the little children raise their open filthy palms

chapter one

the little children raise their open filthy palms

Summary:
Phil doesn't go into the cities anymore. Once had been enough, and he doesn't have a death wish.

He chooses only to watch them in the distance, or pass by them from time to time as he walks. The buildings loom in the distance, their once-shining rooftops now overgrown and dull with no one to take care of them. If you get close enough, you smell the stench of rot and death. It's a smell you can never get out of your nose, discovered one night after the initial wave where Phil tried desperately to scrub out his nose, sticking cloth and then even fingers as far up as he could to try and wash the smell out of his sinuses. It didn't work, and the smell has stayed with him since. He tries to look past it, look past the cities, and continue walking forward. That's what he attributes his survival to, really. The ability to look past everything, stare the dead in the eyes, and still walk on after he's shot them in the head. They were people once, but thinking about it too much makes his hands start to shake so Phil looks past it and walks on.

Chapter 1

The apocalypse had hit hard and quick, like a landslide.

He chooses only to watch them in the distance, or pass by them from time to time as he walks. The buildings loom in the distance, their once-shining rooftops now overgrown and dull with no one to take care of them. If you get close enough, you smell the stench of rot and death. It's a smell you can never get out of your nose, discovered one night after the initial wave where Phil tried desperately to scrub out his nose, sticking cloth and then even fingers as far up as he could to try and wash the smell out of his sinuses. It didn't work, and the smell has stayed with him since. He tries to look past it, look past the cities, and continue walking forward. That's what he attributes his survival to, really. The ability to look past everything, stare the dead in the eyes, and still walk on after he's shot them in the head. They were people once, but thinking about it too much makes his hands start to shake so Phil looks past it and walks on.

He's not really sure where he is, which is why he's exposed himself now. Roads are usually dangerous and not worth the time, most of the cars too wrecked or grown-over to be able to drive. Finding gas is another problem altogether, and they're loud. It's really not worth it. But road signs are like maps and indicators of where the hell he is, so he shoves down the nervous feeling in his gut and steps out onto the cracked asphalt. The paint is faded below his feet as he follows the white line, glancing up and around to try and find a sign quickly. There's one up ahead, pale blue against the green of the trees he'd come from, so he heads that way. He gets just close enough to make out the words that have faded a bit and been graffitied over- Streatley, Luton, a little too close to London for comfort - when there's a shout from behind him and then the sound of some sort of weapon firing.

Phil drops. It wasn't a gunshot, but there's another twang of string and wood and if he didn't know any better, he would say compound bow just from sound alone. He's on the ground, knelt against the hot shell of some car, pushing his back and pack up against the metal as he scans the area around him for the source of the sound. There's more noise- the groan of the dead and another shout. No, a whoop. Whoever it is, it sounds almost like they're having fun. Another voice joins in, too loud for Phil's personal preference, and a dull thump as projectile meets flesh. The whoops turn celebratory, so he risks a peek above the metal and broken glass. Almost instantaneously, like it was drawn by the sounds of stupid people, one of the deadwalkers sits up from it's hibernation spot right in front of him.

He scrambles backwards, hands reaching and gripping his shotgun without hesitation. It slips off his shoulder and into his hands and he fires, the bang echoing across the street. Voices cut off and suddenly there's two shapes popping up from behind the cars, and more clicking sounds. Of course that woke up whatever other hibernating monsters were around, sleeping in the cars to avoid the sun and elements as they waited for people to infect. There's motion in the corner of his eye, and Phil swings around, taking down another deadwalker before it can crawl out of the car it had been hiding in.