"Just another day in this hellhole," Victor muttered as he pushed himself up from the filthy mattress. His fingers gripped the pistol at his side, a reflex born from necessity, as he peered through the cracked window, scanning the desolate landscape for any immediate threats. It was 6:01 A.M., and he already wished the day were over. The town outside was shrouded in mist, deathly silent, not a single animal in sight-only the decaying bodies of birds strewn across the road.
He adjusted the mask strapped tightly over his face, a safeguard against the toxic air that lingered from the undead infestation. "Inhaling that crap's the last thing I need," he muttered under his breath. His gaze shifted to his forearm, where dark veins coursed beneath his skin-a stark reminder of the infection. He sighed, shaking his head as if to dispel the weight of his situation.
Leaving the curtains open to keep an eye on the road, Victor crossed the small room and opened the creaky door of his closet. From inside, he dragged out a black box the size of a suitcase. Kneeling before it, he fished a silver key from the pocket of his torn jeans and unlocked the box. Inside was a single syringe. "Damn it, only one left," he muttered before plunging the needle into his arm. The thick, clear liquid—resembling hot glue—flowed into his veins. He watched as the black lines receded, the infected skin gradually fading to a light red. For now, the virus was suppressed.
He shoved the box back into the closet, closed the door, and turned his attention to his clothing. His current attire-ripped black jeans, worn boots, and a torn jacket-offered little in the way of protection. He swapped the jacket for a black leather one, pulling it from his makeshift pillow on the mattress. Once dressed, he grabbed his M4 rifle from its place on the wall, loaded it, and headed out.
The mist had begun to lift, and the daylight made the old road marginally less bleak. As he walked west, the crumbling highway came into view. He approached a blue sedan, its windows shattered, and carefully opened the door. Inside, he found a small bag of biscuits. "There's gotta be more food around here," he muttered, tearing open the bag and popping a biscuit into his mouth.
Before he could take a second bite, a sharp, cold grip wrapped around his ankle. He looked down to see a black, skeletal hand with claw-like nails reaching from under the car. Startled, he dropped the biscuits and fired his pistol, blowing the hand off his leg. Kneeling, he quickly finished off the creature-a twisted, black humanoid figure-with a shot to the head. "Shit," he breathed, staring at the thing. "Haven't seen one of those before."
Heart pounding, Victor rose and scanned the highway. Spotting a food truck a little way down, he ran towards it. The truck door hung open, as if abandoned in haste. He climbed inside, noting the rotting bowls of soup left on the counter. Underneath, in a small cupboard, he found two cans of sardines. "Sardines and soup? Seriously?" He wrinkled his nose but stuffed the cans into his bag. Food was food.
A low rumble, like distant thunder, pulled his attention. The sound wasn't coming from the sky-it was coming from the road. Confused, Victor stepped outside the truck and froze. In the distance, abandoned cars were being thrown aside as an army of black, humanoid creatures swarmed toward him, their movements fast and frantic.
"Shit! They heard the gunshots!" Panic flared in his chest as he slammed the truck door shut. Scrambling into the driver's seat, he fumbled with the wires beneath the dashboard, trying desperately to hotwire the vehicle. The rumble grew louder, vibrating the truck until small coins on the dashboard began to clatter and fall. Just as the creatures neared, Victor managed to bring the engine to life. He slammed his foot on the gas, the truck jerking forward as he sped down the highway, weaving around the wreckage of abandoned cars.
Victor's heart raced as the humanoid figures chased after him, their clawed hands scraping against the sides of the food truck, penetrating the metal. The road ahead was a twisted obstacle of rusted metal and debris, remnants of a world that once thrived. With each turn, he felt the adrenaline surging through him, propelling him forward.
As he swerved to avoid a toppled semi, he spotted a sign for a nearby gas station, its logo barely visible beneath layers of grime. "If I can just get there," he thought, envisioning the supplies he might find. Fuel, food, anything that could buy him more time.
The truck's engine roared as he accelerated, barreling toward the gas station. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the creatures gaining ground, their distorted faces twisted in hunger. "Come on, come on!" he urged the vehicle, his knuckles white around the steering wheel.
Suddenly, a jolt rocked the truck. He slammed on the brakes, heart in his throat, as he spotted a barricade of old cars blocking the entrance to the gas station. A sickening thud echoed as one of the creatures collided with the rear of the truck, momentarily stunning him. "Get off!" he shouted, throwing the truck into reverse, slamming the creature into a broken-down car right behind him, momentarily paralyzing it.
Victor's mind raced as he formulated a plan. He spun the steering wheel, maneuvering the truck around the barricade and into a small side road that led deeper into the shadows of a town shrouded in strange toxic fog. The creatures trailed behind, but the narrow passage allowed him to gain a bit of distance. He spotted a side street and darted onto it, the truck bouncing over cracked pavement.
As he navigated the winding road, he spotted a small convenience store. The front door swung eerily on its hinges, an invitation or a warning. "I need supplies," he muttered, the weight of desperation pushing him onward. He pulled the truck to a stop, turning off the engine, and steeled himself.
Exiting the truck, Victor grabbed his rifle and approached the store cautiously. The glass doors were shattered, and the interior full of scattered paper and merchandise. He stepped inside, careful to avoid the broken shards underfoot. The air was thick with dust, "There has got to fuckin' be something left here," he thought, moving deeper into the store, nearly slipping and falling on some scattered paper on the floor.
He scavenged through the aisles, grabbing anything that looked remotely edible. Cans of beans, a few bags of chips, and a bottle of water-his pack grew heavier, but it was a welcome burden. Suddenly, a noise echoed from the back of the store, making him freeze. Metal clanking of something falling on the floor in the back aisle. Were there more creatures?
"Shit," he breathed, gripping his rifle tighter as he edged toward the sound. As he approached the back aisle, he caught a glimpse of movement. Holding his breath, he prepared to confront whatever was lurking in the shadows.
But to his surprise, a semi-young-looking dog with a boney build, clearly a result from lack of food, lapping up an open can of soup. Scruffy hair, full of dirt and grime but alive. "Well, I'll be damned." He said in a relieved tone, lowering his gun.
He called to the dog, patting his lap, "Here boy!". The dog rushing over to him, jumping up on his leg, Victor noticed a collar on the dog's neck and knew he escaped his owner or something worse had happened. He called to the dog as he walked out, the dog following obediently.
As they made their way back to the truck, the rumble of approaching creatures grew louder. Victor hurriedly opened the door for him, and they climbed inside just as the first of the twisted figures appeared around the corner.
The dog hearing the rumbling and starting to bark in the truck, urgency fueling him.
Victor slammed the door shut and started the engine. He tore out of the parking lot, tires screeching against the asphalt. With the young dog beside him, he felt a flicker of hope ignite within him, but he knew they weren't safe yet.
They sped through the empty streets, dodging debris and wrecked vehicles. Victor's mind raced, scanning for an escape route. "There's an old warehouse on the outskirts," he remembered, recalling the location from maps he'd studied before the world turned upside down. "It might be a good place to hold up."
They veered off the main road, following a narrow path lined with overgrown weeds and shattered glass. As they approached the warehouse, the towering structure loomed in the distance, a faded testament to a bygone era.
Victor parked the truck behind the building, and they quickly climbed out. He grabbed his rifle and gave the dog a comforting petting on the head. "Come on boy! Let's go."
With every step, the weight of the past pressed on him. Memories of the life he once had clashed with the harsh reality of survival. But for now, he had something beside him-a flicker of companionship in a world gone mad. Together, they pushed through the warehouse doors, ready to face whatever awaited them inside, hoping to find safety and perhaps a chance to reclaim his life in the chaos that surrounded him.
YOU ARE READING
City Six
AdventureIn the year 2052, a devastating virus, engineered by the Russian government as a bioweapon, escapes containment before its completion. Within a year, the world spirals into chaos. The virus not only turns its victims into the undead but also renders...
