Infected

Chapter 1

The cool, misty cloud would flow on the streets, through the city, in every street, in every alley until the entire city was drowned in the heavy thick cloud of ash, sorrow and death as it had done every day. It has been six months; six long months since the infection. It was meant to be a simple test; on one simple test subject. Of course, it failed, and it all went viral. Soon the whole city was infected. Every one slowly turning, changing, dying. Turning into the dead undead. Zombies, if you will. But as for me? I don't believe in zombies. And every single day since I can remember, since I lost my family, my friends, everything I hold dear, I have been searching, looking, hoping to find another; another survivor; but no; no such luck. Who am I? I am Micheal Howley. And as far as I know...I am the last survivor of the apocalypse.

I walk down the stairs of my newly found safe house. It's barely still standing. It's a rickety old wooden structure, painted grey with a little splash of blood here and there, as everywhere else on this deserted city. There are a few family pictures hanging and dangling loosely from the wall, all such happy faces, happy memories they must have had, all gone. Then I flash back to my family, before the outbreak. My little sis, just five years old, always smiling, happy, joyful, and it was terribly contagious. She was always the one to bring a smile to everyone's face. The poor, innocent child. My two other sisters, twin brother and of course my mum and dad. We were all one big happy family, although that was just once upon a time. And that time is gone. Guilt, sorrow, pain, regret, all so many feelings, washing over me. A slight tear sides down my cheek and onto my blue polo shirt, of course torn in a billion places. I shrug of the feelings and wipe the trace that the tear left, holding any more that might want to come out, in. They'll be here soon. I need to get moving. I can already hear their moaning. Their voices like those of lost souls. I actually pity for them. It's why it's so hard for me to look one in the eye and send a bolt through its head. I feel the feelings coming back, this time for the infected. Even to me that sounds silly. I shake my head viciously to knock them out again before even giving them to chance to fully develop. It'll just slow me down. I look to my left and see the black, long gym-bag that I carry most of my stuff in and a few inches below it is my crossbow. Say what you might about the crossbow, but personally I think it's the ultimate zombie survival weapon. Silent, stealthy, accurate and lethal, only if used in the right hands of course. And this one is special made. One of the few dozen of its kind. 50 feet shooting range, compressed air launcher that increases the speed and effect of each bolt ten times more; easily portable; quick to reload. I mean seriously. It hardly gets any better than that. I guess that's sort of a plus-side to a zombie apocalypse, no need to struggle for supplies, but then that's only because your life seems like a much more valuable thing to struggle for.

I skip out from the nearest window, just before the infected come storming into the place. Their grey, pale, bloody, torn skin. Blood dripping from their arms and legs, drying up the very second it reaches the skin's surface, yet more comes pouring out. It's truly a disgusting and repelling sight for anyone to watch. It almost makes me throw-up. A few see me and dash through the window after me. You see, these aren't your normal brainless, undead walkers. Theses ones definitely do have brains. Coordinated movements, like that of a normal living person. They definitely know what they're doing yet can't control themselves to the point of getting themselves to stop. Unless of course the theories of them being hypnotised and made to want to do this are true, then we have much greater problems than what it seems.

They are fast for dead people. I guess all that time I spent training comes to play now. As I jump off from where I am sitting, I hear something skid across the floor. I pay little attention to it as I clearly have more important problems to deal with. I leap for the window, my arms forming two columns in front of my face, like you would do when blocking a punch. It hurts of course but over the years I have learnt to numb it out. I get to my feet as quickly as possible as a herd of infected come jumping out of the window as well. I scale up a building until I get to the roof. The one thing I can do that they can't. I watch from my vantage point, panting and out of breath. The infected are at the base of the building throwing tantrums and shouting and grunting and moaning, waiting till I come back down. I pull out a grenade from the utility belt strapped over and around my right shoulder and wraps around my waist, the kind of strap that is use for shields is the closest thing I can relate it to. Only that this has a lot of pouches and pockets for putting things inside and is much wider. It contains a few daggers and knives, some for throwing, others for close combat, a small axe, two walkie-talkies, in case I do someday find another survivor, strapped to the part of the belt that is at my waist, and two handguns strapped to the back of the same part of the belt, and a few more grenades, flash grenades and smoke bombs, strapped to the part of the belt that goes over and around my shoulder. Apart from the two daggers already strapped to my utility belt, I have one, which serves as an emergency dagger, if all else fails, strapped just above my ankle. I scan my body to make sure that I am not short of any of these.