Well here is something I was working on a while ago. First bit of writing I've put on a public forum so please be kind.
Anyway here you go:
Sitting on my armchair in my newly built house, it still shocks me how fast humanity rebounded from something that wiped out over half of the worlds population. I can partially remember how I survived. Unlike some who showed up at this refuge blank faced and covered in blood. Most of the time keeping these people in quarantine for a few weeks lets them clear their head. Except for one or two but we don’t talk about them much. The trauma counselor's say that we should write about what we remember. It's suppose to help us. To get us over the survivors guilt. Or something like that anyway. Well, here is my story.
The wind whipped past my face. My legs pumped and a howl sounded behind me. I leaped up and grabbed hold of the fence that surrounded our house. Just as I had hauled myself partway over the top, a hand grasped my leg. I screamed at the top of my lungs and pushed away from the fence. My ribs crunched into the pavement. After a few moments I rolled to my undamaged side and tried to recapture my breath. I glanced back at the fence, over the sound of my heavy breath I heard the sound of fists being turned into lumps of useless meat against hard wood. After a while I became sure that what had been my father couldn’t get through the fence. I relaxed. Well as relaxed as you can get if your Dad just tried to eat you.
I stared at the rest of the street and wondered why my desperate screams had drawn no attention. Then I realized they could all be like Dad. A few days ago he had come home and complained about how he had been “bitten by a complete nutter” on the subway. Days later he couldn’t have formed such words, the best he could do was howl in rage. I turned my attention back to the street. Almost as soon as I noticed 'them' shuffling down the street they noticed me. Angry howls split the air as I launched to my feet, desperate to get away from what had moments ago been a safe refuge.
Once again I sprinted down the street. As I rounded a corner I saw to my dismay that my best friend's house was a burned shell of its former state. I stopped for little over a second. Then the reality of the situation had caught up with me, if I stay here I would die.
A scream pieced the air and I ran towards its source because for once the scream wasn’t in rage, it was in fear. I came to a two storey house with boarded up windows. Obviously these people had been better prepared than I was. The thing that had let them down was a weak front door. As I rushed in the building the scream turned to a dog like whimper. As I tore up the stairs my heart beat in time with my foot falls. I reached the landing. The scream had stopped. My heart had skipped a beat. The door to my left was covered in thick congealed blood. The door to my right was snapped off its hinges and covered with deep gouges. I sprinted to the right. Looking back I knew she wasn't alive, but I was compelled. Inside the room was bad. What was worse was that over the body stood one of them. Luckily for me it hadn’t noticed me yet. Even better someone had left a hammer by one of the boarded windows. The next thing I knew the hammer was in my hand. Then it was in the head of the thing. As It crumpled to the ground in slow motion, I knelt down to check the girl.
Even twenty years later, I still can not bring myself to describe what I saw that day. Blindly I stumbled out of the room.
I must admit there is a gap is my memory. Even to this day I have no idea how I made it to the refuge but they tell me when I was first spotted, I was holding a hammer, wearing armor and I was covered in pieces of people. The first few days were the worst. Being kept in quarantine was horrible, but at least I had food and water. They deemed me to be safe a week and a bit later. Now I've moved up in the world. I've been moved into a proper residency.
So far I've been here twenty years and I'm still wondering how I got here.
