The First Of Us | TLOU Prequel

Chapter Eight

Subconcious grasped at the dream which whispered away into the files of your mind like smoke in a light breeze. There came a point where it no longer felt real, less of a memory and more a conjuration of peaceful depictions that a tired, worn out brain tried desperately to form in order to maintain sanity. Some external stimulus had stirred you, light burning through gaps in the newspaper plastered to the windows. Some hinges outside the four walls you lay in creaked slowly, as if the object making the sound was being caressed with the gentle touch of fear like a teenager sneaking in after hours. What was the time? Panic flooded through you, legs quickly clambering from the bed which you'd not even gotten into to sleep.

As gentle as a mouse you clicked the room door open enough to let one eye see through a tiny gap. It was Ben, coming in from outside. Why would he be out at this time? It had to still be early with how low the sun was in the sky, aiming right over the wall. Surely that broke curfew? You didn't have much time to think on the subject as he headed straight toward you, reaching out a fist about to knock. You decided to open the door instead, feigning a yawn as though you weren't aware of his presence. He whipped his fist back at lightening pace.

"Oh, didn't know you were awake. Should think about shifting to the offices, it's 8.45." His shoulders began to arch away from you as your own leaned against the doorway you stood in.

"How do you know I'm to be there?"

"You're not the first, and you won't be the last." He remarked, not even turning around to address you properly before swiping his room door closed with an open palm, allowing solace to swallow him again. He seemed chipper, you thought sarcastically, but his words stung deeper than expected.

8.45. There was no need to get dressed, clothes from yesterday still hanging from your cleansed skin. Passable, you'd gone much, much longer without a shower, this was basically freshly washed. Nothing would be more embarrassing than being late, so feet traversed the streets around Area 4, hands buried deep in pockets, trying to blend in and not get into bother.

It looked so much worse in the daylight when the ground was dried and cracked and coated in a layer of dirt. There was a smell in the air, rancid, acrid, like burning flesh. The likelihood of that being exactly what it was made your stomach churn in primal disgust. Reckless folks left the wall all the time, reckless, who were you to judge? But reckless nonetheless to fall victim to one of the infected, having to be shot mercilessly upon return backed by fear it would spread inside the QZ.

For a while, people had called them zombies, but that term implied they died and resurrected. These people never perished, the terrifyingly close quarters you'd shared with one or two had been enough to prove it; there was a fading light in freshly infected eyes, a person who would be forgotten by themselves perishing within a fungal carcass. It prickled the hairs on the back of your neck, to think what it must be like to end up trapped inside your own body, lost in the depths of your mind unable to control yourself, feeling your autonomy being left ashore as you were pulled out to sea by a current you couldn't swim against.

Eyes scanned around some more, there was rubbish everywhere, discarded on the streets, washing hanging out between balconies. No better than where you'd come from. For some reason this was a disappointment, but expectations had to be managed in a world after disease whittled down the global population to a select few.

The slatted blinds on the window of the offices in the military area allowed you to see the clock which hung inside, 8.55. You'd crossed the checkpoint perfectly on time. Feet remained stood there, scuffing the tip of your shoe on the ground for a while, people watching, but they made you wait. And wait. And wait. At 10 past 9 you began to kick up a fuss, repeatedly knocking the door, chapping the glass of the window. When shading your eyes and pressing the sides of your hands to the glass you could see at least three of them sitting inside, ignoring your presence. It pissed you off. Not only had they treated you like vermin yesterday, today they had the gaul to pretend like you didn't exist. Uppity fucking pricks. This time, you bashed the door full force with your balled fist until it garnered their attention. First from the guys at the checkpoint, their yells preceeding their arms which hooked the insides of you elbows, leaving you to be dragged backwards and held until someone finally came to greet you.