Zombie Apocalypse 2013

Okay, so this will be an ongoing story I will constantly be working on. Its about a zombie apocalypse. The majority of the story will be from one main character's perspective. I want to write some good material and let my imagination go crazy, but there are no good RPs on this site. They either end up dying out or they are just made up of weak story-lines that have no real detail to them. (yes i am guilty of a few of those weak story-lines). Anyway, I will try to be as detailed and vivid with my story as possible. I only ask one thing of you: PLEASE!! DO NOT post in here AT ALL. If you have questions or comments, please send them to me in a private message. Other than that, thank you and enjoy!

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Chapter One: The Last Day

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Five whole months have passed since the much anticipated day marked as the 'end of the world' and yet the bustling city of New York still reaches high into clouds. The widespread panic, which caused mass riots across the world, has dwindled. Nothing has changed drastically. No catastrophic events have plagued the earth or its atmosphere. Humanity continues to exist and, therefore, life begins returning to normal.
However, in some of the more major cities, there is a fairly heavy military presence that patrols the streets. Soldiers armed with assault rifles have become a normal sight and identification checks happen randomly & frequently without plausible reasoning. The government hasn't given any official explanation for this. They only briefly stated that it is to 'keep the streets safe' but refused to answer any questions thereafter.


New York City. May 20, 2013.

Today is like any other normal day in the big city. The streets are crowded with an endless maze of noisy traffic - honking horns, music blaring from a car stereo, a police siren, the unforgettable squealing brakes of the city buses. Pedestrians fill the sidewalks as street vendors try to lure them in. Occasionally, a pair of armed soldiers will stroll by as they scope the area. A ragged homeless man wanders aimlessly through an alleyway. A few shops here and there are still recovering from the 2012 riots. Random walls throughout the city are covered in political posters and graffiti. The air is ripe with the mixed smell of food, exhaust, and the infamous stench from the the NYC subway system.

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Shortly before 10:00am, a handful of people arrive at the NYC Downtown Hospital, claiming that they feel extremely ill. A quick analysis from nurses shows that symptoms include headache, fever, nausea and short-term memory loss. When asked of their whereabouts, each person provides the same answer. They all had eaten at 'Mama Mia's Ristorante', a popular italian diner in the financial district, between 8:15am and 9:00am. One person loses consciousness as he sits in the main lobby. Two nurses rush him into an empty room and attend to his well-being.
The chief executive officer of the hospital calls the restaurant to inform its manager of what is happening and then calls the police commissioner immediately afterwards.

Two officers are sent over to the restaurant to investigate. All of the employees, who now claim to be suffering from the same illness, are interrogated and then instructed to remain inside the building. The security camera tapes are reviewed but turn up nothing. The restaurant is forced to close its doors to the public and be quarantined with the employees & the two officers inside. The police commissioner contacts the Center For Disease Control.
A handful of armed soldiers arrive and set up a perimeter as CDC workers in bio-hazzard suits show up to seal off the building. A crowd gathers behind the makeshift police barriers across the street.

Meanwhile, at the hospital, blood samples are taken from each patient and examined carefully under a microscopic lens. Doctors are puzzled as they find an unidentifiable parasite multiplying and attacking the white blood cells. None of them have ever bear witness to something quite like this before and with no viable solution, the patients are quarantined in an isolated room for safety measures. The hospital is set under a 'yellow alert' which requires all staff to wear rubber gloves and filtered face masks to prevent possible further infection.

The scene at the restaurant is slowly turning chaotic. Several camera crews have shown up to give live reports of the event as a makeshift barrier of chain-link fence is put up around the building. A police helicopter hovers overhead. The crowd has substantially grown as the CDC workers have begun to weld the doors shut and cover the windows in steel plating.
The two officers inside the building keep an update with those outside by 'checking in' over their two-way radios at regularly timed intervals.

By mid-afternoon, the number of patients at the hospital has increased from about 20 to roughly 250. The main lobby is packed wall to wall with people. Some are coughing and sneezing while others are barely clinging to consciousness. The atmosphere is filled with fear, anxiety and confusion as the hospital staff, who also begin to feel ill, scramble to gain control of the situation. The entire ground floor goes into 'orange alert' which prohibits anyone from accessing the upper levels of the building and vice-versa (nobody from the upper levels are allowed to access the ground floor). The chief executive officer makes another call to the police commissioner to let him know what is happening.
Within an hour, the military arrives and sets up a perimeter of armed soldiers around the hospital. The CDC arrives shortly thereafter and sends a unit of bio-hazard specialists into the building to check the ground floor as well as collect samples. After a lengthy period of time, they reappear, much to the relief of the team of CDC agents outside. The specialists report that the entire ground floor is potentially infected due to the number of patients and staff members who are severely ill. They also state that the conditions of the infected seem to be rapidly getting worse.
The CDC team decides to seal off the ground floor from the outside. They begin to weld the doors shut and cover every glass window with the same steel plating used at the restaurant. The people inside the hospital try to make their way out but are held at gun point by the armed soldiers and told to remain calm as CDC agents in bio-hazard suits continue to seal off every possible exit.

As a crowd starts to gather across the street from the hospital, a news team sets up for an interview with the CDC head of staff, John Greene.
During the interview, Greene advises citizens to remain calm and assures them that the CDC has the situation fully under control. "This is just another pandemic scare and it should be resolved within a few hours," he explains. Then, the reporter asks him about the conditions of those who are quarantined inside the hospital. John replies, "That is nothing for you to worry about. We are currently working on analyzing the infection to determine a cause and a cure." The reporter tries to question him further, but Mr. Greene steps away from the camera and heads back to join his team.
He breaks out into a light coughing fit and his knees buckle. One of the other CDC agents catches him and helps him back to his feet, "Are you okay sir?" he asks. John nods and replies through a series of painful coughs, "Yes, I am fine...just feeling a little nauseous."

Chapter Two: James Earl Cash

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The sound of a single gunshot echoes out and awakes him from darkness. His vision is blurred and his head is spinning. Beads of cold sweat run down his face. His neck is painfully stiff from being crooked at an angle for too long. He fights to regain consciousness as he manages to lift his head to get an idea of his surroundings. The room is illuminated by the sunshine gleaming through a set of massive windows to his left. The walls are empty and white. The air is humid. He can hear the sound of a clock quietly ticking away. At first, everything is a mixed blur of colors and indistinct shapes. Fear and confusion set in as he tries to call out, "Hello?" An eerie silence follows.

As his vision begins to clear, he wipes the sweat from his forehead and attempts to sit up. He notices an IV in his left arm which is hooked to an intravenous bag filled with clear liquid. He takes a quick glimpse around and realizes he's in the hospital. A tray of rotting food sits on a table next to his bed. There is a cabinet labeled 'Patient Property' in the corner of the room. Next to the cabinet is a wheelchair. A clipboard with medical papers hangs near the door.
His mind races with a hundred different thoughts as he tries to grasp reality.

In the midst of his confusion, he calls out again, "Hello?" Still no response. The silence is almost deafening and the clock on the wall hardly brings any relief as it ticks away. He begins to wonder why nobody has heard him and come to his aid. This is a hospital, after all. He checks to make sure both of his legs are still intact and then moves to sit on the edge of the bed. He plants his bare feet on the cold floor and looks down to see the light-green hospital gown covering his body. There is a white ID bracelet wrapped around his left wrist as well. He brings it closer and examines the words written on it:

NY0003687
Cash, James E. - DOB: August 20, 1980
NYPD Downtown Hospital, MD - ADM: May 20, 2013
Dr. Paul Johnson

With a confused expression on his face, he repeats the name on the bracelet, "James Cash," and then rubs the back of his sore neck as he tries to make sense of the situation. He struggles to remember how he ended up in the hospital but finds that his entire short-term memory appears to have been erased. The bracelet provides the only reliable source of information: his identity.

Gripping the small clear tube that connects his IV to the intravenous bag, James carefully tugs on it. The IV dislodges from the vein in his arm as he pulls it out and drops it onto the bed. Then, he wipes the cold sweat from his forehead again and attempts to stand up. However, his leg muscles quiver with weakness as he falls back and curses through clenched teeth. James quickly glances around the room and spots the wheelchair. He drops from the bed to the floor and makes his way towards it. Getting settled into the chair, James moves across the room, retrieves the clipboard, and scans through the papers attached to it. There is a list of several different nurses' names and time intervals. The last one dates back three weeks ago. A look of confusion plays across his face again. It can't possibly have been three weeks since someone checked in on him. He sets the clipboard down in his lap and struggles to open the door leading out.
James wheels out into a quiet hallway littered with trash and several haphazardly-placed gurneys. "Hello?" he calls out again. His voice echoes back to him and it is just eerie enough to shut him up. The only other sound is the overhead lights buzzing with electricity. "Where the hell is everyone?" he mutters to himself as he worriedly glances back and forth through the hallway.

Chapter Three: Running

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The elevator eases to a stop and the doors slide open. James rolls his wheelchair cautiously out into the hallway beyond and looks around. To his left, the hallway stretches for about 50 feet before splitting off in two separate directions. To his right is the main lobby and information desk. "Hello?" he calls out. His own voice chillingly reverberates back to him in response, followed by a moment of heavy silence. The only plausible sound is the soft buzzing of the overhead lights throughout the building. James quietly rolls his way over to the lobby. The floor is smeared with what appears to be blood. A look of confusion plays across his face. "What the fuck?" he mumbles to himself as he continues to survey the room. The windows and main doors have all been boarded up. Another hallway, to his right, stretches for about 100 feet into intimidating darkness. James avoids looking down this hallway due to the paranoid feeling that something in that darkness may be staring back at him. A chill runs down his spine as he wheels his way back around behind the information desk. He searches through the useless items strewn about but finds nothing that could give any clue as to whats going on.

Suddenly, the receptionist phone at the end of the desk rings. James cringes at how abruptly it breaks the silence as the sound echoes through the entire lobby. Then, he answers, "Hello?" There is a moment of slight static before another voice crackles through from the other end, "Ello? Johnny?? Is that you, mate?" James hastily responds, "Who is this?" The voice crackles through again, "Davie. Who the fuck are you, mate?" Suddenly, James hears a sound, like an angry snarl mixed with a monstrous gurgle, that makes his skin crawl. Instinct causes him to drop the phone, crawl beneath the information desk and tuck his legs in. "What the fuck was that?" he murmurs to himself quietly.

The sound of bare feet thudding across the linoleum floor can be heard as his mind races with fear and confusion. Judging by the volume, he figures there are at least four or five pairs of feet. The snarling increases as its source approaches the lobby and the thudding begins to slow down. Tucking his legs in as tightly as possible, James slows his breathing and tries to remain calm. The snarling sound turns to a raspy breathing, much like that of a heavy smoker. I am fucked, James thinks to himself. He doesn't know what the hell is standing just a few feet away on the other side of the information desk, but he is pretty sure whatever it may be, it most likely does not want to be friends. Suddenly, he hears another phone ring out in the distance. A nasty hissing sound mixed with a snarl is followed by the thudding feet, which lead out of the lobby and down the hallway James had come from. A momentary sigh of relief escapes his lips. Then, he cautiously climbs out from beneath the desk and pokes his head up to discover the room is empty. He climbs back into his wheel chair and quietly makes his way to an elevator at the far end of the lobby. As he presses the UP button and waits, he formulates a quick but uncertain plan in his mind: since the main doors are boarded up, he will make his way to the roof and try to find a way down to the outside from there. There is a loud *DING* and the elevator doors begin to open before getting jammed with just a few inches of space between them. "Oh, come on," he says in an irritated tone of voice.
The sound of thudding feet approach again and James attempts to pry the doors open himself. "Come on you piece of shit!" The snarling fills the lobby as he spins around to see three people, dressed in hospital scrubs, racing towards him. Their faces and clothes are covered in blood. "Fuck that!" James gets up, despite his weakened legs, and makes a dash for the hallway leading into darkness. He searches for any possible escape route as the three individuals close in on him. With no other option, he ducks to the right and tries a random door: locked. "Fuck!" He spins around and waits for his inevitable fate as it approaches him.

Suddenly, everything goes pitch black. There are several bright flashes, each followed by a deafening gun shot, which illuminate the hallway for a split-second at a time. James can hear the sound of bodies hitting the floor, mixed with the sound of bullets whizzing through the air, as he keeps his back pinned against the wall in absolute confusion and fear. Then, everything goes silent. "Hello?" he calls out. A deep and commanding voice responds from somewhere in the darkness, "Stay where you are."

Chapter Four: The Infection

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Suddenly, the lights flick back on with the soft buzzing of electricity. Through squinted eyes, James gets a hazy look at the men who more than likely just saved his life. All of them stand at least 6 feet tall and look as though they weigh a good 200+ pounds. They are dressed in urban camouflage military fatigues and armor, including kevlar vests and full-face gas masks. Also, each man is armed with a very intimidating assault rifle.

One of them steps forward and aims his gun at James. "What is your name?" he asks. James hesitantly responds, "James Cash." Without skipping a beat, the man continues, "Have you been bitten?" A look of confusion plays across James' face, "What?" The man repeats himself in a firm tone of voice, "Have you been bitten?" James shakes his head and responds, "No, I haven't." The man flicks on a small LED flashlight, mounted to his gun, and shines it over James. "Are you sure?" James shields his eyes from the bright light and responds, "Yes. What the hell is going on here?" The man forcefully grabs him by the arm. "Everything will be explained later," he says as he pulls James away from the wall. "For now, we need to extract you to quarantine." Confused, James' mind races with a hundred different thoughts. "Quarantine?" Suddenly, he feels something crack him across the back of the head before his vision goes black. "Shut up."

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6 Hours Later

As he begins to slip back into consciousness, James makes a feeble attempt to open his eyes. His blurred vision allows him to faintly make out blotches of gray. A pounding headache thunders inside his brain. As he tries to move, James discovers that his hands and feet have been tied to the chair he is seated in. He calls out, "Hello?" His voice reverberates through the small room as he tries to wrestle free.

A few minutes pass by and his vision begins to clear. James finds himself in a small concrete room devoid of any pictures or markings. Sunshine pours through a rectangular window near the ceiling. There is a plain metal table in front of him. The air is stale and warm.

James tries to make some sense of the situation as his mind contemplates a variety of possibilities. He struggles to remember why he ended up in the hospital in the first place. However, his short-term memory still seems to be missing.
Looking over his left shoulder, James sees a heavily armored guard standing in the corner. "Where the hell am I?" he asks. The guard, standing perfectly still, almost as if he were a statue, gives no response. The silence in the room is heavy. Then, James switches his gaze over his right shoulder. He sees a giant mirrored window in the wall behind him. "What is this place?"

Suddenly, the heavy silence is broken as a door opens somewhere behind him and the sound of footsteps on the concrete floor lead around to his right side. James looks up to see an older man with short gray hair. He is dressed in light urban camouflage fatigues, much like those of the men James encountered in the hospital.
The man moves to stand in front of the table and tosses down a manila folder. Opening it, he silently scans through a few pieces of paper. James watches him intently. "What the hell is going on here?" No response. James continues, "Hello?" The man calmly looks up from the folder. "James Earl Cash," he says before reading from a specific piece of paper. "Admitted to the hospital on May twentieth." James interjects, "What was I admitted for?" Ignoring him, the man continues, "We ran some tests," he says as he shuffles through a stack of papers, "and it appears that you are not infected." A look of confusion plays across James' face, "Infected?" The man cracks a wicked smile, "You must have been out of it for awhile. It's a miracle you're even still alive, man." James leans forward and shifts his weight. "What are you talking about?" The man exits the room temporarily and returns with an old dusty television on a pushcart. He wheels the cart in front of James and presses a few buttons. The television flicks on and an old VHS tape begins to play. "This will explain everything," he says. Then, the man exits the room, closing the door behind him with a resounding boom. "This is bullshit," James mutters to himself as he watches the screen. There is an old news clip from the death of Osama.

"May 2nd, 2011. Al Qaeda leader Osama Bin Laden, responsible for the 9/11 attacks, was terminated in his private Pakistani compound after a ten year manhunt. Americans, home and abroad, rejoiced in this great victory for the United States. We salute those who courageously brought justice down upon this cold hearted snake."

The tape skips forward to the mugshot of an Al Qaeda member.

"...Abdul Fareed, an American-born Muslim extremist and leader of a small Al Qaeda faction quietly brewing in the New York suburbs. He has been on several FBI terrorist-watch lists recently as security tensions have risen. Rumors suggest he was responsible for several anti-American protests which resulted in violent outbreaks leading to two deaths."

A heavy sigh escapes his lips as James shifts his weight again. "What does any of this crap have to do with me?" The tape cuts to an old news clip from the virus outbreak at Mama Mia's Ristorante' in the financial district. The audio has been swapped with a narrator's voice.

"May 20, 2013. Eyewitness accounts place Abdul Fareed and three other possible Muslim extremists inside Mama Mia's coincidentally around the same time as the victims of this deadly virus. Police and military forces have set up a perimeter and quarantined the infected. Samples were taken to a CDC lab and run through multiple tests."

The screen displays a video of CDC agents in lab coats.

"Virologists were able to determine the substance to be a mixture between rabies, influenza and another virus, known as Toxoplasma Gondii, a deadly parasite hosted in felines."

An image of bloodthirsty zombies appears on the screen.

"This new virus has been rapidly turning American citizens into mindless, bloodthirsty freaks. Some obvious symptoms include dehydration, violent behavior and..."

Suddenly the television flicks off. "What the hell?" The sound of heavy combat boots and frantic voices pass by the room as distant gunshots echo out from somewhere else in the building. James remains tied to his chair, staring at the blank television screen, as a few words hang in the front of his mind, "virus....mindless, bloodthirsty freaks." His brain is racked with confusion as he absentmindedly listens to the commotion outside. "What the fuck is happening?"