The Outbreak
Chapter 1: Prologue
A/N : Hey there people! So this is my very first attempt at writing a multi chapter story! It may have a few spell check errors and I apologize in advance, only I don't have a beta to help out with that at the moment. Btw that is totally an invitation to any beta's that decide to read this :D So anyways, this first chapter is just the prologue, and a tester, to whether or not you would like me to continue the story, I have two chapters written out and am currently working on the third, but i thought I'd post this first chapter, to give you guys a feel of it, and to see if you actually want me to continue, So yeah if you wanna read more, just say so and I'll continue. I plan to wait maybe a month after this release before I post the next chapter, just so I have a few in my back pocket, but from then on I'll be posting weekly :) Thanks!
Outskirts of Washington DC, October 26th 2017 04:23 am
The early morning was dressed in a tranquil silence. The only audible sound coming from the drizzle of rain as it struck the glistening streets below. A thick fog glazed the unlit roads of Washington, blanketing the city in its mist. The air was bitter, stained with the faint smell of decomp lingering heavily through the streets. The streets were completely abandoned if not for the smattering of empty cans littering the vacant roads.
The wind of the early morning was fierce, blustering throughout the city, rattling the withering trees with a force so great it thretened to pull the roots right out of the ground.
The only source of movement coming from an old deserted gas station on the outskirts of town, hidden by its lack of luminescence. The only radiance coming from the subtle glow of the still presant moon, giving off limited visual of the surroundings.
Barely noticable silhouettes drift in and out of the murky shadows. Lurking, with no destination in mind. Stumbling and moaning quietly, like that of a drunk pedestrian. The few silhouettes loiter around the peremeter of the gas station, staking claim to its residence.
Another, more active figure was hidden behind an old pinewood fence, the aged wood peeling off in the dampness of the weather. The fence was hidden by a decaying row of un-trimmed hedges, Keeping it out of veiw from any passer-byers.
The months following the outbreak had diminished any major source of hierarchy, leaving most countries unsystematic and brittle against any onslaught of attack from makeshift congregations seeking higher power against the remaining survivors. Some even known to have accomplished in creating known and expedient hierarchy throughout the now wasteland.
Though most acomplished and favourable towards the locals is the group that call themselves 'The Sovereign'. True survivors, most ex military, trained for war and ready for battle. No one's completely sure how they came about, but now they're known across the wastes for the strength of they're sructures and capabilty.
Though some just as known but less favoured also roam the wastes with the intent to rule, such as The Riders. A bunch of misfits and criminals who's main goal is to purloin anything not nailed to the ground, not as dangerous as some, but still worthy of a watchful eye. Then there's groups much more threatening and hazardous, the kind that one should always steer clear of.
Those such as 'The Brotherhood'.
The worst kind of people all meshed together like some sinister quilt of hate and anguish with the intent of wrapping itself around anyone that gets in it's way. A cult of sorts, following the say so of a much higher initiative who calls himself 'The Chief'.
It seems almost impossible to trust an outsider nower days, though those smart enough to stay watchful of any outsider stand more chance of surviving another day, rather then let your guard down to the wrong person and get your throat cut while you sleep. That's why most capable groups these days have been together for the better part of the annihilation.
The gangs had become more bothersome as the months past. As survivors have become accustomed to either eliminating or avoiding walkers it made it easier to focus there energy on rival gangs, or survivors scrounging from their people.
Though the walkers are still everyone's biggest problem, it almost semmed as if they'd been diminishing in there numbers. Not sure of the meaning in this, most survivors took it as a good sign, though some more wary lift there guards up a little higher, it almost seemed like the calm before the storm.
Though with still many reasons to always stay alert, now was one of the more peaceful times, as the structures in the immediate area were vacant of any rogue survivors claiming the land, and the only agitation in the early morning was the muted whispers within the vicinity of the gas station.
A dark brawny figure barely noticable in the lack of luminescence kneels behind the wooden structure of the fence. The figure was careful not to create too much of a disturbance in the bushes, and draw the attention of the near by silhouettes. He stayed low , kneeling behing the fence, scouting out his surroundings.
Dressed in a moss green trench coat, overing a black hooded sweater, to blend with the dark surroundings, the figures charcol coloured pants dug into the dirt at his feet, one knee glued to the ground, the other supporting his arm. The figure assesed his surroundings, peeking over the fense to scan the area.
Reaching into the pouch that was slung over his shoulder, taking residence at his hip, he pulled out a small pair of military issued binoculars. The figure raised them to his eyes to get a better veiw of the gas station. A gloved hand adjusting the sight above the field-glasses, straightening out the haziness. In his other hand he held a walkie-talkie, to the side of his face, the volume had been turned low, as to not attract attention with the sound.
"Ghost?" Came a staticy voice over the hand radio.
Adjusting his thumb on the side, pushing down the button allowing his voice to travel through the radio, he responded in a hushed tone.
"Ghost here, Bird-man, what's your twenty?"
The staticy response was immediate, "Water tower, 'bout seventy five yards to your north, I got you in visual."
Ghost scanned the fields in the distance, spotting the tower. "Any chance theirs still water in that thing?" He asked nonchalantly.
"Nada, the tank's bone dry." Came the suspected responce.
"Figures," The Ghost sighed and rubbed a hand down a dirt covered cheek, loosening his shemagh and removing his hood, he responded, "How'd we do elsewhere?" came the deep, slightly rugged voice from behind the disorded muggy fence.
The response was hesitant over the radio, "Not too good. Some provisions. Not much, maybe enough for another day or two."
Ghost sighs in recognition and opens his tattered, old backpack to reveal his nights loot. Taking inventory. Listing each item before shoving the goods back into the bag.
"You have any incounters Birdy?" came the deep response, acknowledging the voice on the other side of the talkie.
"Not on my end boss. The kid detected some lurkers southbound, about a dozen of 'em near the old library, more 'n usual,"
"Something must have drawn 'em out" The Ghost concluded.
"Must have been that scuffle last night, we should stay clear of open streets until they've thinned out." Bird-man chipped in over the radio.
Gibbs lowers his radio and nods in agreement, aware his teammate couldn't phisically see.
Ghost raised his radio to his lips and continued the routine questioning. "Any run-ins with survivors?"
The voice over the radio was quick to respond, knowing better then to leave the Ghost waiting. "Not since last week. Numbers are thinning. Getting rarer to see anyone that isn't a biter."
The station went quiet for a moment, fathoming the meaning of the Birds statement.
"Alright," A moment of scilence followed. Before he moved to a different topic, in need of a solution, "We need gas." Ghost stated, "I don't think these pumps are empty."
The response was that of a worried teammate.
"Boss, there's like eight lurkers surrounding that place, you can't risk it alone,"
Ghosts response was filled with determination, "There's seven of 'em, and one's trapped under the garage door. I can take six." He was surtain.
The reply was in frustration. "Not without making a sound, It's too risky Gibbs," Bird used his given name as a sign of worry, "We should head back to the others, get a bigger group and come back. You know I'm right."
Gibbs sighed in resignation, before responding to the voice over the radio, "Fine. We should head back now Tony, come out again later." Before ending the conversation with the command. "Move out."
At his command the line went dead as Gibbs resumed his earlier motions, packing away the last of his supplies without another word. Sealing the sack shut, he secured the backpack over his shoulder and moved towards the far end of the rickity fence.
Gibbs made his way through the bushes, away from the gas station and toward the main roads, before scouting out the local area for any disturbances. Assured that the roads were clear, he made his way down the street. Set on meeting up with Tony at their designated destination.
(A/N : - Hey peoples, so for anyone that read this before, there has been some updates with the scenery, and I kinda think they'll suit the story more, and I'll be able to add an extra chapter because of it. So yeah tell me what you think of the Re-write!)
- WMD