Pestilence

Chapter 1

Oh wait, you're still here? That's fine, I just didn't expect anyone to stick around to read some story about the past. I guess we can start off with the basics. My name is Ambrose Liam Weathers. But I go by Liam for obvious reasons. I am twenty-six years old and I was a member of the 24th marines until the outbreak. There are plenty of pasts similar to my own, whether or not they will be told is up for debate. People cope in different ways. Some would rather keep their past bottled up inside for only themselves to see. I guess I just thought I would feel better getting all this down on paper. I read once while on leave that writing it down is a way to deal with PDSD. I think it's safe to say that everyone who has survived has PDSD. So let's see if this works, here goes nothing...

September 24

15:00 hours

"Violent video games may be the cause of a rise in crime over the past few days." I grab the remote and change the channel,

"Give me a break." I growl. Another news station drones in the background as I stand up to retrieve another beer from the refrigerator. I have been on leave for a week and I already want back on the battlefield. The Us government is in turmoil. Radical groups are starting to rise and declare that we need change and reform. Out with the old, in with the new. Not that I listened to them much anyways. Most of them were crackpots who were bandwagoning on some looney who had heard 'the truth' from some sort of higher power. It made me uneasy though. This is the kind of thing that starts nasty civil wars. How is the US going to fight a civil war when most of the troops are away fighting other battles. In the past few weeks more and more US soldiers had been deployed. If I hadn't just been given leave I was sure that I would be there too right now. Something was happening over seas that made the Chief Executives nervous. Not that I had the kind of clearance to know exactly what it was though. I was just a grunt, a ground troop who followed the orders from way up the chain of command.

I sit back down on the couch and crack open my beer,

"We are going in live on the situation now." I lean forward to watch the footage. Old habit of mine. Guess I thought that I got a better view this way, "There seems to be some sort of fight outside of Millennium park. Maybe gang violence." The reporter trails off,

"What the hell..." I mutter. Gangs wouldn't fight in the middle of Millennium park in the broad daylight. They wouldn't even come this far into the nicer parts of the city anyways. That's when I see something that makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck. One of the attackers grabs a curious bystander by the lapels of his suit and sinks his teeth into the vulnerable skin of his neck. Bright red blood gushes from the wound as the man gives an anguished cry and sinks to the ground. One of the other attackers halts and tips his head back as if sniffing the air, then he lunges towards the bleeding man and joins the other in sinking his teeth into his flesh,

"My God." The news anchor's voice makes me jump nearly a foot in the air. Something slams against my door.

I am on my feet in a second. As I pass by the kitchen of my small apartment I grab a butcher knife and hold it in reverse grip with the edge out. There is another thud against my door as I slink towards it on the balls of my feet. I slowly close my hand around the handle. Deep breath, concentrate. I think to myself. Then I throw the door open and jump backwards when my neighbor from across the hall tumbles onto the welcoming mat. It only takes me a few seconds to asses the situation. Her small frame is covered and blood and the skin on her left arm has been stripped off, leaving the white bone to gleam in the fluorescent lighting,

"Karen?" I hiss, trying to keep my voice calm. She twitches on the carpet before clumsily putting her ruined arm under her to get to her feet. She struggles for a moment crawling across the ground and leaving a red trail of fresh blood behind her.

An inhuman grown escapes her lips sending chills down my spine. I take a few steps backwards and adjust my grip on the knife. She rises to her feet, lurching awkwardly to the side. But the eyes that study me from within Karen's bloody face are not the kind brown eyes that I had so often seen whenever we talked. These are eyes of a predictor. Before I can study her anymore she lunges towards me, reaching out with claw like hands. Another growl rolls from here drawn back lips. This thing, whatever it is is not Karen. I swing my knife, making a long slash down her torso. But despite the blood that gushes from the wound, Karen keeps coming as if nothing had happened. I frown in dismay. How can that be possible. She makes another swipe at me and I barely duck out of the way in time. This time I swing the knife around and sink it deep into her chest, right where her heart is. Karen's response is an angry snarl before she clamps her fingers into my shoulders and slams me into the hard floor of my apartment. I gasp in pain as my head strikes the floor, turning my vision white. But I force myself to focus. Deep breath. I get my hands on her shoulders and push her away right as her teeth snap together, they only catch the fabric of my t-shirt. She pulls back, ripping a sizable hole in the sleeve, before she realizes that she only has fabric clamped between her jaws. In this split second I grab the handle of the knife that is still protruding from her chest and pull as hard as I can. It comes out with a wet suctioning noise. The next time she tries to bite me I try the last thing that I can think of. I hold the knife in front of my face and slam it upwards into the roof of her mouth as she lunges for my neck.

The knife sinks in and there is a horrible moment where I think that it didn't phase her, then she freezes, the light in her eyes dies and she collapses with her full weight onto my chest. I groan and heave her body off of me,

"What the hell is going on?" I ask to no one in particular. Karen is now fully within death's grasp. Her face has grown lax, and her stiff, claw like fingers look just like the small hands of a petite woman again. But her eyes remain the same. There is no white left in her eyes. Instead they are the color of putrid green and brown mold. The pupils, while not entirely black, are darker than the rest of the eye. Her skin is pale and drawn back across her cheekbones, making her face look gaunt and hollow. I push myself away from here body and wipe my bloodstained hands on my jeans. Suddenly I am aware of more shuffling outside my door and I leap up, step over Karen's body, and quietly shut my door. I don't know if they are attracted to sound, but I'm not taking any chances,

"Do not panic. Everything is under control. Stay indoors and ration your food. Help is on the way." The news anchor's voice slices through my thoughts,

"Yeah, sure thing." I mumble cynically before taking one last chug of my bear and rushing into my room to pack up my army gear.