Overbeck staggers out of his house with a canvas bag still trying to process the last few hours of his life. Everything's a blur, nothing makes sense, and his veins are still pumping with a tingling concoction of anesthesia and adrenalin. Feels like Nam all over again. One minute you're drifting off to some faraway dreamland, the next you're fighting off the surgeon in a strange, foggy, half-nightmare. He remembers seeing the nurse, twitching, convulsing, changing. Changing into something he didn't quite understand and still doesn't even though they're everywhere. He remembers sensing something was off. Way off. He remembers his gut churning, twisting, fighting against the weight of his eyelids, trying his best to keep them open as bloody hell erupted all around him. He remembers falling to the ground with the nurse, the tray clattering, the knives and tools scattering. He wanted to sleep, just sleep, but he ordered his eyes to stay open and spotted the syringe rolling over the antiseptic floor. He remembers jerking his arm out, grabbing the syringe and smashing it into his heart. Or was it his arm? Or maybe both? He doesn't remember anymore. Doesn't matter. All that matters is he made it out of that hell alive. He shakes his throbbing head and clambers over a barricade blocking an alley. Winds his way through the burning city toward the market. Most of the city has been reduced to shit. Smoke and fumes seep through the streets. The air reeks of burning civilization. Burning humanity. He recognizes the smell. Brings him back to places he'd rather forget. Emergency sirens keen endlessly over the echoing shrieks of the infected. Flames erupt from the ruins and barricades making Philly look like a smoldering wasteland of death and destruction. He had read articles about the so-called green flu. It had only been a few days and it already felt like it was bringing us all back to the goddamn Stone Age. This is worse than Nam. Way worse. Philly in chaos and overrun by the infected. It was more than a common flu. No kidding. Dozens of conspiracy theories and now it doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter. All that matters is surviving. Been here before. Many times. He hears someone shout out a curse and spots a young woman clobbering an infected hoard by the market entrance with a rake. Impressive. Up and at em, soldier! Mind if I cut in. They slash through the infected until all that's left is writhing flesh and gore. He stares at her. She approaches him. Not bad, old man. Name's Zoey, last woman on Earth. Not really but it feels like it. She laughs and wipes chunks of putrid flesh off her arm. She reminds him of a kid he knew in Nam. Strong smile and beaucoup funny... beaucoup fierce... just like her.
Hello! Anyone out there! I need a hand over here! Bill hears the cries for help above the agonizing groans of the infected. He spots a cage in the middle of all the chaos surrounded by the infected. He grabs his rifle and fires, splitting infected heads like watermelons. He approaches the cage with Zoey where he sees a man covered in blood. Out of the frying pan and into the cage. He laughs to himself. How'd you end up in this shit hole of a thing? The man sighs. Quit yapping and get me out. Zoey looks around. Something ain't right about this. She's got good instinct. Bill's feeling the same knot in his belly. The man smashes the cage. Just get me out of here before they come back! Bill lifts the butt of his rifle and smashes the padlock off the latch with a mighty clang. Merry Christmas, kid. The man smirks. I like that one, gramps, and I ain't a kid. Call me Francis. Francis steps out of the cage repeating... Merry Christmas... Merry bloody Christmas... Bill spits over an infected corpse sprawled over the rubble. That's my line. Find your own. Francis' smile grows. No copyright on a line like that. Bill knows what he's doing. They're kind of a pack and this ain't about a line. This is about who's calling the shots. A lot of brass for a civilian. Truth is no one is really in charge in this shitstorm and we all gotta take the lead in some way or another and he's too stupid to understand. He oughtta break him now before things get stupid. Set him straight. He inches closer to the man. Zoey sighs. Boys... it's just a goddamn line. A sudden clicking sound behind them and Bill senses they're screwed. They turn to face three men with guns trained on them. Out of the cage and into the blazing, goddamn fire. Francis sighs. Shit... Canadians. Bill looks'em over. A group of men in make-shift hazmat suits and rifles. We ain't Canadians, now move! Bill looks to Zoey and Francis and goes sotto-voce. They're survivalists. Francis scrunches his face. So what are you saying... you saying they're worse than Canadians? Bill doesn't know how to respond to this. He fought with Canadians. Damn good soldiers. What's your beef with Canadians? Francis shrugs. What isn't?
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The archives
Horrorthe archives from dead by daylight that's it I dont own any of the art that is in this book
