Rise of the Dead

Chapter 1: The Silence

"Silence isn't empty, it's full of answers." ~ Lori Deschene

- - -

My grandma used to tell me that the silence we hear isn't empty, that it's really full of answers. But these were answers to questions we'd never asked, never let past our lips.

My eyes slowly flutter open and the bright morning sun casts wispy shadows across my face- making me screw up my nose in annoyance. I slowly stretch out my aching arms and let out a deep exhale, my eyes still heavy from sleep. After tentatively removing my headphones, I snooze blissfully for another ten minutes, drifting in and out of the tranquil peace sleep brings. That's when I notice it, amongst my buzzing conscience and drowsiness, like a screaming alarm I can't ignore.

Silence.

I cautiously sit up, my fuchsia duvet pooling in silky waves around my waist. Hesitantly, I open my sore eyes and stare around my pristine room, nothing peculiar startles me but this sets me even further on edge. A crash echoes from outside my window and I jump violently from the shock of the piercing sound, my hands clenching into shaky fists. After calming my racing heart I tentatively reach out a trembling hand and part the curtains that sit idly in the stillness.

The country-town street is completely destroyed. The bins are thrown across the street in careless heaps of spilt rubbish, windows are shattered in mountains of blooded crystals and debris is strewn down the desolated pavements. Yet the destruction isn't what primarily unsettles me. It's the fact the streets are utterly empty. Amongst the chaos and destruction, there is no sign of life. 

Living alone in a quaint town in Cornwall aged just twenty-one starts to feel like even more of a mistake, dread pooling in the pit of my stomach. All my family live miles away on the Isle of Wight so I rarely get the pleasure of spending precious time with them, a choice I deeply regret now. Only recently have I grown used to living on my own in near-enough silence but today, the lack of commotion sets me on edge. Normally you'd hear the harmonic twitter of birds or the laughter rising from the beaches scattered with holidaymakers, but today, not even that graces the air. It seems as though even nature has ground to an uncanny halt.

I reach to my nightstand and pick up my phone, shaking it to reveal the time. It confirms it's mid-morning but I see no notifications. A frown etches into my face before I realise I have no WiFi- or signal for that matter. I bring up the control panel, clicking on the data symbol, but that too is unresponsive. I turn my phone black and climb out of bed, tiptoeing across my bedroom cautiously, my neck prickling in the thick air.

I walk down my wooden apartment stairs into the cosy living room, my feet padding gently across the carpet towards the remote controls that lay untouched on the coffee table. I turn on the television blankly, my chewed nail hovering over the red button a little longer than normal. Noiselessly I flick to the news channel, the only channel with any sort of picture, my palms sweating shakily as I hold the remote control in my unstable grasp. I remember in secondary school my media teacher saying in a national emergency only the news channels run, that they were the only ones able to broadcast with technical services down. The thought sits uneasily with me, panic rising in the back of my throat. 

The screen flickers, coming in and out of focus in a noiseless blur, but then screaming fills the pale room and scenes so sick fill the screen that I can barely watch- my stomach churning uneasily and acid burning the back of my throat threateningly.

"I am here on the streets of London where the outbreak has spread vastly," a terrified-looking newswoman says whilst casting anxious glances to her sides. "Do not go outside, protect yourself immediately and get weap-" she starts, but is abruptly cut off by someone crashing into her with undeniable power. Her body slumps forward onto the rainy street floor and a vile creature sinks their teeth into her exposed neck. A gurgling scream fills the air as she slams her blood-stained hand to the floor along with the jittery camera, blood runs down the cobbles and swirls against the screen until it's painted completely scarlet by the mix of muddy water and blood.

I shake in shock as the scene unfolds in front of my watery eyes, my body is frozen and I stay glued to the leather sofa. My muscles feel paralysed but the remote shakes violently in my hand before my arm goes limp and it clatters to the floor- turning the TV black once again. My legs tremble and, before I know it, a lone tear has danced its way down my ashen cheek. A silent scream for help as I dwell in the haunting silence, my body rigid with fear.

Something crashes outside, dredging me from my trance and making me leap to my feet. My heart thunders as I race to the window, pulling the curtains shut harshly, the material swaying as it settles into place. The room is plunged into darkness but my heart rate doesn't settle, I drag a chair to the front door, wedging it in place before tentatively stepping back and leaning against the wall. 

I close my eyes tightly, the darkness swirling around me as I try to process the mess and shock. The thought of what I face outside an unnatural anxiety, one I never would have thought possible. I wait for further noise, an indication of movement or life, but nothing comes. My pulse slows and I lower myself to the floor, the lactic acid burning my legs, however, I welcome the physical pain as a needed distraction from the mental trauma I'm yet to face. 

Yet all too soon the burn subsides and I'm sent spiralling back into fear and uncertainty; this time I can't stop the tears from falling.