The Disease

The Beginning

Author's Note: Sorry that it's short ;)

Chapter One

The Beginning

It started with a disease. A disease called Aeterna Putredine. It means “eternal rotting”, and for a reason.

Only a few months ago the first Aeterna Putredine case was reported. The afflicted patient: a thirty four year old man named John Marks. Back then, we had no idea what it was, and doctors diagnosed him with the flu. Little did they know.

The symptoms start with vomiting and nausea, and you’re completely incapable of holding down any shape or size of food. Then you develop a fever that rapidly increases until it hits the 120s. By then your eyes are turning a distant, milky white, or a black blacker than night, and your skin becomes clammy and pale. Your teeth sharpen almost instantly, and the only words that can escape your lips are moans of excruciating pain. Bloody, pussy sores develop all over your body, and before you know it you’re coughing up phlegm and blood.

Yep, all of those things happened to poor John Marks.

On the third day of his disease, everything changed.

His heart stopped, but moans stilled leaked from his mouth. But they were different now. They sounded… hungry. This went on for a while, until he got up and walked, starving with a new founded thirst for blood and a cannibalistic case of the munchies.

All over America, cases of Aeterna Putredine were breaking out without even a cause. See, “zombies”, we’ll call them, are VERY wasteful, and they basically only eat the intestines of the body and sometimes the brains, occasionally feasting on an arm or leg. But by far, their favorite part is the neck.

If they bite you, you turn into one of them. A zombie.

Aeterna Putredine quickly spread, until zombies wandered the streets in huge, man-eating hoards. Only a few survivors are left, our numbers dwindling.

Me? I’m a survivor. I watched my whole family die and then come back to life before my eyes—and then try to eat me.  The only reminder that I even had a family at one time is my locket that I keep on a chain around my neck. Inside is a picture of my family. My name is engraved on the locket, which is the reason why I still know my name.

Scarlett Everest.

I’m sixteen. At least I think I am. I’m still not sure if my birthday is actually on the 22nd of December, or if I’m just thinking of my younger sister’s birthday. Oh, Penny…

See, Penny was taken from my family on a survivor plane that was supposed to fly to a secluded chain of islands, to a place where no trace of Aeterna Putredine existed. They wouldn’t take anyone else, because they were afraid that we had Aeterna Putredine lying dormant in our systems. It was later disproven that Aeterna Putredine could lie dormant. Scientists also figured out that Aeterna Putredine isn’t an airborne disease.

Anyway, Penny was taken away, and I haven’t received any notification whether she made it or not. Probably because they think I’m dead.

But the good news is there’s supposed to be a plane flying to the Empire State Building in New York City, New York, to pick up any remaining survivors in about a month and a half’s time. And that’s where I’m headed right now.

As I walk through the tattered ruins of what little remains of a neighborhood in Texas, I realize that I’m a long way off from the Empire State Building. But I can make it there in a month and half.

I hope so.

The only sound to be heard is the light tap of my foot falls on the pavement. Besides that, it’s practically silent. Though I do like hearing nothing rather than flesh tearing as zombies devour a person, I’m bothered by the quietness. It’s almost too quiet.

That’s when I feel eyes on my back. I turn, and in the far, far distance, I can see a figure, getting closer every second. The figure is sprinting, and I can only assume it’s a Runner.

Remember when I listed the symptoms? When I said that your eyes either turn a pale milky white or black? Well, that determines whether you’re a Runner or a Walker. When you’re bitten, there’s a fifty – fifty chance of either. Runners have black eyes. And I mean black. Soullessly black. Walkers have the pale, milky white eyes. Both Runners and Walkers have no pupils, but Walkers have a distinct, slight whiter circle in their eyes that takes on the appearance of a pupil.

Now the Runner is close. Long, tangled black hair flows from her head, with an occasional bald patch. Half of her face is missing, revealing bloody red muscle. Flaps of skin from multiple wounds all over her body flap as she sprints toward me, and blood and vomit is spewing from her mouth. But every zombie I’ve ever seen spews blood and vomit.

I stop and sigh, bringing up my sledge hammer. All it takes to kill a zombie is a blow to the head, or two shots anywhere else on the body.

Suddenly she’s ten feet away. Then eight… seven… six… four…

As if I’m playing baseball, I swing my sledge hammer with such force that the impact sends her flying backwards into a heap of old garbage cans. In an instant, she’s dead. I no longer feel the eyes on my back.

I shake my head and move on.

As I walk, an idea pops into my head. I’m running low on supplies: the only food I have left is a pack of dried apples. Why don’t I search some of these houses? I tightly grip my sledge hammer and readjust my backpack on my back.

I pick out one of the nicer looking, less worn-down houses and venture to the front door. I only have to push on it before it swings open. That’s a bad sign. There could be zombies in there, hiding until the right moment to strike. I cautiously creep into the house.

The home itself isn’t too bad. A few blood splatters here and there, a couple of torn things and shattered glass lying around. But compared to most homes I’ve been to, this is one of the nicer ones. I find some rope lying around, and I snatch that up. It could come in handy.

When I get to the kitchen, there’s basically nothing there except for a few sacks of unknown items and the refrigerator. I check the pantries, only to find nothing.

When I search the sacks, I’m happy to find that one contains strips of beef and chicken and jerky. I throw it into my backpack and go to check the fridge. When I open it I immediately shut it again, because the only things in there are spoiled fruit. And the smell that they’re giving off—let’s just say it’s unpleasant, and that’s an understatement. At least I have some meat.

Eventually I search the drawers under the sink. Iodine tablets! There are two bottles of them! Iodine tablets purify water so the water’s drinkable. Finally, I won’t have to search and search for running water that’s clean! Gleefully I place the iodine tablets in my backpack and move on to the bedroom.

When I open the bedroom door, an eerie feeling replaces my joy.

Then shock replaces all other thoughts.

Written on the walls, in blood, are the words:

God help us all.