He was dying.
He knew that as he stumbled through the undergrowth, one arm hanging limp as a faint warmth slowly ran down it. There were other injuries of course, killing him from the inside out.
Panting, he forced himself onwards, every little step a struggle in staying upright. He been fighting to survive for nearly ten years now. He only wanted to help people. And what did that get him? Death? Torture?
His twisted leg buckled and he slumped against a boulder by pure chance. Why the hell was he even still alive? Why did everyone else had to die? As his heart fluttered, he clawed the boulder and he slid to the ground. Everyone… I’m so sorry…
No tears came as Ian looked up at the treetops, his hand digging into the grassy ground beside him. Why did everything have to go so wrong? The creature asked himself, How did I end up here?
Grunting, he slammed his boot against the door. A sharp, uncomfortable crack rang as it was torn free from its hinges and clattered to the floor. Levelling the sub-machine gun, he stormed through, eyes flicking left and right.
A stained couch.
A shattered window.
A burnt wall.
Nothing worth noting. Not now. Not after everything had gone horribly wrong.
Light peered through a doorframe off to the side, and he passed on through, one hand holding the gun out, the other raised in front of his face as he let his eyes adjust.
It was a kitchen. Or at least, what was left of one. Brick lay scattered across the room and a thick layer of grime covering the kitchen tops, wooden cupboards and a half rotten table.
But there was a jagged hole in the wall. He lowered his hand and with a final glance across the ruins of the kitchen, he crept towards the breach, taking aim, peering for anyone. Anything.
Nothing.
I’ve got to risk it.
Grasping a broken brick still held in place, Ian Barber pulled himself up and out into the light.
Approximately 26th of March, 2020
A smudgy orange sky greeted him. It had to be evening, or the morning. He didn’t know anymore. Not after what had happened on the compound that night. What had happened to him…
His nose itched as a thick aroma worked its way in. The familiar, calming smell of burning wood mixed with the noxious fumes of oil. With a snort, his head swivelled round. Towers of black smoke rose high into the sky, smothering the orange of the sunlight in its embrace.
Half of the city’s got to be on fire now…
He brought blue eyes back down to the abandoned street he now stood in, battered houses lined its flanks, their windows blown out, doors booted down or hanging on their hinges. Others had gaping holes through their brick walls too. And in one case, a small crater, devoid of two whole houses gaped in one line. Debris had been tossed across the street; some having struck the rusted husks of cars that lay haphazardly all over it.
But again, nothing else.
Just an empty, deserted street.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
He hesitated for a moment; families once lived here. Going about their own lives. Working. Living. Enjoying what they could.
Lives before the Retrovirus.
Much like his own… and his parents…
All too used to such a sight though, Ian snapped his eyes up and down the street. Still nothing. With that confirmation, he turned and began to jog along the pavement. He didn’t have time to wait. He had to get out of the city. His companions had to be on the run too, if they were even still alive. It was supposed to have been quick and easy, get those supplies and get them to those who desperately needed it. Risky? Yes, it was. But everything was risky.
But now, Ian was running for his life.
Before the Ferals flooded over its walls.
Before they found him.
A junction branched off at the end of the road, with only a single car discarded across it, with its front crumpled just as easily a crushed can.
But as he stepped closer, something shifted beyond the windows.
He shot aside, slipping into one of the houses and pressing himself against a wall. He wasn’t taking that chance. He peered back out, heart pounding in his chest as he tried to look beyond the car. There was another flicker of movement and Ian tightened his grip around the SMG. Come on, who are you?
The figure stirred once more and finally rose from behind the car.
Ian sighed with relief at the sight. It was a man, wearing a blue hoodie and jeans. Not the black combat uniforms he had seen before.
His muscles began to relax, but Ian held himself back. A sixth sense was telling him to make sure this was just another civilian. And so, he kept his distance.
The figure dropped out of sight. Slowly however, around from the corner of the car was something else. A red puddle spread across the tarmac, glistening in the orange light.
Blood.
He stiffened again. It could have been a friend, or someone they had mugged in the chaos. It would have not been the first time.
“Rich! Hurry up!”
His head snapped round towards the source. Another man appeared across the street, emerging from one of the houses. “Someone could be around the corner!”
The hooded figure, Rich, rose back up to his feet. “Hang on! I haven’t found her gear!”
“I don’t want someone to figure out we’ve killed her!” the second snarled.
A mugging then. Ian gritted his teeth, grip on the weapon tightening ever more. The city was burning around them and they put the time aside to kill someone?
He shoved the anger aside; he was going to have to fight his way past them. There was no time to wait them out. Maybe he could simply order them out of the way by gunpoint…
A deep whumping noise slowly drummed into his ears, cutting his thoughts short. He blinked, bringing himself back into the building. He narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on the sound as it grew ever louder.
It’s them. It has to be.
They were getting closer.
He kept back out of sight, but stayed close enough that he could still peer through to see what would be coming forward. “What the hell?!” the second man roared.
Dust was whipped off the door as the noise started to drown out their voices. Ian leaned back, blinking as another fleck of dust struck his face.
A jet-black helicopter finally drifted over the rooftops, its windows dark and no insignia of any kind was sketched onto the side. The two men sprung into view, wildly waving at the chopper.
Ian held his ground. He didn’t respect the muggers, but if the chopper belonged to-
A machine gun opened fire.
He snapped back, cursing as the mechanical scream scratched at his ears.
As quickly as it came, the gunfire ceased, leaving the roar of the engine to block out any other sound. Ian’s finger hovered just over the trigger. Come on… get out of here…
The engine continued to roar outside. Too long for his own comfort. But finally, it changed tune. Slowly, he stepped forward and leaned out of the doorway. The last he saw of it was the tail vanishing over the rooftops.
Ian moved back out onto the street; one eye locked onto the sky. But the helicopter didn’t return, the drone of the rotors fading away rather than the tell-tale sound of it coming back round. Keeping his weapon at the ready, he approached the husk of the car. A handful of holes that hadn’t been there before were now peppered across its surface.
He rounded the front end, and found three bodies sprawled out across the ground. The two men, and a girl about his own age. Their victim, no doubt. Pools of blood were merging together into a single mass, flowing out of dozens of bullet wounds riddled across them.
Looking down on the bodies, he softly sighed. No one had to do this once. Not in this kind of way at least. And not all over the world.
A thunderous boom echoed, a pulse resonated through the air and himself. Brown hair flicking into his face, he looked up to see another fuming column beginning to rise into the sky.
Another reminder. A reminder that Ian didn’t have much time before the Ferals broke through the defences. Even his pursuers wouldn’t want to hang around to find out what happened afterwards.
Certainly not him.
With a final regretful glance at the dead, Ian turned and jogged round the corner.
He didn’t look back.
