Operation V

chapter 1

Danny POV

It only took two weeks for society to collapse. It wasn't like in the movies, there was no heartfelt goodbyes, no slow motion runaway scenes. The world couldn't handle itself, it felt like God had turned his back on us. The devil ruled over and we are nothing but helpless victims to his waves of misfortune. No one knows where it started or what caused it but within a blink of an eye it was everywhere, they called it a virus but what I saw wasn't a sickness or disease. It was like they were possessed by a flesh eating demon. Whatever they were, they weren't human anymore. The only thing they could do was eat, they had an endless hunger for flesh that couldn't be satisfied. The military had a quarantined base called Carthage, any survivors that they found were numbered and free to live a semi normal life within the gates. Me however, I was one the first to know. About a year beforehand I was taken by four large men in black suits to a detainment centre along with three others. We had no idea what was happening but followed our orders with the promise of our safety at the end of it. Little did we know that the safety they were talking about was not being turned into one of those, creatures. The four of us made up one of two scouting teams, it's our 'duty' to search outside the walls of safety for food, medicine, survivors. Anything that could be of any value to them. We sat  swaying in the back of the van, jolting over every bump in the road. No one spoke a word to one another, with every expedition we do there's a risk not all of us would make it back. The van took a sharp left and screeched to a halt. Climbing out of the truck I recognised the town instantly, Buckthorpe, a good 30 odd miles from home. It was as dead as any other town, cars were scattered and overturned like discarded wrappers, windows smashed in and burnt out. "There's a convenience store less than two blocks away," Mark read off the map, "Jack"
"Ey sir!" Jack called out in his thick Irish accent, jumping his feet together and saluting Mark who rolled his eyes. "You and Danny check that out while Minx and I will go to the pharmacy down Willow Avenue"
"Roger that!" As expected the store was nearly wiped clean. We grabbed anything we could find, stuffing it into our packs. Heading over to the counter I leapt over the top and opened the cash register.
"Hey Jack!" I called out holding up wads of cash in my hands "I'm rich!!" Jack burst into laughter.
"Shame its not worth shit now," I sighed dropping it all on the floor. I glanced behind me at the alcohol shelf which was, of course, empty. I slid open the door to the cigarette cabinet and peered inside.
"You won't find much in there laddie," Jack perched himself against the register. This was true, everyone went nuts over such valuables that the military ended up banning tobacco and alcohol in Carthage. I reached my arm deep into the cabinet and felt my way around. Way at the back tucked in the corner I felt a small cardboard box. I grabbed it and stared longingly at the little packet of Benson and Hedges, "always preferred Mayfair really." I joked, hardly believing what was in my hand. Funny how easy it can be to pick up a habit.
"make sure no one sees you with them!" Jack warned. 

"Fuck it" I ripped open the packet grabbing a lighter from the counter and lit the cigarette. I drew in the longest breath, savouring each moment as I felt the unfamiliar rush of adrenaline pump through me. I held out the packet to jack who gladly took one. "We'll save these for when we're dying". I let it burn down right to the butt until I burnt my fingers. "Miss feeling alive sometimes"

"Shh!"jack hissed crouching down motioning me to follow suit "can you hear that?" he whispered. I strained my ears to the silence, off in the distance I could hear the light thumping of rapid footsteps. Something was running towards the shop, I slung the shotgun from my back and readied it pointing towards the door, whatever runs through it wont be alive long enough to know we're here.
'Chuchak' Jack stood motionless, the barrel of a gun pressed into the top of his head.