Post by Deleted on Sept 7, 2017 19:39:16 GMT -5
Five years ago, things had changed.
Hell, things always changed - but not usually so dramatically. It had taken one mistake on behalf of one laboratory for the world to fall into chaos. The infection hadn't been a quick-acting thing, either - nobody had known that something was wrong until there had been a few thousand infected, and from there, things had gone global. The disease (because that was what they had been calling it) spread from country to country, unstopped by airlines or ferry companies or whatever. It spread and adjusted and killed, only the dead didn't remain dead.
It felt like something from a cheesy movie, something that would've been watched by teenagers who thought it was the best-made movie out there. It didn't take long for people to realise that it was reality, that things were changing. There was no cure, the undead walked the streets, and nothing was okay.
In time, realisation hit that some people just happened to be immune, destined to survive whatever hellish purge this thing was. They could be bitten or scratched, become ill briefly - but be completely fine. They wouldn't even carry the disease. The immune would remain alive and healthy, wouldn't fall to the zombifying disease that everybody else fell to. Some found it lucky, thought that the immune were the blessed. Others were jealous or angry, hated that these chosen few could survive, but not their loved ones. Families became torn, friend groups became split; and it became a true apocalypse.
What other name was for the infected other than zombie? There wasn't much, really. Various names for them, sure, but in the end they were zombies, through and through. The walking dead, something unnatural and human-made. The disease had probably been intended for immortality, or some sort of bright-eyed, bushy-tailed science thing similar to that. It wasn't appreciated.
He was immune. He knew that much. Faded bite scars here and there from...things gone wrong proved that, the fact that he was still alive. Sometimes, he wondered that if he did die, would he become a zombie? He'd only come across a couple of immune people, and they had been just as tired as him. Living in a disease-ridden world with little consequence while everybody else was dead the second the zombies' teeth even brushed their skin. Leave them for dead, never turn back. That was how most people worked, nowadays. Groups were tight-knit, didn't take nonsense from outsiders. A year or so ago, Gale had been thrown into a shed to deal with whatever on his own. Then, he'd become...trusted? He wasn't sure what to call it. They'd become family, had proved themselves to be trustworthy and caring despite their strange actions.
But that was over, now.
Gale was a lone wanderer, made his way through broken cities and towns and dodged past violent gangs, tried to find somewhere safe but never quite managed. Even if he had immunity, he didn't want to be caught or gnawed on. He expected that being eaten alive would probably disagree with him - perhaps that was part of the curse. Staying alive through that instead of being infected. Being a full meal instead of becoming one of them, with their glassy eyes and torn skin.
They seemed to be able to preserve themselves, too. Five years, and yet they still ambled about. They were far less in numbers, but still, they piled up on streets and became alerted by noise. Gale was glad that he was already a stealthy man, that he was quite on his feet and easy to miss.
Maybe that was what made it so easy to wander through this particular city. Without human maintenance, buildings crumbled and grew moss. Cars sat in the roads, some of them opened (he didn't look; the specks of blood were enough), and it was all so silent. In some of the main streets, he could hear the low groans of zombies shuffling around, but here in the back alleys it was a little safer. Not much, though. He shifted his backpack straps lightly as he climbed over a fence, winced at the quiet rattling and dropped quickly before he made his way to a fire escape. If he was extremely lucky, the boarded up hotel would be...okay. Most buildings had been blocked off, the zombies cleared out. It was only on supply runs where the danger lay, or when the living infected a place from the inside. This place, however, seemed fine - boarded up tightly, no sounds coming from within. It was just a matter of finding a way in.
The fire escape managed to run all the way to the roof, which was a feat in itself. Admittedly, some of it was rickety and creaked when he stepped over the metal - but the zombies shuffling about below didn't know to look up, instead searching for the source on the ground. He paused briefly and watched them through the metal, but didn't think about it for too long.
He made it to the roof with little effort, found that the rooftop door was locked rather than boarded, which was something. He rummaged in his pockets for anything - something to use as a lockpick, maybe. All he found were the bobby pins that kept his bangs back from his face, so he sighed and worked on straightening them, changing them as he saw fit before actually attempting to pick the lock. He'd become more proficient at this in the years - sometimes, skills like that came in handy, he supposed.
When the door was unlocked, he took a moment to listen for any zombie-like sounds before he entered and gently closed the door behind him. He paused for a moment before picking up a stray piece of wood and using it to jam the door in place. He didn't think anything would get to the roof, but if he had been able to get here, he had no doubts that someone else could. That said, he hadn't seen anyone who was actually alive in this city, so maybe he'd run out of luck and had come across the one goddamn place without any survivors. That sounded typical, really. Just his luck. Being alone was probably the worst thing about this - being the only one to survive an outbreak in his group. He swallowed thickly as he carefully made his way downstairs, pausing to listen every few seconds.
Obviously, Gale hadn't been careful enough - he barely suppressed a squeak when something grabbed the back of his ragged hoodie, half-picking him up. He automatically kicked out, hit someone in the shin.
"Oh, you b*stard," groaned a low voice as Gale was dropped heavily, causing a dull thud to sound down the hallway, "you kicked me!"
From where he was now crouched on the ground, he glanced up at the stranger and frowned. Whoever the stranger was, they recovered fairly quickly as they grabbed him by the scruff of his hoodie again, half-carrying, half-dragging him down the hallway, mumbling something or other about taking him back to a group. Or something like that. Against a larger and heavier weight, there wasn't much Gale could do; he'd put his efforts into stamina and speed rather than strength, so he'd lost the strength he'd had before. That sucked. Everything sucked. He heard the crackling of a fire as he was all but dragged into one of the hotel rooms - one of the larger ones - and thrown on the ground, a foot resting on his leg. So much for running.
"I found a thing," the low voice seemed significantly more cheerful, now, "am I amazing or am I amazing? Yes, Danny, you're amazing."
Maybe he was dead and this was what hell was. Gale squinted thoughtfully as he considered this, absently kicked out to remove the stranger's - Danny's - foot from him. The weight lifted, but he stayed on the floor. Mainly because he was tired and laying here was great, but also because he didn't know the extent of the danger. 0/10, worst hotel.
Hell, things always changed - but not usually so dramatically. It had taken one mistake on behalf of one laboratory for the world to fall into chaos. The infection hadn't been a quick-acting thing, either - nobody had known that something was wrong until there had been a few thousand infected, and from there, things had gone global. The disease (because that was what they had been calling it) spread from country to country, unstopped by airlines or ferry companies or whatever. It spread and adjusted and killed, only the dead didn't remain dead.
It felt like something from a cheesy movie, something that would've been watched by teenagers who thought it was the best-made movie out there. It didn't take long for people to realise that it was reality, that things were changing. There was no cure, the undead walked the streets, and nothing was okay.
In time, realisation hit that some people just happened to be immune, destined to survive whatever hellish purge this thing was. They could be bitten or scratched, become ill briefly - but be completely fine. They wouldn't even carry the disease. The immune would remain alive and healthy, wouldn't fall to the zombifying disease that everybody else fell to. Some found it lucky, thought that the immune were the blessed. Others were jealous or angry, hated that these chosen few could survive, but not their loved ones. Families became torn, friend groups became split; and it became a true apocalypse.
What other name was for the infected other than zombie? There wasn't much, really. Various names for them, sure, but in the end they were zombies, through and through. The walking dead, something unnatural and human-made. The disease had probably been intended for immortality, or some sort of bright-eyed, bushy-tailed science thing similar to that. It wasn't appreciated.
He was immune. He knew that much. Faded bite scars here and there from...things gone wrong proved that, the fact that he was still alive. Sometimes, he wondered that if he did die, would he become a zombie? He'd only come across a couple of immune people, and they had been just as tired as him. Living in a disease-ridden world with little consequence while everybody else was dead the second the zombies' teeth even brushed their skin. Leave them for dead, never turn back. That was how most people worked, nowadays. Groups were tight-knit, didn't take nonsense from outsiders. A year or so ago, Gale had been thrown into a shed to deal with whatever on his own. Then, he'd become...trusted? He wasn't sure what to call it. They'd become family, had proved themselves to be trustworthy and caring despite their strange actions.
But that was over, now.
Gale was a lone wanderer, made his way through broken cities and towns and dodged past violent gangs, tried to find somewhere safe but never quite managed. Even if he had immunity, he didn't want to be caught or gnawed on. He expected that being eaten alive would probably disagree with him - perhaps that was part of the curse. Staying alive through that instead of being infected. Being a full meal instead of becoming one of them, with their glassy eyes and torn skin.
They seemed to be able to preserve themselves, too. Five years, and yet they still ambled about. They were far less in numbers, but still, they piled up on streets and became alerted by noise. Gale was glad that he was already a stealthy man, that he was quite on his feet and easy to miss.
Maybe that was what made it so easy to wander through this particular city. Without human maintenance, buildings crumbled and grew moss. Cars sat in the roads, some of them opened (he didn't look; the specks of blood were enough), and it was all so silent. In some of the main streets, he could hear the low groans of zombies shuffling around, but here in the back alleys it was a little safer. Not much, though. He shifted his backpack straps lightly as he climbed over a fence, winced at the quiet rattling and dropped quickly before he made his way to a fire escape. If he was extremely lucky, the boarded up hotel would be...okay. Most buildings had been blocked off, the zombies cleared out. It was only on supply runs where the danger lay, or when the living infected a place from the inside. This place, however, seemed fine - boarded up tightly, no sounds coming from within. It was just a matter of finding a way in.
The fire escape managed to run all the way to the roof, which was a feat in itself. Admittedly, some of it was rickety and creaked when he stepped over the metal - but the zombies shuffling about below didn't know to look up, instead searching for the source on the ground. He paused briefly and watched them through the metal, but didn't think about it for too long.
He made it to the roof with little effort, found that the rooftop door was locked rather than boarded, which was something. He rummaged in his pockets for anything - something to use as a lockpick, maybe. All he found were the bobby pins that kept his bangs back from his face, so he sighed and worked on straightening them, changing them as he saw fit before actually attempting to pick the lock. He'd become more proficient at this in the years - sometimes, skills like that came in handy, he supposed.
When the door was unlocked, he took a moment to listen for any zombie-like sounds before he entered and gently closed the door behind him. He paused for a moment before picking up a stray piece of wood and using it to jam the door in place. He didn't think anything would get to the roof, but if he had been able to get here, he had no doubts that someone else could. That said, he hadn't seen anyone who was actually alive in this city, so maybe he'd run out of luck and had come across the one goddamn place without any survivors. That sounded typical, really. Just his luck. Being alone was probably the worst thing about this - being the only one to survive an outbreak in his group. He swallowed thickly as he carefully made his way downstairs, pausing to listen every few seconds.
Obviously, Gale hadn't been careful enough - he barely suppressed a squeak when something grabbed the back of his ragged hoodie, half-picking him up. He automatically kicked out, hit someone in the shin.
"Oh, you b*stard," groaned a low voice as Gale was dropped heavily, causing a dull thud to sound down the hallway, "you kicked me!"
From where he was now crouched on the ground, he glanced up at the stranger and frowned. Whoever the stranger was, they recovered fairly quickly as they grabbed him by the scruff of his hoodie again, half-carrying, half-dragging him down the hallway, mumbling something or other about taking him back to a group. Or something like that. Against a larger and heavier weight, there wasn't much Gale could do; he'd put his efforts into stamina and speed rather than strength, so he'd lost the strength he'd had before. That sucked. Everything sucked. He heard the crackling of a fire as he was all but dragged into one of the hotel rooms - one of the larger ones - and thrown on the ground, a foot resting on his leg. So much for running.
"I found a thing," the low voice seemed significantly more cheerful, now, "am I amazing or am I amazing? Yes, Danny, you're amazing."
Maybe he was dead and this was what hell was. Gale squinted thoughtfully as he considered this, absently kicked out to remove the stranger's - Danny's - foot from him. The weight lifted, but he stayed on the floor. Mainly because he was tired and laying here was great, but also because he didn't know the extent of the danger. 0/10, worst hotel.
