Kyamo 1 ------- Death City
The city was quiet. Not a sound escaped its buildings. Cars on the road were overturned. Windows in shops were broken. Glass and strips of metal abide in the space. Look up, and you will see the holes in the big chrome buildings. Some have fallen to the earth, like collapsing titans. Shops and businesses are empty. Blood is streaked on cars roads, buildings, and doors are boarded up. The air is thick with the smell of decay. Danger and death are around every corner. Those who live here are those who have survived. The streets are empty.
But this isn’t a hell to everyone. To me, its home. In this city of danger, life and death can turn on a dime. But that’s the feeling that I live for. I live to protect what I hold dear. The gas station I had visited was deep in our territory and quite a ways away from home, and the sun’s rays were beating onto my shoulders like daggers. And the day was long, and night would come swiftly, silently. And that’s when the bad things come out.
I walk down the street, my dirty blonde hair swaying in the breeze. My thin cape flutters around behind me. As I trot, I see corpses in the distance. Victims of this death city. Someday, I too will lie on the street, broken and bloodied. This is the fate of my kind in this new world.
I walk to where the corpses lay. 4 of them. One is fresh. A boy of around 14 lies on the street. There is a hole in his neck, and in his chest. His hearts been eaten out-literally. His neck has a blue collar around it. The other 3 are men lying next to him. Their grey skin is shriveled and peeling. They lie in puddles of blood. their faces are grey, and their eyes are open, glinting a sickly yellow color. I cover my nose, to protect it from the scent of rotting flesh, even though its fruitless-the entire city reeks of it.
living here requires two things: a weak sense of smell, and the will to live. A lot of people who came in the beginning of this mess are gone now, and the rest are not the same. I feel the change as well. Darker, colder. The city changes you. Makes you become a different person.
“Tell us the story!” I hear Peyton’s voice in my head. I need something to do while I peruse the streets of the death city, so to keep myself entertained, I tell the story.
“A long time ago, before the green flash, there was a species. They were the humans, and they built a vast empire on this planet. Their world was at peace for a time, but one day, a new species of humans evolved. “The pure’s!?” “Yes. The pure’s.” I shush Peyton as she interrupts me. “They were called the zenosapiens. And they wanted the earth. Their powers and knowledge far exceeded that of the poor humans, and they were soon overtaken by the z-humans.”
“They created a host of undead warriors, and unleashed them upon the world. The zombies craved the flesh of man, and devoured all in their path. They no longer new mercy, they were dead. A last bunch of military superpowers attacked the z-humans, in a frail attempt to destroy them. But they failed. Their armies and weapons were no match for those of the pure’s. And the allied forces drowned in a river of blood and bodies.” I paused as Peyton sniffled, remembering our parents, and the day they left. She had cried back then, too. But the most important part of that year, was that they didn’t come back.
I started again. “The powerful z-humans sent their zombies over the oceans, to the land of the free. The pure ships bombed the human cities, showering their missiles as people skittered like rats below. The zombie disease spread like wildfire, delivering a burning fever, skin bleeding, internal bleeding and coughing, and finally, death. Many people died. But some developed resistance, and lived. Those who died came back, and they rose to join the flood of death washing through the country.
