don't answer the call
by eddiecullentozier
Journal Entry No.3:
The Callers have invaded. Or have they? No one can tell, because they look Just. Like. Us. The only way you'll know is when they put a gun to your head and end yet another life. Or, again, the person could just be a murderer and your number was up. Who knows? They call themselves 'The Callers' because they told us they were calling forth brave, strong people to join them. And if you didn't…well, the rising numbers of dead people on the streets are saying enough. I'm lucky enough to not be dead yet, but I am not risking it by jinxing myself. Storm Tyler, the last of her bloodline, will not go down without a fight. Thats what I tell myself every night, when the time to be alert comes around yet again. I've gotten very skilled in the art of staying awake. I mean, how could you sleep, anyway, with the possibility of not seeing sunlight tomorrow slaps you in the face? I didn't used to be so wary of the night. No, I was in love with it. But The Callers changed that. They stole my love for the cover of darkness and they stole my reason for loving it. They stole my family, the only thing that I wanted to stay the same if these…things… ever left. I'm currently writing by torchlight, which is a stupid idea, but I need something to do. I can see the sunrise…have to pack up and journey north where I've heard theres a camp for survivors. It will probably be nothing, or it's a trap, but I kinda miss the company of people. And also, its somewhere to move, so I can keep moving.
Write soon…unless I die,
Storm Lile Tyler.
Chapter One
I mindlessly pick up my bag, taking down the tent and packing it into the backpack. Then I wake my mind up and focus. Carefully, I place each item in strategic spaces so they'll all fit. It's routine now, to get up early, packing my stuff and disappearing like I was never there. Once I finish packing my campsite, I run to the nearest river and fill my water bottle to the top. I look into the clear water, staring at the reflection looking right back at me. Longish straight black hair, bright blue eyes, porcelain doll coloured skin, covered in mud and sticks, tallish for the 15 year old I am and quite skinny from the lack of a good meal. And the cursed freckles all over my face. Before The Callers came I was focused only on trying to hide them. I hated them, but know I can see why some people would desire them. I look away from myself, shaking my head slightly. Time can't be wasted about how I look. I quickly get changed, brushing my teeth and getting the sticks out of my hair. I pick up my backpack, putting it firmly on my back. Then I sling my M16 on my shoulder, which I stole from a shop when everything went down. I figured, the best way to go down fighting is to return fire. I start walking, treading as light as I can. While I walk is my best time to immerse myself in past memories, because it gives me motive to try and kill at least one of these monsters. And then I start getting mad at them and then I have to remind myself to be silent. The memory my head has decided to show me today is of my little sister and I playing outside in the sprinkler and she's laughing loudly and my mum is watching us with a smile on my face. As I'm fighting back the tears threatening to spill over my cheeks, I start getting enraged. How dare this lowlife scum came into my world and destroy it when it was finally starting to feel better? I scream into my sleeve of my hoodie, muffling the sound. I lean my head against a tree as I calm down. Getting angry doesn't bring them back, Storm. Nothing will. But you can feel like you haven't failed them if you kill just one…and stay alive I sigh softly as I put my backpack and gun back on my shoulders. I grit my teeth and continue forward. Every snap of a branch used to terrify me in the early stages of my loneliness. Now it's just background noise barely registering in the loud voice in my head. Or maybe its only loud because there is nothing else to hear. I can usually hear when someone, or something, is following me. Sometimes the occasional squirrel wanders over my feet which I shoot for extra food, something different from the canned foods I steal from shops I pass. While I was absorbed in my thoughts, I never registered the fact a knife was thrown at my head until it sticks into the tree right next to me. My eyes wide open, I'm immediately alert now. I turn around, pulling my gun to my side in a flash. My lips parted, I let out a slow exhale, looking for my attacker. I almost jump into the sky when a boy around my age approaches, cautiously. Good, he should be cautious. He raises his hands in surrender and I notice the triangular cut on his wrist. The survivors of the beginning of the invasion were given them, to show what side we were on so we weren't shot straight away. I have my own cut on my wrist. Somehow, that indifference made me relax a little. I decided to look at him, seeing if he posed any threat. He was tall, like me, but not muscled, just lanky. He looked very uncoordinated but I have learnt not to assume those things because that knife almost hit me. He had bright green eyes and tousled light brown hair, with very fair skin. My mind was brought back as he stepped forward. I raise my gun again, unaware I had even lowered it. He puts his knives away, showing he wasn't going to harm me. He comes over and I lower the gun. He holds his hand out and I could see he was shaking slightly. Cold? Maybe. Fear? Probably. I hesitantly drop my gun and shake his hand.
"Carey Whitel," He says quietly and it sends shivers down my back. His voice…is perfect. I mean, not that I was noticing. I smile slightly at him, clearing my throat.
"Storm Tyler," I reply and Carey smiles softly and drops his hand and I can't help but be a little disappointed. I shake that thought out of my head for the time being. He doesn't seem to want to hurt me…
"Are you headed towards the survivor camp?" He asks, interrupting my train of thought. I nod and he nods right back.
"So am I. I'm not expecting to find anything..it's probably a trap. But I've gotten skilled at running away from things. And fighting…" He sighs, then blushes, knowing he's babbling. "Sorry.." I shake my head, smiling. Why am I trusting him so quickly? There's something about him that you just have to trust, have to love…SHUT UP BRAIN!
"It's fine. I'm heading towards the camp..did you want to journey together?" My mind was screaming at me to BE QUIET RIGHT NOW, but I was ignoring it as I did most days. He smiled eagerly and I got a feeling he missed people as much as I did. I sling my gun around my shoulder again, although he seems trustworthy, I still kept it close if I had to be the first to fire. I pull my bag back on and turn to walk. He jogs to my side and I smile again, involuntarily. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad..the walk wouldn't be so lonely, with this Carey Whitel.