Day 1- Evangeline
Somehow the blaring sound of the damn alarm clock felt a lot less urgent when it was dulled by the pulsations of a hangover. Except it was loud, really loud, and it wasn't exactly helping the headache. I felt around with one arm for the alarm clock on my bedside table, keeping my face securely buried in the fold of my elbow. With clumsy fingers, I found the snooze and pressed down once. Twice. Three times. Nothing happened. With a groan, I lifted my arm from my eyes and squinted into the dim light. It couldn't be any later than six in the morning but the thin beams of sunlight made tears rise in my eyes.
"What the hell?" I growled hoarsely, reaching for the clock I hadn't set in... What? A month? Had I really been out of a job so long? Bleary eyed, I turned to look at the digital green numbers. They blinked back at me that it was midnight, like they only did after a power outage. "What the--" The thought was cut short by a sudden realization. The blaring sound was still going. And now it was closer. I felt myself go rigid as I tried to listen past my throbbing head and distinguish the noise.
It was screaming.
I don't know how I stood up with a headache as bad as I had, never mind how I managed to get ahold of the glock I kept in my nightstand, but next thing I knew I was standing in the doorway of my tiny apartment, undoing the numerous locks. And then I was standing in the open doorway, staring over a loaded gun into the cold eyes of a monster as he tore through the throat of the little old lady in 3B. That's when I realized something. I'd lost it. I'd finally lost it. All those years of violent video games and zombie movies and trips to the gun range to shoot imaginary foes had finally driven me insane. And now my greatest nightmare was staring me in the face, eyes cold and dark and unforgiving, its skin patchy and scratched and sickly greenish yellow with prominent brown veins and a droopy face dripping with thick patches of Mrs. Reed's fresh blood.
The poor old woman's dark, sunken eyes were wide and empty of the life they had once exuberantly displayed. In all the years I'd lived next to her, she'd never looked frail... Never weak... but now... She collapsed and my eyes snapped back onto the sickening, nightmarish creature that had, only a second ago, been supporting her. It looked back. It bared its overlong, pointed teeth and sunk into a low, threatening crouch. I swallowed back the pounding in my throat, trading it for the kick of adrenaline I knew all too well. Just in time, too. The mangled shape sprang at me, like a predatory cat, its arms extended to grab me, its overlong fingernails reaching out like talons. I didn't think. I didn't have to. I let off three shots into its skull and watched as it collapsed, bleeding, onto the floor. No, bleeding didn't describe it. It was gushing... and that wasn't the worst part. It was not black, thick, disgusting ichor that poured from its wounds. It was blood. Shiny, crimson, human blood. And it was... the most disgusting thing I'd ever seen in my life... and the smell! Oh, the smell!
I stumbled back from the door, feeling the full effects of my hang over once more, the nausea intensified by the figures before me. I scowled, clutching my arm to my stomach. I could feel it, churning wildly at the scene. A monster. It was a monster in my apartment building. I looked at the bloodied corpse and the glock clattered from my fingers and fell against the floor. My hand flew to my mouth and I turned my head to look away but, in the process, caught sight of Mrs. Reed. "Oh, God~" My knees buckled. I gasped, my stomach churning, my head throbbing, an awful taste lingering in my throat. I could feel it in my gut. There was something... very wrong. I forced myself to grab the glock and pointed it into the hall, forcing myself to my feet. A wave of gratifying adrenaline shot through me, easing the churning and the nauseous feeling, but reviving a deep rooted fear into the forefront of my mind. I trained my eyes on Mrs. Reed's wound. It had been fatal, I knew that much. The first beast's jaws had ripped through her skin and muscle to expose the still dripping artery beneath. It was sickening. How anyone could survive that...
Well, they couldn't.
At least, that’s what I thought until the battered woman started to twitch. My breath caught in my throat and a whole new kind of sickness spread through my core. There was the old woman I had lived next to for almost four years now. The woman I had given a key to my apartment in case of emergency. The woman who I had helped with groceries. “Mrs. Reed?”
She let out a harsh, ripping sound.
No. It's a monster. I had never much cared for the whole 'voice in the back of my mind' thing but I think this was a good exception... because currently that sweet old lady was getting up, her eyes trained on me, full of hunger and desperation. Her head sagged to one side as a result of her weakened throat and her usually warm brown eyes were covered in a thick, milky white film. She made a deep, guttural sound and stared at me, assessing me. And if you're wondering; no. I felt no remorse when I trained my gun on her.
I shot. Two rounds ripped through her chest, leaving large, gushing wounds in her shoulder and just left of her collarbone. Yet they had no effect beyond forcing her back a few steps. Brows dipping in concentration as the former Mrs. Reed stumbled forward, I took aim at her head. She- it- shambled forward, totally unaffected by her wounds. Until, of course, the third shot ripped through her skull. I took a heavy breath, turning my head away from her as she collapsed. They weren't getting back up any time soon, if they followed any human rules... but, then again, maybe it would be a good idea to lock the door.
I slipped inside my apartment, slammed the locks shut, and moved across the floor as fast as I could. Without pause, I slipped into the bathroom and prayed to the porcelain god, so to speak. When that was over and done I took to a somewhat normal routine and moved to the sink to brush away the lingering taste.
I took a heavy breath and moved into the living room, flicking on the small, old TV set I'd had since I was a teen. It flickered but after a moment the light of the evening news drifted into the room. But no charismatic smiles shone from the faces of newscasters. No light voices or tales of kittens in trees. No; of course not. The only smiles in hell were the sadistic kind.
Staring blankly into the screen, his face absent of any kind of lightness (or any sign of his usual makeup) sat the usual newscaster what’s-his-name... Chuck Meriwether? ...or some TV crap... He swallowed hard, looking at the camera with a kind of desperation in his usually sunny blue eyes as his fingers nervously ruffled the flash cards in his hands. I couldn't say I blamed him for being nervous, I mean; he was stuck in a crowded broadcasting studio with limited security in the middle of a crowded city..."Hour 16 and victims of The Outbreak are overtaking the uninfected at an alarming rate, spreading their ailment like wildfire. Now, to Dr. Carla Watkins, one of the major contributing scientists in the investigation of the disease." The camera switched to a mousy brunette with thick classes and dark purple bruises under her large chestnut eyes but it didn't switch fast enough to miss Chuck spilling his flashcards to the floor and breaking down on his desk.
Dr. Watkins sheepishly adjusted her thick glasses, her eyes solemnly set on the camera. "The Virus is a strict biohazard. We do not know the full potential of the disease but we as a planet have witnessed its dramatic potential. In mere hours, Zeta has attacked at least 20-25% of the world's human population. Nearly two billion people. In days, who knows what it could do? For now, though, here are a few simple tips to stay safe in this medical emergency." She pushed her glasses up her thin nose and rifled through the papers in front of her.
"The Infected have been seen breaking through windows and doors, using simple skills such as opening doors and using simple tools such as baseball bats, though all such reports are unrecorded. Our first tip is to get all the food and water you can and hunker down. The living are just as dangerous as the dead. Secondly, the Virus does not have a known cure. It is immune to all current forms of medicine. Do not trust the Infected or the Bitten. And that brings me to our third bullet; the Virus is spread through direct contact of blood or saliva to the Victim's mouth or bloodstream. It takes from 10-30 minutes after exposure for the Change to take effect. Our fourth tip is-" The old television took this chance to sizzle and die, leaving the final point unsaid.
Virus? I wondered aloud, frowning at the static as I flicked off the screen. Hour 16? How had I not heard of this? I turned away from the TV and almost laughed. I was drunk off my ass, that's how. Whatever it was, I wasn't sticking around to find out....
Maybe that cellphone would come in handy after all.
