February 10th, 2110
Monday 6:33 a.m
The cold winter air bit through Abigail's protective clothing as if she were standing naked before it. The season hadn't quite turned over to spring yet, and though she was looking forward to a warm, sunny afternoon, she had resigned herself to the frosty bite in the air. Abby had always wanted to see Washington, a dream that had nestled itself inside her long ago. Though, in particular, she had hoped it would have been under different circumstances. Given the state of the world, she didn't see much holding her back. That particular thought brought up vivid memories that made her cringe as they struck a deep cord in her heart, one that resounded throughout her body in a sorrow so deep she felt she would break. As if on cue, the wind picked up at that moment rising from a quiet whisper into an eerie howl of longing. One she felt in her bones, a longing that threatened to destroy her. She was no stranger to this feeling, in fact, she and it were acquainted long ago. She set her mouth in a grim line of determination, shrugged her thick, fuzzy black jacket hemmed with man made fur around the collar and looked up across the shore before her.
A wave rolled in gently, crashing across the pale sand as she watched a team of people unload the
S.S. Pierra, the yacht sized sailboat she had come in upon. She had caught a ride down in northern California two days ago and sailed up the coast with them, slowly taking in the world around them as it turned over new chapters of chaos and terror. Worst of all was the uncertainty. The uncertainty of not knowing if that woman pushing a stroller along a pier survived after throwing herself, and the stroller, into the frigid waves breaking upon a standing of rocks beneath the pier. Not knowing if the squadron of transport helicopters heading into a coastal town was there for aid, or to purge. Or even the fate of a ghostly cruise liner, soaring over them quietly and giving off an ominous feeling. Not a soul a stirred inside. Nobody had leaned over the railing to pass along news. No sounds of engines, no yelling. They stood, lined up along the highest deck of the boat in a line, watching the ghost ship slowly drift past them, so close Abigail felt she could reach out and touch it. They had watched it, for a time, until it slowly disappeared into a haze of fog rolling off the sea in the early morning hours. Nobody knew how bad it was, but since the ghost ship, Abby had no doubts in her mind. This was how humanity died, this was the final chapter in a book of mistakes.
One of the men let out an unnerving yell, shattering the thoughts Abby was lost in. She turned and saw him lying on the ground, a burly man with short and curly black hair. A long wooden box stamped with
United States Navy was lying on his leg. She winced in sympathy as the ant hive of workers frenzied to help him. She pursued her lips, debating what to do. It wasn't like she exactly hated other people, and she had even managed to enjoy a few conversations with her impromptu companions. Before she could make up her mind, the box was set aside and the man was limping away, assisted by two other rather large fellows. Still, that didn't keep her from walking over.
"Ahoy babe," A man yelled out upon seeing her approach. Gregard Alstein, a wide shouldered lithe man of nothing but box hoisting muscle coupled with a thick German accent, though he considered himself "All-American". He ruffled his dirty blonde curls, hopping from the deck and landing in the sand with a dusty thud.
"You flirting with the men again?" She said sarcastically, quirking an only half amused eyebrow at him.
He let out a hearty chuckle and winkled at her, "Free love baby, free love."
"Everything has a price, and you couldn't afford mine," She retorted, feeling her mood loosen up just a bit. A
tiny bit. Gregard was one of the more tolerable people, though he was a walking flirt with the body of an Olympian.
He threw his hands up in mock surrender, "C'mon babe, last chance to ruffle the sheets with a man of my
stature." The last bit came out with a seductive drawl and a handful of eyebrow waggles. Though he was technically correct, he and the
S.S Pierra would be sailing back down south to see if he could help anybody out of the red zones. California was especially bad, the military pressure there was trying to hold on and apparently had an Acme warehouse of explosives.
"I'm afraid I must decline, I am not worthy oh majestic Poseidon of the Seas," Her voice was thick with sarcasm, and only slightly masking how appalling she thought the idea was. For a man who sailed the oceans, he smelled like he hadn't showered in weeks. It had been a few days herself, but for humanity's sake a breath mint would definitely help him out. She laughed at the thought, as if a breath mint was the answer to humanity's current problems. His face changed immediately into a look of concern and he started walking towards her, one hand up as if to hold her steady and keep her sanity from escaping her. She turned away, taking a half step back and he stopped in his tracks.
He didn't miss a beat, "You sure know how to flatter a man m'lady," He beamed a sly smile at her and shot her another wink.
A woman from Latin decent snaked around from behind Gregard, holding a large black hiking pack, "This yours?"
Abby nodded, and a moment later her shoulders were laden with the weight of it. "Oi vey, did Greggie ever say thank you?" The woman asked, shooting him a look so venomous Gregard actually lost his composure.
"Hey hey hey! Man's got a pilot a ship, I forget things sometimes," He explained, his hands up this time in surrender, "But thank you love,
however can I repay you?" He didn't miss a beat.
"Thought that was to pay my way up here, consider the debt settled
Greggie," She chuckled at the pet name. The latin woman was Serena, one of his lovers who stuck around to sail with him.
"I mean,-" He started, but a solid thwack on his shoulder from Serena made him pause. She had a knack for getting under his skin and breaking his obnoxious flirtations.
"Give the woman a break, it's going to be a long day for her and you don't need to hold her up with your incessant dawdling."
Gregard smiled sheepishly, giving Abby a "What-can-you-do" shrug. "Thanks for everything, both of you," Abigail said. She wouldn't forget the hell they pulled her out of in California, and it wasn't a debt she felt she had properly repaid, but a few tune ups on the
S.S Pierra had about all she could afford to give. She shook Gregard's hand, and gave Serena a hug: She was a hugger but Abby was more reserved, still, it was the least she could do to bite her own tongue and give the woman a simple comfort.
A handful a moments later, and a few more goodbyes to the people she didn't dislike so much, and she was headed off towards the sprawling city densely packed with buildings. She was on the Seattle side of the bay, for a practical reason that had pretty much been a general consensus among the passengers who were now heading off in every direction; There were more places to hide. A residential area like Port Orchard or Bremerton had more homes and parks, meaning the ghouls that actually wandered, or god forbid a pack of stalkers, would have a higher chance of finding the survivors. One of the main things done back on the boat as the sailed up the coastline was a lot of information swapping. Abigail had come across a handful of strange things; A building overrun with vines and odd flowers that turned and followed her as she walked past, A bird with an extra set of wings layered upon those already normally there, and a ghoul sporting the body twice the size of a professional football player watching her from the darkened window of a house.
She had heard at least a hundred stories, and all of them were filled with fear and loss. One man in particular had shared the story of Stalkers, as they sat huddled around a portable, electric stove and a fresh pot of coffee so dark it might have been made with swamp water.
"They creep along all fours.." he had started, his hands weaving a picture in their heads as he spoke,
"..along the walls and the ceiling, like spiders. But they're smart, way smarter than the others, they hunt you, they smell your fear and they find you. Sometimes in packs, sometimes alone, but even one is enough to kill you and all your friends. They waited, two of them, until we bedded down for t'eh night. I barely got out alive as they busied themselves feasting on my friends." The mood had become quite somber after that, causing Abigail to leave the conversation and stand against the railing, staring at the dark waters of the ocean in the night.
The beach quickly gave way to a set of concrete steps, leading up to a wooden walk partially suspended over the slope of the earth down to the shore. The throaty caw of a seagull sounded overhead as Abby crested the stairs up to the edge of the city. "Sup Steven," she murmured, looking around her. Before her was a small roundabout for cars, a bus shop, lots of piers connected to the walk, and a handful of small shops; restaurants, storefronts, and a library. She focused on the library for a second, feeling a wave of dread washing over her spine. Some part of her really wanted to loot it for a couple of good books to pass the time and take her mind away from the harsh realities of each and everyday that the past eleven days had been. The other part of her was quite suspicious about the smashed in, automatic sliding doors, and the large swathe of blood coating the entrance like a red carpet ushering her to her death. She felt she could almost see them moving inside, every dark patch of shadow could be one of them, every overturned chair or desk. She walked past slowly, even though she knew they never ventured out into sunlight, some part of her was fearful and that fear wove its icy tendrils tightly around her heart.
It wasn't until she was a block away that she started to relax, somewhat. Most of the storefronts and places here looked rather well off, some signs of human destruction and looting here and there but for the most part she didn't feel such unease about this area. Even better than that, the sun was just cresting the mountains and there was enough light cast down from the gloomy gray sky to light up the shops on one side of the street enough for her to look into. Most ghouls stuck to their herd, it wasn't very often you found fewer than a handful of them, at least as far as she was concerned. Then again, she had done her best to avoid them entirely. She walked slowly, losing herself to observing each and every window she walked past carefully, closely examining the area within. For a moment she felt the stirrings of a song rising up within her, and it wasn't until a moment later she caught herself humming a tune, but the moment passed as she found herself outside of a particularly eye-catching shop.
"St. Vincent De Paul"It was a clothing store with one large, intact window, and a single door with a little bell on it. It was a wide, squat building white washed to perfection and lit enough inside that she felt rather good about going in. It would be good to get warmer clothes than a slightly furry jacket and a pair of ripped jeans. Still, she had watched enough "Walking Dead" to be smarter than that. She walked over to the door and opened it slightly, before giving it a serious of shakes that set the small bell off like a rambunctious Disney character. After amount a minute of or so of that, and nothing stirring inside, she felt it was time for a change in apparel.
The shop looked pretty similar from the outside, as it did inside. It was wide, and squat with no extra walls, and walls painted a fluorescent white. Rows of racks full of donated clothing ringed the center counter area, and a handful of dressing rooms lined one wall. She walked around cautiously, checking the corners and darker spaces with one hand resting on the sawed off slung over her shoulder. It seemed clear enough, though the pale gray light filtering in through the windows still gave the place a creepy air about it, she was worried about weather exposure. Not that she didn't enjoy browsing clothes as much as the next gal, she understood that in this new world, as cold could be as deadly as a bite.
It was about two hours later when she finally decided on an outfit. Something practical, but still cute, and she had even managed to have a little fun browsing the clothes. She gave a small twirl in front of a standing mirror, sending the cowl of her hoodie flopping backwards. The inside of this new covering was lined with a sheep mimicking cotton that was super warm and cozy. She angled herself to look at her side, and couldn't help but be a little girly and look at her butt; a pair of jeans faded blue jeans with only a few styled tears in the knees, and a small amount of black peeking through from the sweat pants she had layered underneath. Satisfied, she bent to finish buckling up her shoes, trading the ratty, worn sneakers with rubber bottoms that seemed partially melted for shin high combat boots with four aesthetic buckles on each that fit snugly over her white wool socks. They seemed like something straight from somebody's goth days in high school. As she turned to leave to looked over the area with scarves and hats once more, and decided to add a gray beanie and leather biker gloves.
She was feeling pretty toasty in the abandoned building as she turned to leave, before she eyed what seemed to be a door leading to another room in the clothing store, marked
"Employees Only". Some parts of her hadn't died, and she wondered what never got put out onto the shelves. Better yet, there was the chance that somebody had left a lunch containing a non-perishable item, or some water. Finding even a single can of food had been a huge win in her book since this began.
It wasn't worth it.
She let out a slight pout as she turned to go back towards the street. She wasn't going to risk her life for the temptation of a can of Pork 'N Beans, or a prettier beanie, and chance running into a swarm of ghouls. They weren't noisy to begin with, unless chasing you, and she would never know if there was a pack of them back there or not. The bell chimed as she found herself back on the street, the sun was a little higher and the shrill cry of the wind heralded the approach of a coming storm. The thick, dark gray clouds rolled over themselves as they made way for the city at a steady pace. Abigail was no weather expert, but without a tent and bedroll, she would have to find somewhere by tonight, maybe earlier, or risk dying out in the cold. Wet, and alone: Yea, that was exactly how she wanted to go. As if reading her thoughts, somewhere off in the distance a gunshot cracked, followed by a chorus of screams and panicked shouts.
She turned the opposite direction, and continued on.
9:17 a.m
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