Hey everyone... This isn't really my first time writing a story, but it's pretty much my first time posting one on here. At least, one of my good ones... A lot of my friends say this is on the verge of being good enough to publish... and my English professor agreed with them so... Who knows, maybe you'll enjoy it?
At least I hope you do...
Enjoy!
Chapter 1
-"Happy Holidays to me..."-
"I was finally put on break as of today. It's been so long since I've had one of those. Yet again, working for the FBI, you're never on 'break'. You're just undercover as a civilian…" The words spat out of a young woman's mouth. Cross-legged at a bar, she was tall and slender, yet hippy. She wore black jeans with a tight, light gray t-shirt, allowing her curves to stand out. However, she was hiding under an open, rodeo-like leather jacket, patterns of tan and black, with white sleeves. Her gloved hand reached up, the uncovered finger gently spinning around the rim of a mug. "Hopefully during this holiday break, there won't be any investigations to get called on…" she added, sighing quietly.
"Yeah, but what would you expect?" A rather large, balding man leaned over the counter, an old, stained rag in hand. He flipped his hand with the rag, causing it to flop to the side as he shrugged. "It seems like all of those creeps try to go out and ruin everyone's Christmas cheer…" His voice was coarse, a purple-heart veteran of the nicotine wars against his ever-blackening lungs. He shrugged once more before lifting back up and turning toward a sink of dirty mugs. Picking one up soaked with soap and water, he began rubbing it with the rag. He turned his gaze back to the woman, "You got any plans for this Christmas?"
Sighing, the woman sat up on the stool, her hands sliding down to rest on her legs. "Not right now, no." It was though a bit of annoyance began leaking from her breath. She slowly averted her gaze to the older man, her sly, green eyes looking him over. "I never made any because I didn't expect to really have time off," she added, lifting her hand and running it through her short, brown hair.
"Ah, you still have a week to make some," the man spoke again in a quiet voice, chuckling lightly and setting down the now clean mug.
"I see no point to, though. What if I get called in?"
"Now Erin…"
"Rich, you know my job by now…"
"Right, right…" The shop owner, Richard, finished the argument with a quiet nod, turning to grab another mug. "You might want to finish your coffee, babe. It's looking a bit cold by now…" he said, leaning up on the counter again.
Sighing, Erin clamped the mug in her gentle hand, lifted it to her lips, and began sipping the rest of the black joy. Setting the empty mug down and standing up from her stool, she smiled at Richard. "Thanks for that. I needed it," she hummed quietly, pulling out a wallet and fiddling through the bills.
"Bah! Don't bother… On the house," he waved his hand, the rag flapping in the air. "Happy Holidays," he managed to choke out before turning to cough, his lung sounding as though it collapsed.
"You too, Rich…" She slipped a hand into her coat pocket and walked to the door. "Lay off the smokes while you're at it!" She waved a goodbye over her head before pushing the door open to the cold outside.
The breeze from the chilling winter air was refreshing at first; however, it got cold, fast. Erin reached down and zipped her jacket up to her neck, allowing some warmth to stay within her body. Snuggling into the warmth of her coat, she slid her hands into her pockets yet again and shivered a bit. Turning, Erin slowly made her trek to her apartment, a few blocks off from the coffee shop. Snow from previous showers crunched under her feet, slowly building up into the patterns of her thin boots. "At least this year, it'll be a white Christmas…" she mumbled, breathing out a light mist of air. The city streets weren't as busy as they normally were, the temperature drop that day being a probable cause. Plus, visibility was quite low due to the flurries whipping through the winds.
Erin turned her gaze toward the sky, staring at the low gray clouds, with a mix of fog hiding the tops of tall buildings, giving a new meaning to 'skyscrapers'. She dropped her head, though, as soon as a flurry made its way into her eye. The cold flake melted, making her eye far colder than the opposite. Blinking a few times, Erin finally set her gaze to the sidewalk, staring at the footprints from people long past. The snow was quite dirty, rocks and mud mixing into every print left. The roads were slush, tire tracks left from passing cars, left and right. Almost every parked car along the side of the road was covered from hood to trunk in inches of snow. There was always the queer one standing out because of an overprotective owner having to come out and brave the cold to brush off every flake that touched his or her baby. Erin never understood the concept of having a car in the city. Sure, less energy wasted on walking. Though, to her, it seemed that it took more energy to get into the car, start it, and drive it through the dangerous road rage of the city, bare with jams and shouts of rude passersby, and Parallel Park.
"In the news today… A new virus attacking birds, killing them almost instantly," the voice of a reporter caught Erin's attention rather quickly. Turning her head, she stared through the window of an electronics store, a smorgasbord of TVs lined up for sale. Speakers on the outside of the store allow those walking by to listen to what was playing. Wiping the window a bit with her hand, Erin made out the face of a Korean woman with long black hair, sitting at a desk at the local news station. Some of the TVs were fading in an out, possibly from constantly being on, but the sound was still audible. "We spoke to scientists today who are investigating this pandemic. Apparently, the virus seems to be airborne, but only affecting birds. It seems to enter their body, and almost instantly shut down their brain, causing them to fall into a vegetable-like state…" The woman went on about how the scientists are trying to figure out where this disease came from, and how to stop it. Nothing else seemed important to Erin. 'If it's attacking birds,' thought Erin, 'then I have no reason to worry about it.' Shrugging it off, she turned away and continued her journey.
Only a few minutes passed and Erin finally made it to her building. Opening and quickly shutting the door behind her, she finally met a warm, welcoming air. Smiling in relief, Erin walked toward the stairwell. As she reached the first step, she stopped and turned her gaze toward a man on a chair in the lobby. He was gazing into a newspaper, his beard covering the majority of his face. "Evening, Randall," Erin called out, before trotting up the stairs. A simple grunt came from his voice, the typical answer she received from the old man. Upon reaching the second floor, she turned sharply to the left and stuck a key into the first door. Fiddling with it for a few seconds, she finally got the handle to turn, allowing her to enter her dainty home. The living room took up the majority of the apartment, with an opening to a tiny kitchen, and two doors leading to her bathroom and bedroom. There were a few articles of clothing that hid the faded, snow-colored carpet, showing either a lack of time, or possible laziness. Yawning, Erin quickly tossed her coat onto a hook on the back of her door, exposing her gray t-shirt. Suddenly, she threw her arms into the air, clasped her hands together, and stretched as high as possible. A loud groan escaped her throat as she felt a joint pop, a smile easing to her lips as she relaxed.
Sighing, she kicked her shoes off then made her way to the bathroom. In and out in a few minutes, she was already showered and dressed for relaxation. Loose, black sweats and a white t-shirt was all she needed to be comfortable. Yawning quietly, she quickly made her way to the doorway and pushed a thick towel against the bottom to prevent any cold air to enter, or any heat to leave during the night. After doing so, Erin threw herself onto the couch and flipped on the TV. She found nothing interesting, so she turned it back to the news she had been watching earlier. Down in the bottom right corner, the time flashed 8:30 pm. "A chance of a snow shower tonight, followed by some light showers in the morning…" the man's voice echoed softly in her apartment as he went on about snow. His droning voice was enough to make Erin drowsy; her eyes began drooping ever so slowly, finally closing and allowing her to fall into a peaceful sleep. Her body shifted, and soon she was completely gone, her back now facing the television.
"We now go live to our reporter downtown," the news continued on without Erin. The scene cut to a woman in a laboratory, surrounded by scientists and specimens of the new 'bird-killing disease'. "I now stand with the head scientist leading the investigation on this disease. Doctor George Burke, can you please explain to us what has been going on?" the reporter lifted her microphone up to the doctor.
Seemingly nervous, the doctor leaned down toward the microphone. "Yes. Apparently the airborne disease is swiftly moving its way through the winds, being carried almost everywhere. It's nearly impossible to stop, but it only seems to be effecting birds; well, to be more specific, crows. So far, every deceased bird we have found was a crow. It seems to somehow shut down their entire system, forcing them into a vegetated state. They don't breathe, eat, fly; nothing. And, quite obviously, without breathing, the crows suffocate themselves, killing them almost instantly."
"Has anyone come close to creating a type of 'vaccine' or anything?" the reporter asked, listening for answers.
"Not yet. We've been combining the dead cells with many different chemicals to see which reacted best… But so far everything has been a fail--," the doctor stopped to hunch down and cough rather harshly. An obvious expression of pain filled his face as he leaned back against the wall to cough again.
"D-… Dr. Burke? Are you alright?" the reporter sounded worried as she turned toward him. Other scientists rushed from their places to come over and help. He couldn't stop coughing, it seemed, as he slowly began sliding down to the ground. "Somebody help him!"
Morning came too quickly for Erin. As the alarm on her watch went off in her ear, she flinched, causing her body to roll off of the couch. "Ouch!" she exclaimed as she swiftly picked herself up. Looking around the room, she stared at her watch. Six in the morning, the time she normally woke up. Sighing, she blinked a few times before turning her gaze to the television. "Huh?" there was a silent, black and white, 'Please Stand By' sign taking up the entire screen. "That's weird," Erin commented, leaning down and picking up the remote. Clicking the channel-up button, she slowly flipped through the different channels. Static, static, another standby, and more static covered all of the channels. "Must be problems down at the broadcasting station…" she mumbled, shrugging and flipping off the tube. Grumbling softly, she made her way to the bathroom to change into warm clothing.
As she made her way out of the bathroom, she was buttoning her jeans, and then belting them in place. Now wearing a fire-red t-shirt, still tight fitting like the one previously, she was almost ready for the day. Erin paced toward the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a small bottle of orange juice. Cracking the safety lid, she sipped the contents while walking toward the window. Wiping the fog from the glass, she merely spat the orange juice as her eyes caught a deceased crow resting on the window seal. "Ugh, that's so gross…" she complained, hunching down to stare through the glass and examine it closer. Suddenly, another crow flew down and landed next to the dead one, nearly sending Erin into a fit from shock. Something was odd about this crow, though. Slowly, Erin moved toward the window again, lowering her head toward the creature. The eyes were completely red; blood red. The beak even had a look of stained blood upon it. "What in the Hell…" she whispered, slowly setting the orange juice down onto a desk next to the window. The crow's beak opened, but instead of a 'caw', it shrieked. The sound was eerie, almost a shout of pain. Erin's eyes widened as the crow turned and began pecking at its dead brother, eating the carcass right before her.
Not being able to stand the image, Erin quickly turned away and jogged over to her shoes. Tying them on, she slowly looked back at the window. The crow was gone, but the pecked carcass remained. "What was that all about?" she thought out loud as she grabbed at her coat. Sliding it on, she pulled her gloves out of the pockets and slipped them on. Thinking a few more seconds, Erin nodded and walked to the bedroom. She paced over to her desk and grabbed her FBI badge. She turned to leave, but stopped and whipped back around. "Just to stay safe…" she whispered, pulling out a holster, with a handgun clipped into it. She attached it to her side, clipping it into her belt. Zipping her jacket, she left her room, slid the towel from the main door, opened it, and headed out into the hallway.
It was awkwardly quiet out in the main hall. Normally her other neighbors would leave their rooms around the same time as her. Not today, it seems. Shrugging it off, Erin made her way down the stairs to see the same old man placed in the chair at the bottom of the stairs, with the newspaper over his upper body. 'Must have fallen asleep…' she thought as she walked by him. "Morning, Randall," she said a little louder than normal. As she expected, a grunt came from him, but it was a little longer than normal. She paid no mind to the extra long sound and headed toward the doorway. He twitched in his seat, but didn't make a move to get out of it. As she left the building, the winds from outside whipped the newspaper off of his body and exposed him. His eyes were as red as the blood trickling from his mouth.
The city was dead today. There weren't any cars driving on the road in front of Erin, nor were there people trying to desperately bump passed each other to get to their destinations. This was getting too strange. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small slider phone, slid it open with a flick of her thumb, and dialed the number to her office. It rang over and over, but no one answered. "What is going on…" she mumbled, slowly sliding the phone shut. Carefully slipping it into her pocket, she blinked and stared at her surroundings.
Snow fell like cotton balls, sticking to anything each flake could reach. Overnight, at least another three inches managed to cover the concrete world. Making her way down the white, fluffy street, Erin noticed the cars smothered in snow. Unlike what she saw each and every day, all of the cars were covered from roof to tire in snow. No desperate car-owner fought through the weather to brush the snow away. Maybe they finally just gave up the thought of having clean cars and allowed them to remain hidden under the mounds of white fluff? Who knows, thought Erin. The thing that was the strangest to the young woman was the lack of cars in motion. The streets were entirely empty, and unplowed for that matter. There were no footprints in her general vicinity, the fresh white powder serene. The city was dead this awkward morning.
The sky rolled with mounds of gray, spewing out white dander every few seconds. Winds wisped menacingly through the alleyways, producing odd and eerie whistles, enough to send chills down Erin's back. On her way to the office, she passed her favorite coffee shop. "Maybe it's just me. Maybe I just need a cup of coffee," she thought as she walked up to the doorway. The sign was flipped CLOSED, but the lights were on. Pushing on the door, it slinked open carefully. The concerns were starting to build up within Erin. For one, why would the lights be on if the shop was closed? Normally Richard would come in, flip on the lights, and then turn the sign over. When he wasn't there, the lights would always be off. Second, why would the door be unlocked? Richard never forgot to lock the door, and unlocking it before opening consisted of flipping the sign and clicking the lock simultaneously.
Taking a step inside, Erin's eyes peered around the small shop. "Rich?" she called in a calm voice. The door creaked closed behind her, the bells on the top jingling quietly to note a new customer has arrived. Many of the small, round tables were left unclean from the night before. Cups of cold coffee rested on the red table tops, some even spilt over and dripping off onto the floor. Taking a few cautious steps forward, Erin moved over to one of the tables, picked up a tipped cup, and gently sat it upright. "Rich, are you here?" she called out again. "You left the place a bit on the rough side," she added.
Suddenly, a shatter of glass was heard coming from the small kitchen area behind the counter. Erin jumped and stared over toward the counter. The door to the kitchen was held open by a rubber stop wedged under it. "Rich, are you alright?" the concern built in her voice, the pitch wavering with fright. She made her way over to the counter and lifted up the small wooden beam preventing anyone from easily making their way back. Stepping to the door, she swallowed a knot stuck in her throat. "N-now come on, Rich… Don't be messing with me…" she continued, slowly making her way up to the door.
Peeking into the kitchen, she noted the pots hanging from a grate on the ceiling, which was only a good two feet from her head. Like a normal kitchen, it was complete with an oven, refrigerator, stove top, sink, and all the little utensils to go with it. It was dark enough, however, to only make out the shapes and make guesses as to where each item was. Taking another step in, her foot crunched on something resting on the ground. Peering down at her foot, she made out the shattered remains of a dirty mug, wet with cold coffee. Slowly lifting her head back up, she made out the silhouette of a figure wavering only feet in front of her. "R-Rich, what are you doing!" she shouted in relief, walking toward him. "I thought you were hurt, everything was so confusing… Why are you back here just standing around?" she asked. Her eyes finally focused in the dark, and she made out a light switch against the wall. "And why you are standing in the dark, I may ask…" she shook her head and flicked the switch.
What she saw horrified her. Richard's face was distorted, awfully pale in color to the point of turning blue. His eyes were crimson, which surprised Erin as to why she wouldn't have seen their glow in the dark. Blood stained his lips, the red goo trickling down his chin, and dripping onto his stained, white apron. "Richard…" Erin's voice shook heavily as she took a step back. Before she could react, Richard's arms flung themselves onto Erin's shoulders, pulling her toward him roughly. He released an airy grunt as his mouth opened, the smell of sulfur and garlic breath enveloping Erin. "What the Hell! Get off me!" she shouted, pushing all of her weight against the older man, knocking him off of her easily. He stumbled uncontrollably into the back wall, sliding onto the ground. "Richard, what's wrong with you? What happened?" she shouted, too afraid to come any closer to the man. Her hand was now resting on her belt, only inches from the holster containing the high caliber pistol. "Why are you acting so absurd?" her questions continued to rapid fire as the man stumbled around, trying his best to get back up. His hand slammed onto the small counter to pull himself up, successfully penetrating himself with a knife that was lying in the same area. As he started his pace toward Erin, his bloodied hand slid off the counter, the knife still pierced through it. Noticing his lack of painful expressions, Erin knew something was definitely wrong. His groans and staggering steps frightened her. "Alright, Rich stop!" she announced, holding her hand out. Flicking the snap on her holster, she drew her gun. "I said stop!" she shouted again, now holding the gun toward him. Aiming and holding the trigger with her finger, she gritted her teeth. When he was inches away, she cried out and moved out of the way, dropping the gun down to her side. Panting softly, she bolted from the kitchen, leaped over the counter, and rushed out of the shop.
She couldn't shoot one of her only friends, even if he was trying to attack her in some bizarre way. She just couldn't bring out the will to squeeze the small, silver trigger, and release a bullet into his general direction. Turning around, she noticed his almost lifeless body staggering to the counter, trying his best to roll over it and get to his victim. Noting this, Erin decided it was her time to leave. Breathing in the cold, stinging air, she started a light jog toward the office, keeping her gun out for further protection. Looking down at her feet, Erin noticed fresh footprints. Not just one pair, but multiple pairs of prints. With the prints came large red stains all through the snow. Slowing to a halt, Erin leaned down and went to touch the blood, until something pinned her to the ground. Her gun flew out of her hand and landed in the snow a few feet away. "Ugh!" she shouted, her eyes opening to a long, blond haired woman, as pale as Richard and eyes the color of Hell, opening her mouth to rip into her flesh. The blood from the woman's mouth dripped and stained Erin's shirt slightly. Growling lightly, Erin managed to slide her leg under the woman's body and press her boot into her stomach. Using her strength, she rolled back, flipping the woman over her and onto the ground. Panting heavily, she lifted herself up and looked around wildly. Noting the hole in the snow right next to her, she reached down, retrieved the cold, steel weapon, and aimed swiftly toward the woman.
With a loud crack, blood spattered against the pristine snow, speckling the white canvas with red paint. The blond-haired woman fell back into the snow with a thump, her body motionless in the cold fluff. Erin, now in mass hysteria, took in a massive breath before jumping up to her feet and taking a few steps back. She had just taken a life. Even in her few years of being part of the FBI, she had never successfully taken anyone's life before. Her hands trembled not from the cold, but the shock filling her veins. "It's okay," she spoke to herself in a reassuring voice. "The woman was trying to attack you; not to mention bite you. There was something obviously very wrong with her," and she was right. The grayed skin, lack of expression, and not to mention the oozing blood from her mouth was enough to indicate the woman was suffering from some sort of disease. The main thing that got Erin was her eyes. They were the same color as Richard's. Those two crimson pits of death eyed her down as a piece of meat. Both tried to sink their teeth into her skin, indicating some sort of cannibalistic cravings the possible disease brought forth upon people. She sighed heavily and relaxed her body. Something was definitely up, and Erin was afraid she was in the middle of it. Whatever it was, she was now stuck figuring it out.
Breathing in softly, she shook her head and looked down at the woman's dead body. "Well, Rich," she called out into the air softly, knowing Rich wouldn't hear her any longer. "I believe I've made my plans already…" Looking down at her gun, she released the clip. "Happy Holidays to me," she muttered before examining the ammo, and then sliding it back into the handle with a light click.