I started another story for you amazing people. This one is a Renner fiction (or at least an incarnation of him). It is based of an idea that myself and a friend played around with a while ago.
I don't own Doyle, or the man who played him (sob). I don't own 28 weeks later, or 28 days later which will be mentioned in here.
I do however own Cassandra.
2 days. 3 days. 8 days. 10 days. 15 days. 32 days. 65 days. 93 days. My life has become a never ending series of counting the days. Today is number one hundred and sixty-eight. Today they tell me I can stop counting. They sent an American soldier to tell us not to worry, that we were finally getting our home back. He told us we were getting a pub. Tomorrow is day one hundred and sixty-nine.
Day One: They said there were riots in Cambridge. It was one of those things you saw on the news, and felt upset about, but then you went to the store for grocery's like it was nothing. You went on with your life because it wasn't happening here, and it didn't really effect you.
Day Two: It affected me now. Cambridge was thirty hours away by foot, but in less then a day it reached Louth. The 'rioters' were in the streets, they had reached my town. We knew. Those who saw them knew. This was something different. There was something wrong with these people, something the news wasn't telling us. Something very wrong.
Day Three: 'It' was in my house. 'It' was now 'Sarah'. Sarah Ferguson, my friend since we were both school girls at Cordeaux. We lived together, sharing the bills. I was teaching her how to dance. I beat her head in with a blender.
The 448. That was our salvation now. People were fleeing their homes, trying to catch the bus to Kings Cross, only now every bus was going there, every car, and even every bicycle. People were running. We were running from our neighbors, people we grew up with and loved, because they were trying to eat us.
They were catching cars, these people. They swarmed over highways, right into traffic! Even when they were being run over they didn't stop! They just kept grabbing at cars and buses until the vehicles were so overwhelmed they crashed, or couldn't move. They ripped them apart like paper, the cars, and the people in them.
Day Eight: They gave it a name. Epidemic. They made it worse. People knew it was bad, they knew it was horrible even. But every one of us was holding on to this idea of hope. Maybe it was only bad where we were. The announcement from the Prime Minister that this was an epidemic, and that we were now under martial law ripped that from us. Now there were real riots.
London was supposed to be safe, it was supposed to be a sanctuary. Now it was just as bad is the places we left. It only got worse when we heard that the infection had overrun Kings Cross.
People were panicking. They had family out there, they would be coming, heading right into a mob of the infected and they wouldn't even know it.
Communication was falling apart. One by one cities could no longer be reached. They just went quiet. The local news wasn't broadcast, the radios only played static. It was the same with the phones, they would ring and ring forever, if they rang at all.
People were leaving the country, or trying. Heathrow Airport is one of the biggest airports in the world and it couldn't keep up. There were too many people trying to get out, and not enough planes to carry them. Every inch of the airport was filled with people. Were weren't just sleeping there anymore, we were living there. Every single person, just waiting and hoping that they got lucky and got a ticket.
Day Ten: They said the infected had breached the military barriers around the city. They were in London now. London was the city that was supposed to be safe. I stopped believing in that word when I heard that they had taken Paddington Station. This wasn't a riot or a disease to me anymore, we were in the middle of a war.
London was falling, but there was nothing sweet and childlike about it. It fell with screams, and with blood.
People were trying to escape any way they could. I was no exception, I didn't want to stay to watch London die, I didn't want to die with her. I left with five people I never met in my life. Rachel, Bob, Sally, Micheal, and a little boy named Thomas. They had room in their van. They were going to Liverpool, they said they heard there were still boats that would take us to Ireland.
Day Fifteen: We reached Liverpool, but the talk of a boat was wasn't true. The military was sinking those that tried to cross. They said even a plane had been shot down while trying to leave the country. It had been shot down by us! Our own military had fired on a plane full of civilians! They weren't letting us leave any more. Britain was now being quarantined.
Day Eighteen: Manchester was burning.
Day Thirty Two: The infected found us. They tore their way into our shelter. They killed everyone. I was alone.
Day Sixty Five: I killed a little boy, I gouged out his pretty green eyes.
Day Ninety Three: I met a man with a gun, he was in uniform. He was not alone. He told me I was 'safe'. I don't believe in safe.
Tomorrow is day one hundred and sixty-nine.
Okay, there is chapter one. I hope it was a good introduction, gives you an idea of what the character Cassandra is like.
Oh yeah! thanks to my beta (took forever to get one of those, no one wanted to help me), KevlarKitten, for her help.
Well, you know the drill from here. Please leave a review.