Survival - a Hat Films fanfiction

Prologue [1]

A/N: Just a chapter to introduce you to the setting/character. Hat Films will make an appearance in the next chapter (so the part after the next one). Enjoy! :)

When you think of apocalypse, you think of explosions and nuclear weapons and lifeless wasteland for miles and miles in every direction.

In fact, when the world ended, there was none of that. It was quick and efficient; completely unheralded, unmerciful, a relentless attack that came wave after wave after wave, until only the strongest remained, struggling to emerge from the rubble of what used to be home.

We joke about it all the time - what we'd do if there was a zombie apocalypse. Where we'd go. What we'd take. Who we'd take.

But we never, even for a second, believe it'll happen to us. It's something so impossibly unimaginable, so ridiculous, that it doesn't even cross our minds. And then by the time it happens, it's all too late, and you don't even get a chance to say goodbye.

Naturally, London, the place where the infection was born, fell first, spreading outwards across the south-east, leaving a trail of destruction behind. The contagion headed north, felling Manchester only a day later; and then it moved west, to Bristol. 

And that's where I'll begin.

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The chill is bracing, to say the least; but after years of running in the cold first thing in the morning, it's something you've got used to.

When people ask you why you run, you always say it relaxes your mind - a time where you don't have to think about anything, when actually, it's the complete opposite. It's an hour, a whole hour, for you to figure things out for yourself, think about anything and everything, from work and aspirations to friends and family. It's a blessing and a curse, really.

You see, the future hasn't turned out like you thought it would.

Five years ago, you'd thought you were on track to become some high-profile film project coordinator (or something along those lines) for the rest of your life. You'd got the degree. You'd had all the passion and perseverance for it. What you clearly didn't have, however, was the luck.

It's almost funny, looking back on it, how deluded you were. You couldn't believe you'd be stupid enough to think that just by getting a degree and trying hard, you'd make a breakthrough. You guess you couldn't have known better. That's what they drilled into you at school - try and you'll succeed. What a load of bullshit. 

So now here you are, working at the local supermarket, unpacking boxes and the like. It isn't a terrible job by any means - sure, it's boring as heck at times, but you've met some nice people, and it's better than being, say, a teacher, or a cabbie. It's bearable, but the pay's only just about enough to pay the bills, and it just isn't what you want to do.

You slow to a stop as you reach the corner store - you'll get a drink or a snack bar or something like that, keep your energy levels up. But as you near the entrance, you realize the lights are out; it's closed. Which is unusual, as it's always open at this time; but you think nothing of it. The store owner's probably overslept or something.

There's a distant shout of panic - probably some kid getting ambushed by his mates. You hope. 

Ignoring the burn in your legs, you carry on, rounding the corner, and that's when you realize something's up, because not a single shop is open. And it's very unlikely that all the shop owners overslept on the same day.

Bank holiday, maybe?

You check your phone, slowing down ever so slightly; but nope, it's just a normal working day, it seems. There's no reason for the shops to be closed. 

As you gaze around the empty street, you can't shake the feeling that you're being watched. And there's something brewing in the air. 

You call your friend, but there's no answer. In fact, the call doesn't go through. Her phone's probably dead, or something along those lines. So you call your boss, but with the same result.

You scroll through your whole contacts list, dialing every other number, a feeling of dread growing in the pit of your stomach when the same thing happens again and again.

Your phone's probably just playing up again, you tell yourself. Stop overthinking.

Somewhere ahead, there's a crash - breaking glass, it sounds like - and a panicked shout, and suddenly the adrenaline kicks in, and you're sprinting towards the source of it, up at the end of the street.

Your suspicion had been correct - someone's smashed the window of the department store and climbed through, probably a burglar. You should probably leave now, before they come out again and shoot you or something. In fact, fuck this run - you should just turn back and head home, ask around the flat to find out what the hell is going on.

But something's off. You can feel it in your bones - it's something to do with why the shops are closed, why the place is so empty, why no one's picking up the phone. The answer's just inside. You can't just turn away from it when it's right there...

Glad you'd chosen to wear leggings and not shorts today, you climb through, careful to not catch yourself on the fragments of glass at the edge of the frame. Your heart jumps to the throat when you hear something shift in the darkness up ahead, and you think to yourself, God, this is probably the biggest mistake you've ever made.

Someone shouts, from the direction of the clothes aisle. You turn on the flashlight on your phone and head towards it, an unpleasant shiver running down your spine. 

And that's when you see it - a body on the floor, writhing and curling in on itself, as if being attacked by something invisible. There's something inhumane about the movements, and instincts tell you it's not someone having an attack or a fit. 

You should leave now.

You walk towards it, keeping your distance; the light catches the man's attention, and he turns towards you suddenly. 

"Hello?" you whisper, stopping a few meters away from him. 

The man looks at you, and takes a deep breath. He seems to be crying without even realizing. 

"Please," he rasps. "Please, don't..."

"I'm not going to hurt you," you say quickly. But the statement doesn't seem to reassure him. You're almost certain that wasn't what he was going to ask you.

"Listen," he whispers, brown eyes pleading with you. "You need to go. You need to run as far as you can, just anywhere but here."

Under normal circumstances, you'd think the guy was delusional, and ignore him. But something in you knows that he's telling the truth. 

"What is it?" you press him. "What's happening?"

He winces, and his arm convulses suddenly, flinging out towards you; he looks at his own hand in horror, and you take a step backward, skin prickling with fear.

"I can't control it," he says shakily. He looks up at you. "You need to go. Now."

"What -"

"Get a bag. Take as much food and water as you can." He closes his eyes as his arm spasms again, lifting up the sleeve, and that's when you see the thick, purplish mark on his wrist, oddly resembling a bite mark - but before you can get a clear look at it, his limbs begin to tremble again; his back arches, and his eyes shoot open, an animalistic yellow, which chill you as they meet your own.

And that's when you run.

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A/N: Second part of the prologue out soon!

Feel free to comment opinions and stuff! :)