Before all this started, Remy had been a rookie cop with The LAPD, West Bureau, Pacific Division. He had only ever been on a serious case two times that involved shooting his gun. Around him, the forest was deadly silent, save for a few whistling birds that were up high in the treetops. He walked through them, looking for the town he knew was nearby.
What he had just stumbled upon reminded him of a gruesome movie; something he would never imagine seeing for real, even in his line of work. On the forest floor, lay three rotted bodies of adults and two children, a boy and a girl. The man had obviously been turned somehow. His face was distorted, nose smashed in, one ear missing and long trails of blood going down his cheeks.
On closer inspection, he realized those blood trails were deep claw marks. Had the man done it to himself or had one of his companions done it while fighting for their life? The man looked like he was in his 40s. He had a fit body, seen through the tattered and bloody clothes he wore. His skin had the sickly pale, almost green/yellow look some of the creatures took on. The bulging of his eyes would have made a man with a weak stomach puke in the bushes. Both were popped out, hanging by only a thin strand of tissue. One was half deflated, blood and ooze dripping from it.
The world has changed..
When he saw the news on the television, he hadn't believed it at first. That had been a month or so ago and somehow he was still alive. He no longer considered himself a rookie, though. He was just a freelance guy, trying to make it in a world gone mad. The blood and grime on the corpse's face almost matched the amount that clung to the cop's face.
Subconsciously, he started to pick at the blood on his skin, being reminded of how he needed to wash soon or he would attract unwanted attention.
Looking at the next body, he sighed. It was a lady. She did not look like she had turned. She was young, not much older than him. Her red hair laid around her head almost like a halo. She was nearly in perfect condition. He bent down on his knees and looked closer. What had killed her? This was when he realized she was not a redhead at all. The red he had mistaken for her hair was her blonde locks soaked through with blood. He gently nudged her to the side and sure enough she had a bullet wound in the back of her skull. The whole back of her head was completely gone, leaving a gaping hole that her mass of blood soaked curls hid.
Remy stood, checking to make sure he was still alone. The blood alone would be sure to bring danger to him soon. Confident that he was safe, he looked at the last adult. It was an aging man. He was the only body who held a gun. From the angle of his body and the way he was holding the gun, not to mention the fact that this man was missing most of his face, he had committed suicide.
After shooting his turned son, the lady who hadn't been infected and--
He looked at the children. His face fell. The girl had turned. Her eyes were wide open and black as midnight, one of the sure signs of the undead creatures. Some had blood red eyes, some had midnight black eyes. Other than her eyes, everything else on her looked normal. She had been freshly turned before the grandfather shot her down. Her skin only had a slight blueish hue to it. Blood still trickled from her gunshot wound in her forehead.
This happened recently.
He wondered if he had been quicker, would he have been able to make it in time to save this family before their infected companion turned on them. He would never know, but it would always lay heavy on his heart.
The boy was the same as the lady. Untouched, except for the gunshot to his chest. He had bled out. He could see it all in his head now. As a last resort, the grandfather felt their only escape plan would be to put a bullet in each of them. It was sad, but it happened a lot.
He crouched down next to the smallest. The little girl looked 4 or 5 years old. Placing a palm on her forehead, he closed his eyes for a short moment. He couldn't cry for her, though he wanted to. He feared if he cried, he would never be able to stop and that was no way for a cop of the pacific division to act.
"I'm sorry little one. I hope your soul can finally be free."
The infection was spreading over the nation. In the beginning when there was still media coverage, they called it a virus. Nobody knew the cause of it or who was responsible. It did the unthinkable. When someone was infected, they would die, usually in a horrible, painful way. The biggest problem was that they did not stay dead. Nobody was safe from the inevitable. The world was dying, and they would too, eventually.
Those left uninfected tried to run, hide or fight back. Officer Jeremy was a fighter.
Alone in the world, the blue-eyed man had no idea how his story would end. He wanted to believe that the calamity would stop, and the survivors could be able to move on to a virus free world.
But, so far, there had been no pots of gold at the end of any rainbows.
After leaving that scene, knowing full well that he would be in for a fight soon if he lingered, Remy ran, crouched into a low pose, with his shotgun at the ready. He didn't see any signs of the undead. He mentally crossed his fingers, hoping he could make it to the town marked on his map. He stopped running after a few yards and no sign of life or the undead. Looking around at the tall, dark imposing trees, their canopies shielding him from all light, Remy sighed.
Leaning his shotgun next to him, he pulled his map out of his pocket and fought the urge to roll his eyes. He felt like a sorry excuse for a cop. He couldn't even read a map properly. Where was this damn town? He squinted at the squiggly lines, though it was useless.
He needed to make it to this town soon. His supplies were dangerously low and he could use with a change of clothes, hopefully something that would help protect his body more than the pair of torn blue jeans he wore and ripped tee-shirt. It had once been white. Now it was red and brown from dried up blood and guts.
What he had just stumbled upon reminded him of a gruesome movie; something he would never imagine seeing for real, even in his line of work. On the forest floor, lay three rotted bodies of adults and two children, a boy and a girl. The man had obviously been turned somehow. His face was distorted, nose smashed in, one ear missing and long trails of blood going down his cheeks.
On closer inspection, he realized those blood trails were deep claw marks. Had the man done it to himself or had one of his companions done it while fighting for their life? The man looked like he was in his 40s. He had a fit body, seen through the tattered and bloody clothes he wore. His skin had the sickly pale, almost green/yellow look some of the creatures took on. The bulging of his eyes would have made a man with a weak stomach puke in the bushes. Both were popped out, hanging by only a thin strand of tissue. One was half deflated, blood and ooze dripping from it.
The world has changed..
When he saw the news on the television, he hadn't believed it at first. That had been a month or so ago and somehow he was still alive. He no longer considered himself a rookie, though. He was just a freelance guy, trying to make it in a world gone mad. The blood and grime on the corpse's face almost matched the amount that clung to the cop's face.
Subconsciously, he started to pick at the blood on his skin, being reminded of how he needed to wash soon or he would attract unwanted attention.
Looking at the next body, he sighed. It was a lady. She did not look like she had turned. She was young, not much older than him. Her red hair laid around her head almost like a halo. She was nearly in perfect condition. He bent down on his knees and looked closer. What had killed her? This was when he realized she was not a redhead at all. The red he had mistaken for her hair was her blonde locks soaked through with blood. He gently nudged her to the side and sure enough she had a bullet wound in the back of her skull. The whole back of her head was completely gone, leaving a gaping hole that her mass of blood soaked curls hid.
Remy stood, checking to make sure he was still alone. The blood alone would be sure to bring danger to him soon. Confident that he was safe, he looked at the last adult. It was an aging man. He was the only body who held a gun. From the angle of his body and the way he was holding the gun, not to mention the fact that this man was missing most of his face, he had committed suicide.
After shooting his turned son, the lady who hadn't been infected and--
He looked at the children. His face fell. The girl had turned. Her eyes were wide open and black as midnight, one of the sure signs of the undead creatures. Some had blood red eyes, some had midnight black eyes. Other than her eyes, everything else on her looked normal. She had been freshly turned before the grandfather shot her down. Her skin only had a slight blueish hue to it. Blood still trickled from her gunshot wound in her forehead.
This happened recently.
He wondered if he had been quicker, would he have been able to make it in time to save this family before their infected companion turned on them. He would never know, but it would always lay heavy on his heart.
The boy was the same as the lady. Untouched, except for the gunshot to his chest. He had bled out. He could see it all in his head now. As a last resort, the grandfather felt their only escape plan would be to put a bullet in each of them. It was sad, but it happened a lot.
He crouched down next to the smallest. The little girl looked 4 or 5 years old. Placing a palm on her forehead, he closed his eyes for a short moment. He couldn't cry for her, though he wanted to. He feared if he cried, he would never be able to stop and that was no way for a cop of the pacific division to act.
"I'm sorry little one. I hope your soul can finally be free."
The infection was spreading over the nation. In the beginning when there was still media coverage, they called it a virus. Nobody knew the cause of it or who was responsible. It did the unthinkable. When someone was infected, they would die, usually in a horrible, painful way. The biggest problem was that they did not stay dead. Nobody was safe from the inevitable. The world was dying, and they would too, eventually.
Those left uninfected tried to run, hide or fight back. Officer Jeremy was a fighter.
Alone in the world, the blue-eyed man had no idea how his story would end. He wanted to believe that the calamity would stop, and the survivors could be able to move on to a virus free world.
But, so far, there had been no pots of gold at the end of any rainbows.
After leaving that scene, knowing full well that he would be in for a fight soon if he lingered, Remy ran, crouched into a low pose, with his shotgun at the ready. He didn't see any signs of the undead. He mentally crossed his fingers, hoping he could make it to the town marked on his map. He stopped running after a few yards and no sign of life or the undead. Looking around at the tall, dark imposing trees, their canopies shielding him from all light, Remy sighed.
Leaning his shotgun next to him, he pulled his map out of his pocket and fought the urge to roll his eyes. He felt like a sorry excuse for a cop. He couldn't even read a map properly. Where was this damn town? He squinted at the squiggly lines, though it was useless.
He needed to make it to this town soon. His supplies were dangerously low and he could use with a change of clothes, hopefully something that would help protect his body more than the pair of torn blue jeans he wore and ripped tee-shirt. It had once been white. Now it was red and brown from dried up blood and guts.
