Extreme

Prologue

The undead lay dead on the city grounds.

Before the near end of the zombie apocalypse, they roamed the may streets of cities. But after, they no longer did. No longer did they move any muscle. No longer did they crave flesh of others.

Dead, they were.

Never going to come back to the world as they had done so before.

Francis Stillwater, a little seven year old boy, wandered the streets that held the many beaten bodies of zombies.

With their heads split open, their dark blood was splattered all over the city grounds. The lifeless bodies of theirs were piled onto each other, crushing their rotten bones and breaking their skulls.

All were shot down without a care. What was once a living being, now a being without life.

That's how Francis saw it.

Nearby, amongst all the many dead bodies, he saw one soaking in dry blood from head to toe. The insides of the zombie were ripped open, with their guts resting in their lap in a messy, bloody bundle. The blood from their dirty wounds had formed puddles of their own pain.

The pain that was inflicted upon them by the very kind of his own; humans.

Francis felt his blood boil by the thought that spoke with truth. Saddened and ashamed. His heart ached out to them, feeling heavy from the empathy. But above all, he felt angered.

With his fists tightened by his side, Francis looked up at the bright sky above.

It was a warm, sunny day then. The sun was shining with light and life over the dead driven city. He had pictured the sun with a smile, joyous of the events that had took place.

The day felt perfect for many as it were the day of humanities victorious winning of the bloody wars between them and the undead.

But Francis felt no victory.

In all the horror, all he had witnessed was the death of zombies and the destruction of the city. The zombies all had a target behind their backs, defenceless against the weapons his own aimed directly at them. Killed like their were terrorists.

Before it all, during midnight of News Years Eve, the zombies rose from the graves of innocents. But innocent or not, his own decided to tear them down with deadly weaponry and raging fire. And all for what?

Humanity.

No, murderers, he thought with distaste.

Anger grew in him as he thought of the wickedness of humanity, which he felt would only grow stronger until his fiery anger would set fire over them all. Each and everyone, teared down and eaten alive. Humanity then feeling all the pain they have ever done.

Beautiful, he thought with a hint of a smile.

"Francis!" His father suddenly called out in the distance.

Francis froze, having not expected his father to have survived the zombie apocalypse as he did. Quickly dropping his smile, he turned and happily ran over to his father who stood nearby with his arms open wide, his feet crushing the dead beneath.

Embracing in a longing hug, his father kissed the top of his head like he had done so many nights before. Nights that were not roaming with the undead, but nights that were at peace.

Just as expected by his father.

"Father, they killed them all," Francis told him sadly, pained tears threating to spill.

"Not all," His father assured him, certain of his words. "There are still a few left."

Francis cried into his father's arms, refusing to see the horror that lay tragically beneath them. "They could have been saved," He sobbed, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I know", his father said, voice sympathetic as he rubbed his son's back soothingly. "They'll all pay for that. We will put an end to this, no matter what. My creations will not be harmed."

Francis pulled way from the hug as he thought on his father's words. "Wait...you did this?" He asked his father hesitantly, feeling as if the father he knew was no longer there.

His father sighed, kneeling down and resting his hands on Francis's shoulder. "It's all for the good of humanity," He told him, staring straight at him in the eye.

His eyes showed warning. His signal for there to be no more discussion of the conversation.

"I understand, father," Francis said, nodding his head.

He held back the racing questions that were eager to be answered, letting no more be said of it. But little did he know at the time that would be a lasting conversation between them.

That conversation that would change the world forever.

Finally, Francis brought up the courage to face the dead beneath. He stared down at their faces, not seeing the monsters his own saw, but the the faces of people who were only in need to be saved.

Not only lay zombies, but humans.

A human boy of his age caught his attention amongst the pile of dead bodies. His curly blonde hair was dried with blood as he was staring up at the sky, lifeless.

He felt nothing for him.

Nothing at all.

His heart frozen from him, he turned away to stare down at the dead zombies near him. His heart shattered, as if he were looking down at his own friends and family dying away, all life fading from their teary eyes.

He embraced the feeling as he embraced the burning fire within him.

I will protect you, Francis promised them all.
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Word count: 918