Viral Exposure: The Apocalypse

Tensions had rose between Russia and the United States, leading to the second Cold War, only this time it wasn't so cold. Instead of active military conflict, biological warfare took place in secret.

Prologue

Well, I don't know if you can call it a prologue.... more like a teaser more than anything. Anyway, please comment if you liked it/ hated it/ whatever, so I know if this is a story worth continuing. 

The birds chirping could be heard far from their origin. Wild-life contently grazed at the grass that grew in the tranquil place. No body traversed this path anymore, now a forest of weeds and plants. It belonged to the wild life, not the people. A once unheard wind could now deafen. This place had been a gas station long ago, but time had taken its toll, nature breaking through every crack and crevice. Rusted cars creaked and fell apart at the slightest breeze, remnants of those who lived and died. It was a sobering reminder that those who lived on earth did not own it. They were nothing more than renters, and when the time came, nature reclaimed its property.

Footsteps broke the ephemeral silence, thundering in the noiseless expanse. Two figures edged their way closer to the outpost, keeping a constant check on their surroundings. The dull crunching of their boots against the gravel sounded sharp in the silence. The two figures, both men, approached the gas station as if in fearful expectation. They checked and re-checked every inch around them, paranoid of their surroundings. The two were afraid that someone, or something, might be waiting for them in the calmness.

One man carried an automatic rifle in his hands, the other a small pistol, shaking gently in his hands. The hands of the first were accustomed to weapons, the hands of the second a newborn.

The veteran, who was known as Rick Ashton, was an elite marine who served in hundreds of military operations. Holding a weapon was as natural as relieving his bowels. Rick was proud of his body and kept it in shape. In his line of work it could easily mean the difference between life and death.

The newborn, however, was only a simple University student named Dexter Grant. Holding such a weapon terrified Dexter. He was the brainy type, not the action type. Dexter relied on Rick, whom had experienced terrors Dexter could only begin to imagine. Unlike Rick, Dexter was not one to keep his boy in shape, a fact that had almost cost Rick and his own lives. Since the beginning of the apocalypse, running had become the profession of the two.

Rick tapped Dexter’s shoulder and motioned to enter the building. Dexter responded in kind, causing the two to approach the decrepit building. The gas station had experienced a tragedy at some point. The pumps were a charred mess, as was the surrounding landscape. An explosion was the most probable cause. The windows of the station had been smashed into little shards and now covered the ground where the two walked, a slight crick-crunch sounding every step. The sides of the building were the colour of tar, but much more brittle. The building looked more like a charcoal briquette than it did a gas station.

Rick stopped at the door and motioned once again to Dexter. Drawing a heavy breath, he plunged himself into the darkness, every step carrying his reluctance. The first thing he thought was of the unbearable smell. It was a sour mix of food, feces, and some other smell Dexter couldn’t tell. Every breath brought the pungent stench deep into his nose and made him almost suffocate.

His weapon, now tight in his grip, shook viciously. Every little sound made Dexter jump. His breathing had become ragged and hurried, fear exuding from every pore. The darkness encircled the store and Dexter could barely see. More than once he almost had a heart attack as he tripped over an old magazine stand or a fallen shelf. With every step his feet stuck to the floor. It was annoying to Dexter, but it was drowned out by his fear. Spilt pop wasn’t life threatening.

After circling the darkness of the store he let out a sigh of relief. He put his weapon away and regained his posture. They were alone.

“All clear,” he called out to Rick. “There isn’t anything in here.”

“Right, then,” Rick responded, relief in his voice. “Get the s**t and get out. We don’t know who the hell else is out here.”

With relaxing nerves Dexter began to pack supplies into his bag. The store had been visited before, evident from the almost barren shelves. Although the selection was scarce, he managed to pack chips, pop, water, medicine, and other necessary provisions into the bag. He played the chorus of tin cans and bags, each new addition sounding their unique melody.

“Bloody hell man,” Rick cursed at Dexter. “You trying to tell the world we’re here?”

Grunting like a pig in heat and turning his face the colour of tomatoes, Dexter managed to heft the bag over his shoulder.

“Easy for �" huff �" you to say,” Dexter responded between breaths. “You shouldn’t send the fat kid to do the heavy lifting.” Muted laughter could be heard from Rick. Even in such a tense situation, laughing came easily to him. At any second both of them could be killed, leaving nothing but a pool of blood to mark their lives.

“Just get your a*s out here,” Rick said through his laughter. Dexter agreed and continued to make his way toward the exit. His foot connected with something, and he fell hard onto his chest, items spilling from his bag and causing Dexter to release a stream of curses.

‘You good?” Rick asked with mild concern.

“Yea, I’m fine, I just hit a-“the words were taken from Dexter as his eyes caught a a terrifying sight.

By now his eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could make out details he hadn’t before. The store was a complete mess, and it was obvious that a confrontation had occurred here. Shelves and magazine racks were knocked down, their contents strewn across the floor. The counter had been completely dismantled, now nothing but a few pieces of broken wood. But that wasn’t what caught his eyes. What he believed to be magazine racks he tripped over was a much more gruesome reality. Everything fell into place in his mind. The stickiness, the horrid smell, and all the things he tripped over. They weren’t shelves or magazine racks.  What lay before him were human cadavers, ripped open and missing several body parts. Many littered the floor, each pair of eyes lifeless, staring into nothing. The stickiness was their old, decomposing blood. But even those were not what caught his eye. What he saw instantly made his blood run cold. Now blocking his exit was a hulking mass of decaying and bloodied flesh, along with an over muscled body and disproportionate limbs. Standing in front of him was a zombie, and a hungry one at that.

“What? Did you see a ghost?” Rick laughed again. Dexter’s pain brought Rick’s enjoyment.

“R-Rick,” Dexter said through his fear. “We’re not alone.”

This time there was no response from Rick. There was no tell-tale laughter. Dexter knew the message had reached Rick. It was their contingency plan if something every went wrong.

If s**t goes down, and it will, tell me immediately, Rick had once told Dexter. Don’t do a thing, don’t make a sound. Just get your a*s out of there as quickly and quietly as you can.

It was good advice, Dexter thought. Who would want to spend a second longer with such a hideous, deformed creature that with one flick of its wrist could decapitate them? With the utmost care, and over a period that felt like a millennium, Dexter gathered up the items and slowly made his way to the exit, watching the creature the whole time. It seemed that the creature had deformed senses, because it could not recognize Dexter by sight or smell. Usually, a zombie could smell a human miles before they were even close. It was once said that humans were the most pungent smelling of all creatures on earth, and that animals could hunt them down by their smell alone.

This zombie was probably close to its death, its senses almost completely gone. This was a good sign for Dexter. This would make his escape much easier. Adrenaline flooded his body, his heart pounding with vigour. Every step closer to the exit brought him closer to the creature. He was close enough to feel its hot and nauseating breath. The creature remained unmoving no matter how close he got. After an eternity, he finally managed to walk past the creature. The feeling of relief that came down on him was tremendous. It made him believe that he would be fine, and that everything would work out well. And then everything came crashing down on him. Before Dexter rested a simple can. All it took was a small misstep and the can rattled down the store. Although the creature could not smell or see well, it could still hear well. Dexter’s earlier crashing and banging had awoken the creature. And now, the creature had been given a target.

The zombie shrieked, a sound worse than nails on chalk board, and lunged at Dexter. He reached for his fire arm a fraction of a second too slow, the creature striking his chest. He was knocked into a wall opposite the exit, disarming him and stealing the breath from his lungs. The creature bellowed again and charged at its meal, baring its gruesome teeth in preparation. Dexter, in obvious pain, slumped against the wall, all energy leaving his body. He felt excruciating pain in his chest and back and the characteristic nausea that accompanies broken bones. If he had not been wearing the bag, he wouldn’t be alive. Dexter tried to stand up and evade the attack, but he had no energy. Even fear and adrenaline couldn’t drive him into action. There was nothing he could do. Realizing this could be his death, he yelled with his last breath,

“Rick!!!!” 

 

Reviews

[Starmountainkid]

Pretty exciting. I think it's written well, I have no complaints about that. Maybe you should separate the burned gas station from the store. I was wondering how they found useful cans and stuff in a burned-out gas station.

The only other thing is, is this going to be a typical zombie story, or is there going to be some unique twist? I think incorporating something into the story that is not expected in a zombie story would be a plus.

Keep writing!

[OctaBrain]

I think you’ve got a great handle on picking and choosing your words. It’s descriptive without being cliché or unnecessary. I personally think that is very hard to do sometimes. There’s really no story here yet so I don’t really know if you should continue it or not. Based on what you do have, I think you should finish the story. I would definitely say that it is too similar to ‘Walking Dead’ with the baby and the fact that the dudes name is Rick.