Once a Year

The Hunt

Screams are filling the cloudy sky with the sound of survivors being torn apart by other survivors who are not looking to share the treasure with anyone else. The blacktop turns red with the metallic smelling blood of a woman trying to retrieve supplies for her and her son. The intestines of a lone man are splattered across the ground, now fodder for the awaiting denizens.

The snaps of bone and the cracks of heads shattering can be heard from outside this cluster by the others who decided to wait. They cringe and some leave, deciding their life is not worth that box. But some decide to stay, thinking that they could outsmart the remaining stragglers.

The awaiting denizens are becoming extremely impatient. Their hollowed out faces begin to move from left to right, groans creaking out from their mouths, signaling other denizens in the surrounding area to hush, or there will be no dinner tonight.

Not to be mistaken with a traditional zombie, the denizens are partially alive. They do not die and return, they all decay while still human, and then the brain is tampered by the disease, in which the outcome is insanity, dillusion, and a symbiotic state caused by the disease beginning to take over the body. They can think, some can move properly, and the lucky ones can even speak. Although parts of their humanity remain, they are rotting and festering out in the sun most of the time like the "normal" zombie does.

The smart denizens form small packs and plot the next attack, while the mutes are the ones who mostly end up doing the dirty work or are alone dragging themselves down an eerie street.

The screams shroud their presence, making it easier for them to attack. But they know this will not last forever. One denizen, completely mobile with two distorted black eyes, turned to another and spat out the word: "Go". The other denizen listened like a dog, and slowly made its way into the open. The others followed out, attempting to creep up on their dinner.

None of the civilians knew what was lurking not so far behind them because of the now violent scrambling for the box of goodies. About ten survivors ran for the box, only half of those survivors remained. The ones that waited behind the crowd were gone- they did not escape, they are now food for the denizens. It was almost like a magic trick, now you see them now you don't, except you never see them again.

The bodies were dragged back behind the debris and the appetizers were served. The denizens' eyes grew wide with hunger as they ravaged through the fresh corpses like it was the final meal they would ever have. They growled for others to stay away but none obliged. It was a free for all.

The squishing sound of blood soaked flesh and the vital organs being slurped down like it were spaghetti and meatballs was nauseatingly disgusting. The leader of the denizen pack pushed the others aside, and with a great amount of strength, ripped half of a corpse's ribcage out of the hollowed out opening in the stomach and furiously searched for the heart of the victim.

It was found and relentlessly forced out of its home in the chest. You could hear the veins and blood vessels snapping from the force of the pull, and blood spurted like a lawn sprinkler. It took the heart and let the others continue to feast.

One mute denizen with a severe limp made its way to the leader. It had fresh blood dripping from its dangling mouth and made growling and hissing noises as it approached. The leading denizen turned its head quickly to face the minority denizen.

"Whaatt?" The leader gurgled.

The silent denizen slowly pointed at its ear, signaling the leader to listen. There was a banging noise on a nearby roof, and on it was a man slamming on a door yelling at someone for him to be let in.

The denizen nodded at another mobile denizen. "Go, fetch him for us.", the leader droned with a spit of blood.

"What about these?" Another mobile asked.

"We wait until one remains." Replied the leader.

It wasn't much of a long wait. The lone survivor was a young man, very built and tall. Blood covered all of his face and his white shirt was white no longer. He was shaking and panting heavily to the point where he almost collapsed.

The young man sat down and began to sort through the care package. He dug around until he yanked out a water bottle from the bottom of the crate, he chugged it down without any second thoughts. He threw the now empty bottle aside and covered his arm with his face. The denizens waited behind mountains of debris for an opening to attack. It didn't have to be too discreet, it was only one human.

The night-eyed leader was a couple feet behind the awaiting denizens, watching things from a distance. It made a hissing sound and they halted.

"Bring it alive."

The mobile denizen led a few others to the building where the man now sat.

This man had a group of other survivors that he had stayed with, and he was the scavenger. He suspected that he had locked himself on the roof of the sleeping building because the door refused to open, it was locked from the inside. He had a pistol and a hatchet on his person used for killing denizens or opening doors. He pulled out the hatchet and attempted to break off the hinges, but he had no success. The door was a heavy duty metal door and the hatchet did no good in even denting it, and he wouldn't dare fire off the gun in fear of attracting unwanted attention. His own intentions at the building had been lost, it had been raided to its last food can. It now sat awaiting for scavengers such as he to arrive looking for commodities that had been swiped away, so now the building was a deathtrap, a hellhole for the living and a wonderful home for sprawling amounts of denizens.

He looked around, trying to find an escape ladder. The east side had one, but as he peered to glimpse at it he heard a noise. A kind of creaking noise. He turned around with his hatchet raised and saw the escape door had been opened. He looked confused and slowly kept a distance between himself and the heavy-duty door. "What the hell?" He wiped his forehead with his arm. "Hello?" He made audible enough to echo in the stairwell. The distant sounds of footsteps could be heard from inside, slow, natural, and clear. He did not want to make any movements towards the door, you have one chance to live, and if you fuck it up, you get to be food for a bunch of monsters. His thoughts had raced, he tried to think logically, "If whatever is down there is human it would most likely speak, if it were a denizen, footsteps wouldn't be rhythmic. But, the door? Could've been either!" He stopped his thought process to listen to the now horrifically silent atmosphere to notice for himself that the footsteps had ceased.