The City Pt. 01-02

Oct 11 2006 -

Prologue

The stench was horrible. It fought its way into her nostrils, and strangled her lungs. A sudden cough forced her eyes open, though it took her a moment to focus them. She coughed again, raising her hand to wipe a small amount of spittle from her lips. Another few ragged breaths, the smell of her surroundings causing the bile to rise in her throat. The room slowly came into focus, and the reason for the stench was obvious. A man, at least he used to be a man, lay disemboweled in the corner, maggots crawling over his grey and congealed flesh. Blood had been splashed upon the walls and had dried to a dull brown colour. It was everywhere. She had been slumped against one of these walls, the mass of gore piled to her left. She slid to her right, her mind refusing to register what her eyes were telling her.

"So, you're awake huh?"

Frightened, she turned in the direction of the voice. Another man sat far away from her, in a corner, with his knees to his chest. The room was poorly lit, a single bulb that flickered every now and then, but she could still make out some aspects of his appearance. His hair was short, but looked matted with dirt and grime. His fingernails were jagged and bleeding, and seemed to cause him constant pain. His eyes looked out at her, his left eye looked swollen and red.

"Who the fuck are you?" She tried to sound strong, but her voice came out as a cracked croak, barely above a whisper. Her throat hurt every time she swallowed, bringing tears to her eyes. She wiped them away with the sleeve of her shirt, smearing dirt upon her face.

"Does it really matter anymore?" He raised a hand, and gestured vaguely. The room seemed to loom around them, cold and unfeeling. A single door stood between them, but there was no handle. Scratch marks lined the door, but seemed to have made no progress.

A fly buzzed from the corpse and landed on her arm. She brushed it away, a sudden rush of foul air causing her to gag again.

"You get used to it... after a while." His voice had no life to it, as if he had already given up hope of ever tasting freedom again. He shifted slightly; wincing as blood slowly trickled from his fingertips. "This shit grows on you."

"How long have you been here? What the hell happened to him? Where are we? What the fuck is going on?" The questions poured out of her, her throat aching and her lips cracking. She licked them quickly, tasting the sharp coppery taste of fresh blood. She waited for a response from him, but he remained quiet, his eyes closed. She almost wondered if he had fallen asleep, but then he spoke slowly.

"I don't know how long I've been here... I woke up here same as you just did. Where here is... I have no clue. I hear things sometimes, noises and voices, but I can never make them out." He paused, drawing a ragged breath into his lungs. "And as for what happened to him..."

The door opened then, throwing painfully white light into the dingy room. Her eyes widened at the sight standing in the doorway, a scream beginning in the pit of her stomach.

"... That's what happened to him."

Welcome to the City.

John

The sun rose slowly over the city, beams of orange and yellow piercing the grey dullness of the metropolitan streets. What should have been a busy city centre was oddly quiet and looked as if it had been the recipient of a full payload of artillery. Debris and carnage littered the streets, small fires burning in pools of engine fluid. Old newspapers drifted on an early morning breeze, the headlines blurry and useless.

And then there were the bodies. Hundreds of them littered the city streets, in various states of decay and agony. The bodies were of men, women, children, and the elderly: the citizens of this city. Some were slumped in cars and trucks, decomposing skulls resting on dusty steering wheels. Others lay in the street, mixed with garbage and their own insides. Unseeing eyes opened wide to unspeakable horrors, silent mouths agape in the screams of the damned.

Footsteps.

Running shoes on pavement.

John ran hard and he ran fast. He stumbled once or twice, leaping bodies as if they were hurdles to be conquered. He resisted the urge to look back, but he already knew what was following him. He could almost feel its breath on his neck. He rounded another corner, clutching a package to his chest. Almost there, he told himself, almost there. His lungs began to burn with every breath he took, but he continued to push himself. To stop now, was unthinkable.

The footsteps behind John began to get louder and louder, and the ground beneath him began to shake. He swore loudly, tucked his head down and ran faster. He stumbled again, this time falling to his knees. He picked himself up quickly, glancing down quickly at his knees. Spots of dark blood began to seep through his blue jeans. He swore again, and hazarded a look at his pursuer as his feet carried him away.

"Oh fuck."

What he saw almost stopped him in his tracks, the unmistakable horror chasing him made his stomach clench and his mind reel. A few weeks ago if you'd asked him if such a creature could exist, John would have probably laughed in your face; but now he knew better. The things he had seen since he found himself here would make even the most pious man question the very fabric of his faith.

Hands grabbed him by the collar, just as a single claw dragged itself over his back. John let himself go limp and be dragged by his collar into the darkness. The sound of a door closing and being locked echoed in his ears. He breathed heavily, his eyes adjusting slowly to the sudden darkness of the refuge. He still clutched the package to his chest, resisting the hands trying to pull it away from him. He had risked his life for it, and he was not going to give it up so easily. He tried to calm his breathing down, his lungs screaming at him for what he'd done to them. Silence joined the darkness soon, frightened ears listening for a sign that they were safe.

"Is it gone?"

"Fuck that was close... you alright?"

"Yeah... I think it..."

"Shut the fuck up, we're not out of the woods yet!" All hoarse whispers, ears straining to listen for the tell tale signs of the outside world, but there was nothing to hear. They waited, slowly exhaled, white eyes darting back and forth.

Nothing.

They were safe, at least for the moment. They made their way towards their safe house, passing under a few dim light bulbs, the flickering light casting deceiving shadows and playing tricks with their minds. The sound of different locks clicking echoed around them, then light. They entered into a room, with expectant faces greeting them as they arrived. John finally allowed the package to be taken from him, and slumped down in a damaged recliner. He rubbed his hands over his face, smearing sweat and dirt away. It touched me, he thought to himself, it touched me. He curled into a ball on the chair, closing his eyes, irrational visions soon swarming behind his closed eyelids.

Images of creatures crawling towards him, claws dragging chunks of plaster and wood away with every step they took. Row upon row of razor sharp teeth bearing down on him, their hot breath just touching upon his face. And then laughter. Always the laughter.

He awoke a few hours later, his shoulder stiff and painful when he moved it. He sat up slowly, rubbing absentmindedly his sore shoulder. The others were asleep as well, though a few were awake and talking in hushed voices. He stood, making his way quietly over to a stockpile of food and water and other essentials. He grabbed a small bottle of dirty water and took a long pull. It tasted horrible, gritty and stale. But it was water. The package he had rescued sat amongst the pile, its lid opened and the contents removed. He knew they would do some good, but would they do enough? He walked back to the chair and fell asleep again, his dreams peaceful, calm and misleading.

Hushed, animated voices.

John did not get to sleep long, his dreams of a cottage in the country rudely interrupted by a weak hand shaking his shoulder. He opened one eye, told the person to fuck off, and closed it again. The hand persisted and he finally opened both eyes.

"What?" He sat up slowly, running a hand quickly through his hair. A group of people stood around him, his rescued package held by one of them.

"We need you to go back. There wasn't enough for everyone. One more trip, John, that's all we ask." Heads nodded in agreement. John rested his arms on his knees, considering what they were asking him. He didn't want to go back out there, the sensation of the abomination's touch too fresh in his mind. Even now it caused a shiver to run down his spine. But he had to. He was the only really able-bodied man here. Everyone else was either sick or old or wounded. They needed these supplies.

"Alright. I'll do it, but give me an half an hour." Sundown was in three hours. He would have plenty of time to get back here before the final rays of sunlight subsided from the city. Things only got worse here at night. Much worse.

Half an hour later he stood in front of the door to the outside, listening carefully. He turned to the others around him, dirty faces and white eyes staring back at him. He took a deep breath, hating this part. The uncertainty of what lay beyond this heavy door and what waited out on the city streets. He knew the creatures were out there, knew they were waiting for someone to slip up. They were smart these things, they learned very quickly. John couldn't imagine a reason for their existence, why someone would choose to create such beings. The thousands upon thousands of people killed here, fed to these... John didn't even know what to call them.

"One last time John."

"I know. Remember to close the door as soon as I leave."

"We know. Same as every time before. It'll be alright." John silently prayed the man was right. He realized he couldn't even remember the man's name. Did it really matter anymore? John shouldered a dusty black backpack, swallowing hard.

The sequence of locks clicked, and the door was hauled open. John took off running, head down, breathing regular. He didn't look back, just kept his mind on where he was going. The way to the hospital was tricky, but he knew it like the back of his hand. He just hoped this really was the last time.

The door began to close, but something held it. One of the men pulled at it, trying to slam it home. But it refused to budge. Puzzled, they began to inspect the mechanisms, and never saw the creatures making their way down the building towards them. They crawled slowly with the patience of skilled hunters, blood stained lips curling back to reveal gleaming yellow teeth. They had waited, and now they would reap the benefits.

One man looked up, alerted by a small stone landing on his shoulder and saw them. But it was too late. His scream was cut short in a flurry of claws and teeth and putrid flesh. It was quick and it was bloody. They were no longer safe.

John reached the hospital twenty minutes later, skidding to a stop in front of one of its many access doors. He figured ambulances used to use these to bring in extremely urgent patients straight to the doctors. Now he used it to steal medicine. He took a moment to catch his breath, the adrenaline pumping through his veins urging him to keep going. He obeyed.

The hospital was quiet, as it always was. The bloodstains here were old and cracking, leaving coppery brown flecks on his shoes as he ran over them. The gore here was some of the worst in the city, and John always figured that everything started here. There were hardly any bodies; any whole ones that is. Random limbs and chunks of flesh were strewn about the building. But no trace of the creatures. They had moved on to greener pastures, he supposed. His heartbeat pumping in his ears, he made his way to the medical storage facilities. It was upstairs, up three flights of stairs. He would have taken the elevators, but one of them wouldn't open and the other was broken. The doors would open to reveal darkness and loose cables. John took the stairs.

He sat down at the top of the third flight of stairs, rubbing his hands together slowly. Even though it was cold and damp in the hospital, small beads of sweat had trickled down from his forehead and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He stood up, and started to make his way towards the storage room. He stopped suddenly, freezing in place. What the hell was that, he whispered softly to himself. He waited to hear it again, but didn't. Fear began to slowly creep through his system, telling his mind to run and run now! But he didn't. He waited. He stood there, muscles twitching with adrenaline, his heart thudding in his chest.

Then he ran. The hallway towards the storage room was long, and seemed twice as long now. He could hear the creature making its way up the stairs now, heavy footsteps and deep gasps of foul breath. He looked over his shoulder, seeing it loom at the top of the stairs. It spotted him, and took off in pursuit. John swore, dodging a stray bed that had rolled out of one of the rooms. He pushed it aside, cursing as the scabs on his knees broke and fresh blood dotted his jeans. He reached the storage room door and pulled it open, closing it quickly behind him as he slid into the room. He pressed his back hard up against the door, bracing himself for the subsequent impact.

The creature hit the door full on, nearly knocking John to his knees. But the sturdy metal door held. The creature slammed its shoulder into the door again, and again the door held. The creature's howl of frustration cut straight to John's soul, so inhuman was the noise. He'd heard the noise before, dozens of times, but it still made him shiver with terror. The door wouldn't hold for long, not with the amount of force the creature was putting into its attacks. John scanned the room quickly, pushing himself away from the door. Slinging the backpack from his back, he began to hurriedly fill it with medicines from all the cabinets. He recognized the names and knew this was exactly what they needed back at the safe house.

Another slam against the door caused John to turn from his thievery. The lock was beginning to give, the first creaks of breaking metal. The backpack full now, John needed an exit. He found one in the form of a ventilation shaft in the ceiling. Pushing a desk underneath it, he pushed away the grating. He quickly pulled himself into the vent, kicking the desk away as he slid up inside. He slid the grate back into place as the door burst open. It slammed against the far wall, shattering a number of cabinets in its wake. Broken glass covered the floor now. The creature stalked into the room, barely fitting through the door. The doorframe cracked and gave way, jagged pieces of wood lodging themselves in the creature's dark skin. It seemed not to notice, as its soulless eyes took in the room.

John held his hand over his nose and mouth, trying to remain as still as possible. He dared not look down through the grating for fear of being spotted. Maybe it would go away, he thought, maybe it would just fuck off and leave him alone. Maybe. The footsteps below him stomped ever closer to him, broken glass crunching beneath the creature's twisted feet. John's heart beat faster and faster in his ears, and he twitched with fear. As irrational as it was, John found himself praying that this was not the end. Over and over he tossed the words through his mind, his eyes closed tightly.

Silence.

John forced his eyes open; a fine sheen of sweat covered his face. Again he waited, straining his ears for any sound that the creature still prowled the room beneath him. But all he could hear was the furious heartbeat thumping in his ears. He inched slowly towards the ventilation grate, clenching his teeth together to keep from letting his heavy breaths sound too loudly in the small shaft. The room below slowly came into view between the metal slats. Nothing. Crushed hypodermic needles and medicine bottles were strewn over the floor, but there was no sign of John's pursuer. He breathed a slow sigh of relief, letting the air escape slowly through his teeth.

The ventilation shaft around John suddenly buckled, twisted and then was ripped from the ceiling. John held on for dear life as the hunk of metal was thrown against the floor. He let out a hiss of pain, twisting slightly to see a jagged chunk of metal digging into his side. Bright blood began to dampen his t-shirt around the wound. He crawled from the vent, dragging himself forward with his elbows. He winced in pain, small shards of glass clinging to his skin. He rolled over, and came face to face with his attacker. Tears stung John's eyes, and blood poured from his side. The creature had to be eight feet tall, but John couldn't really tell. It leaned down towards him, resting itself on one very large arm as the other arm reached towards him. It grasped his neck roughly, and its skin was oily and warm against John's own. It continued to lean towards him, stopping only when its face was inches away from John's. Where the creature's eyes should have been, only dark soulless sockets remained. Its lips curled back, pulling its twisted face into a sadistic grin.

Its grip tightened around John's neck, forcing the air from his lungs in one last gasp. It pulled John up awkwardly, leaving only his feet touching the ground. Its mouth opened slowly, rows of sharp teeth sliding forward from its gums. Suddenly, its gripped relaxed and John fell back to the ground. The creature let loose a terrific howl of anguish as a rather large hypodermic needle stuck out of its left eye socket. John scrambled to his feet, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He slammed against the doorframe, clutching at his side. It hurt like hell, and blood continued to pulse from it. He forced himself to ignore the pain for now, jogging down the hallway towards the stairs. He stumbled, glancing back every few steps. The creature was still thrashing around in the room, with a heavy dose of whatever had been in the needle coursing through its skull. John spat a goblet of blood on the ground, and made his way down the stairs.

The return to the safe house was frantic and numerous times John had to stop to catch his breath. He had lost a considerable amount of blood now, but fortunately, the wound had stopped pulsing. He kept one hand on it, constant pressure and all that. He knew the blood would attract more creatures, but, selfishly, he hoped they were busy feasting on someone else. His vision blurred in and out every now and then, causing him to stumble and fall over the debris, which littered the streets. He kept the backpack slung on his shoulder, protecting it from hitting the ground at all costs. It was more important than him right now.

When he saw the safe house door wide open, his heart sank. It leapt into his throat at the sight of the bodies littered around. Fresh blood stained the sidewalk around the door, and the walls surrounding the door were spotted with large patches of gore. John crept closer and closer to the door, every step causing his wound to flash with pain, his eyes blurring over again. He stood at the entrance, leaning against the doorframe. The gore only got worse as the tunnel continued. The tortured sounds of human screams were mixed with the inhuman gnashing of teeth chewing and tearing flesh echoed up the long tunnel towards him. One particularly loud and feminine scream was cut short with a gargle and the sound of feasting continued.

John staggered away from the doorway, his shoes slick with freshly spilt blood. It was all for nothing. He clutched at his side, the adrenaline draining from his body. He felt tired suddenly, exhausted and depressed. He couldn't help feeling he had let them down. If he had grabbed more medicine one of the other times, he wouldn't have had to go this final time. Running a bloody hand through his hair, he resigned himself to move on. He had to find somewhere safe to hide for a while. He knew he wouldn't last long out here, not with the amount of blood on him, and not with the sun already beginning to set.