I was in an interesting place. It reminded me of the walking Dead by Tell-Tale games. There was a decrepit white house on a hill. It had a winding path up its steep sides and was worn with travel. At the bottom of the hill, there was a creek that surrounded the front of the house and a wooden bridge that lead over to the path. There were trees and bushes, but everything seemed muted in color, low of saturation, but it set the mood for this world well. The house itself was old and decrepit. It had many windows boarded up by wood planks and plywood. Painted had peeled off and the exterior hand slight damage, even signs of blood. Inside the small, two story house though, were signs of life. It was dirty, with cloths tossed in a few piles around the lace and some garbage littered the floor, but it felt homey.
Three males walk up to the house in a variety of ages. One was as young as 12 with blond hair with a striped shirt, a baseball cap, and a utility vest. The next was about 17 or eighteen with dark brown hair and freckles and a dark red hoodie. Their father that walked beside them looked a lot like Joel from The Last of Us, but somehow kinder. They were chatting to one another, carrying up supplies in their backpacks to the top of the hill, to their home. They were joking, laughing, thinking about better times and what they could do when this mess is over. So merry were these three family members that I felt like one of their own.
... One of the last turns up the hill, they ran into two black strangers. One was a women with a blue and white striped shirt, with her hair cut to a mid length and tied behind her head. Gloves covered the palms of her hands but not the fingers, she hand pads strapped to her elbows and knees, black worn boots were lanced to her feet, and her cargo pants were dark, even with them being caked with some mud. Needless to say, she looks unpleased with her eyes gradually wandering. The male was bigger than the women, having on a stained wife beater and makeshift vest. He wore jeans but his boots were of a similar make to the women's. He let his crossed arms fall as the family's men comes up.
These strangers demanded food, and while they said they'd offer protection, they knew it was a lie. Such things always were in this age were many struggle to live. With neither side budging, the argument grew louder and more forceful. The strangers demanded food, no longer wanting to falsely protect them but began to threaten them. The youngest boy was confused and scared, while the next was angry towards these people, and the father was steaming mad.
Out of fear, the youngest began to run. Quickly, the black women raised her pistol and aimed it at the boy, wanting to teach these people "a lesson." The father raised his gun, firing at her, but it was not his shot that saved the boy's life. In fact, it didn't stop the bullet heading towards his child. Another family member had saw what was going on from the house and ran down to the three. It was another boy, in his early twenties. He had raced between his youngest brother and the bullet from atop the hill. The young man slumped over, falling to the ground face first. The middle child screamed, "JIM!" running towards his fallen brother next to the one shaking him, trying to get him to stir but he would not move. Tears began to form. The father kept firing, not diverting his sight for a moment. He shot more bullets than the women or man as they turned to run. He caught the other man in the knee, and with a sharp groan, he tumbled to the grass. The women caught him, firing her pistol still as she lifted him to his feet so that he may limp away from them.
This twin of Joel's started to chase after them, but the youngest called out to him besides his fallen son. The boy was in shock, bleeding out, and the middle child was doing all he could to help, but in the end, he felt helpless to stop this. The father took action, leading the boys to take him back up to the house for this one to be treated.
... It had been many days since the boy was shot. He soon died. They planned on burying the body, but it had escaped them, the corpse. It had gotten up in the late day and walked off. They couldn't go after it due to the falling sun. The middle child was to blame.
They thought he could be outside, their lost boy, as the hoards of zombies banged against the house. There were a little more than a hundred. Words that made sense only in sound but not use screeched from outside. The youngest body curls up with his mother and her babe, who is a few months old. Both are crying, and neither are truly asleep. Only the babe was, by some miracle. The Father and the other son worked together on keeping the fiends out, fixing barriers and shooting some of the larger groups to lower their numbers.
As the sun began to rise, slowly, the zombies left. A few determined ones stayed but were silently killed. The family would have a lot of cleaning to do after that night...
It had been a few months when I arrived. They promised me shelter if I agreed to help them find supplies. How could I refuse them? They were kind enough to me and they had enough mouths to feed.
We headed down into a mall area. A horde had seen us apparently, so we boarded ourselves into an old theater. It was worn in several areas, parts of the wall exposed the insides, dirt and chairs littered the ground. Most of the chair were propped up against doors, but were loosely done. Unfortunately for us, were weren't the only ones there.
The undead also lurked here, but they acted a bit strangely. They confused us for other people and seemed almost normal, despite the rotting flesh. These zombies, as all of the zombies are, were actually constantly reliving pervious memories. These people were watching a movie when devastation claimed their lives. The awoke as the living dead and lived out their last moments again and again, or even previous trips to this theater. Any major discrepancy in these patterns would drive these undead creatures into an insane frenzy. If even one did, the rest usually fallowed.
Reluctantly, we went to see this movie in a small, semi-circle room filled with chairs organized slightly. There was a huge hole in the right wall, but the zombies gave it no mind.. The youngest was say across on the left side of the room from me and his father. (The other was left to protect the mother at home.) Occasionally, he'd look between us and the screen with a worried look, but the father used hand gestures to keep him calm.
I couldn't stand sitting around any longer. I got up saying I had to go to the bathroom. Some of the zombies got slightly agitated, but then an older, fat white women stood up, saying she'd be going to the bathroom too. This calmed the others slightly and they returned to their movie. I exited the room with the taller and wider lady fallowing me. She seemed slightly upper class when she was alive. The lady was walking rather close to me though, so I turned around and started to talk with her. She became agitated over time though. What finally set her off was the other's angry cries and shrieks as the movie was cut short by the film burning apart. The women lunged at me, but I stabbed her in the neck and shoved her into the ground. She struggled to get up, but I dashed off towards where we came. I peaked inside the room to see the father escaping one way and his child did another. Some of the zombies saw me and wandered my way. My only hope was the double door to the side of me. I slammed my shoulder against the door a few times till they came open. I rushed through and jammed the door behind me. This section was burned heavily, being grey with ash and black from scorching. You could see the sky from here. Walking through the debris covered floor, I saw the father out of the corner of my eyes, dashing away. Without hesitation, I ran after him, not wanting to stick around. I managed to just get in front of the zombies chasing him and called out to the guy. He looked back and yelled at me to keep running. We made it to a metal door with a few concrete steps leading up to it. He busted the sucker open and we went inside, closing the door behind us.
Me and him were caught by bandits at some point and brought to the sewers. The bandits said we could leave, tossing us and another guy out into the pipelines. These guys wouldn't let us off that easy though, sending a bunch of the undead after us. We ran from the swarm, with the guy in the front, the father in the middle, and I dead behind them. The zombies were catching up to me. The man who had helped me so far pushed me to keep going, but I couldn't. I tripped over a line of boxes and everything went dark.
When I awoke, I shook my head. I was now in front of a pale man. Wrapped in a dark blanket, he covered his matted hair in a toboggan and every bit of his flesh was covered in bites. He had saved me from my encounter. This man was a Biter, a carrier of the zombie making disease. Biters are rare, and don't go insane, but they tend to fidget about, trying to prevent violent action to others. Typically, they are only half undead, dying if they aren't treated for missing flesh and limbs and require food.
He explained to me that he had saved me from completely becoming one of the other undead by giving me a slight bite, but I was now a carrier. I wasn't a Biter per-say, but it was close. I went to open the door and asked me why I was leaving. I told him that I had to save my friend and help find his son. The Biter nodded but warned me that he wouldn't be able to stop the infection again. I nodded, opened the door, and left with a thank you.