Chapter 1
I moved with total silence across the street. The night wildlife buzzed and flew about . As I moved past my own school, I thought:
Just two months ago, I was living the normal American life, with friends, liberty and love. All gone at the stroke of a ungodly pen.
As I moved, there was a strange noise. I instinctively stopped, and reached for my slung M24.
I raised the NV scope to my eye. No targets.
I continued moving stealthily, like a shadow in the fog. As I looked at the houses, I saw one I recognized. It belonged to my friend Hanna Priest.
As I crept up the stairs, there was a creak, and it was NOT from me. I stopped, searching for any attackers. None approached.
I slung my rifle, and drew my Crusader sword, the weapon's grip seeming to mold to my palm. I opened the door with a mighty heave, stumbling into the entry hall.
I stood there for several moments, listening and running all scenarios through my head. Maybe Hanna had turned. Maybe she was besieged. Maybe she was dead.
A hellish moan came from the dining room. Something not even Tartarus himself could've made. I entered the dining hall, and found a Zed.
The thing had a putrid stench of rot, and it's once-human skin was peeling away like a banana's. It's maw opened, and it attacked.
I clumsily slashed at the thing's throat, severing the spinal cord, and, as expected, no blood rushed forth from the wound. It collapsed, it's mouth still moving in a disgusting bite. It hit the floor with a sickening thud. I then swiftly brought my gauntleted fist into it's skull, stoving it in, and silencing the beast forever. Then, a click that seemed to last forever; and Hanna stepped into the room.
She wouldn't be considered pretty by many American standards, but I considered her very good-looking. She had light skin, hazel eyes, and short brown hair. She was wearing a dark gray sweatshirt, and a pair of comfortable cargo jeans. She had a Glock 21 in her hands, and it was aimed between my eyes.
I froze like a deer in the headlights. She asked in a sad voice, "Who are you?"
I pulled off my Japanese Ressei Men, or "Furious Power" mask, which had once belonged to an old Samurai friend.
"Forget who I was already, Hanna?"
"Tom?" she asked, voice quavering.
"Yes. Tom Harkonnen here."
She rushed forward, cutting me off by engulfing me in a tight hug. "I thought you were dead. Carly said you'd been separated from her during the initial attack."
"I was. It's a very long story. I'll tell it later. But you're sad. What is it?" I asked, inquisitive now.
"My parents, my sister..... @#!*% , even Carly, all dead within two months. But you're here. And I'm glad of that. Tom, I hate to be blunt with you, but you look like crap. Get to the guest room and sleep. Ask if you need anything."
"Thanks, Hanna. I appreciate this greatly. Thank you."
I walked up the rickety stairs to the guest bedroom, and cared for every one of my weapons, from my commonly-used Crusader arming sword, to my tiny trench knife, and my Glock 17 and M24 too. I then lay down on the bed, the long, comfortable bed.......and slept.
YOU ARE READING
The Second Brotherhood
HorrorThis is the story of an apocalypse, where two teenage best friends must work together to survive against bandits, the military, and the undead. Hope y'all enjoy!