled it out, “What on Earth?”
____It was a crumpled up piece of paper, two to be exact. Why was it in this guy’s mouth? Thomas could’ve sworn he hadn’t seen anything in the monster’s open jaws before—and he’d had a pretty close look.
____Opening the paper, Thomas looked at both pages. Both were crumpled and faded, but blank or at least indiscernible. They were white and torn on one side, as if ripped from a book.
____It’s such a strange feeling. They’re just blank pieces of paper, but they feel like they’re important to someone. Somewhere. He thought, wondering what possessed him to reach that outlandish conclusion.
____Thomas eyed the papers for a second or two before putting them in his pocket, unsure what to do with them, “Not the weirdest thing I’ve seen today, I guess.”
Quote:
Enemy Journal has been added to the OP. Another entry will be added every time a new type of Zombie appears.
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____He didn’t have time to waste on the odd discovery. Holding the wrench in white knuckled hands, Thomas slowly approached the door, moving the couch out of the way and gradually turning both locks.
____The banged up door breathed a sigh of relief when moved, creaking loudly as Thomas opened it. He peeked out into the hall, finding it empty save for a blood splatter on his welcome mat from where the zombie had been banging on the door. The blood soaked in the carpet had a little trail leading to the stairs. Thomas felt another wave of dread overcome him as he spotted a shadow on the wall by those steps. The sickening sound of crunching was coming from there.
____A noise made Thomas jump, the sound of a second scream coming from the floor above. He glanced to the ceiling, now unwilling to go downstairs or up. Maybe he should just hide inside for a bit longer and hope the authorities would fly in and take care of everything. But this was no isolated incident. He had heard several cities named on the television. What if this was global? What if the authorities couldn’t fix this for him? The way things seemed to be right now, the only one he could truly count on was himself.
____He stepped out of his apartment, closing the door behind him.
____The messy and grotesque sound of raw eating continued from the stairs leading down, accompanied by footsteps and moaning. Thomas didn’t like the sound of that—it meant danger and probably lots of it. Gripping the wrench, he moved in the opposite direction and took the stairs up, advancing to Angie’s apartment room.
____There was a single zombie in the hall, staggering its way along slowly, head limp and bobbing as it moved. Thomas faintly recognized this man as one of the tenants here. He raised the wrench as he neared. He knew the man. He moved close and swung the tool down hard, throwing blood onto the walls as he struck. But he didn’t know him well.
____Groaning as its skull was dented, the zombie collapsed to the floor, slowly reaching for Thomas’ leg and opening wide. Thomas stepped back and kicked it squarely in the teeth. Bad move, perhaps. What if his shoe tore and he got bit? He yanked his foot back and began stomping the creature’s head. Finally a sickening crush signaled the second death of the monster, Thomas sighing with relief.
____Heart still pounding, he moved on ahead, looking left and right sporadically. The sirens and occasional faint explosions in the distance made it hard to listen for footsteps, and he wasn’t sure if one of the doors would pop open without warning, spilling zombies into the hall. Doors on both sides and with the knowledge of zombies behind him downstairs, Thomas moved quickly and with a sense of panic.
____Angie’s door was open, Thomas entering the apartment and looking around. It was a dainty little place filled with light but ugly colors—gaudy in an old-fashioned but endearing way. Wrench raised, he searched the few rooms of the apartment, finding nothing but a large bloodstain in one of the rooms, soaking the carpet.
____“Sh*t…!” Thomas muttered. He shouldn’t have hid in his apartment without finding her first. No, he had been unprepared for the sudden attack and did what his shaken senses told him to do on the spot. He couldn’t blame himself for this. But damn. He closed his eyes and muttered more curses, only brought back to the present by the sound of fast approaching footsteps. Heavy and inconsistent ones at that. They were coming up the stairs.
____Thomas ran out into the hall, finding six or seven zombies coming down the corridor toward him. No way was he wrenching his way through that. Thomas turned and bolted away, hurrying up the next flight.
____Damn! Just going up’s not going to get me out of here! He thought as he fled,
Wait! The fire escape! Of course!
____Sprinting for the window at the far end of the hall, Thomas ran as fast as his legs could carry him, dodging zombies in the way and not stopping for anything.
____Crash!! He threw himself through the thin glass, shattering it and landing on the rickety fire escape with only a handful of cuts. Getting to his feet, Thomas stared down the pursuing pack of zombies as they caught up and reached through the window, their arms groping in the air for him. Too clustered to fit through, thank God.
____Hurrying down the ladder, Thomas made his way down the fire escape. His breathing was heavy—he was no athlete—but it felt rewarding to simply be out of danger here. Truck down below, Thomas dropped down from the fire escape and landed hard on the concrete. It hurt to fall that far but he recovered quickly, getting into the vehicle and flipping the ignition. The old truck roared into life.
____He was out of here.