Disclaimer: ©2013 SONY COMPUTER ENTERTAINMENT AMERICA LLC. THE LAST OF US IS A TRADEMARK OF SONY COMPUTER ENTERTAINMENT AMERICA LLC. CREATED AND DEVELOPED BY NAUGHTY DOG, INC. [Taken from the Naughty Dog website]
A/N: The Last of Us: Damnation has been put on an indefinite hold until further notice. Also, this story will be focusing more on emotion and development than action. I will also be throwing in some horror, but only from time to time.
Chapter I
Carter Furman had never known a normal life. When the world ended in 2013, Carter had just been born. His entire life was spent in hiding, scavenging for food and weapons. He had known no other life other than one of fear and loathing of THEM. The infected. The ones who roam in packs, aimlessly mumbling incoherently, blindly attacking anything different. Carter grew up in a living hell.
Now, 18 years after the outbreak, Carter is alone, and forced to fend for himself in a world that is out to get him.
YEAR: 2031
DATE: Tuesday, June 10th
TIME: 6:31 PM
LOCATION: Indianapolis, Indiana
Carter warily walked down the deserted street of downtown Indianapolis, keeping alert for any enemies in the area. Long obsolete papers gently fluttered in the evening breeze, which was unusually cool for June. The teen shivered and pulled his moth-eaten hoodie tighter around himself. He tightened his grip on the Magnum and stepped into an empty store. Carter quietly hurried over to a shelf and began sifting through the contents. Chips, meat sticks, sweets. All of it rotten. Grunting in annoyance, he started on the lower portion. Same result. Refusing to give up, the teen moved on. Rotten, rotten, rotten. Success. A good bag of jerky. Carter grinned and put the spoils in his backpack. He vaulted behind the counter and began looking for smokes to trade at an outpost. You would be surprised how much people valued the Silent Killer these days. He was in luck – six packs of Marlboros. Jackpot! He placed these in the backpack as well.
Before getting up, Carter grabbed a few bottles and some rags. He zipped up his backpack and climbed through the window. Time to hit the next store. His watch beeped suddenly, breaking the silence. He looked at his wrist. 6:45 PM. He jostled his backpack and began back to his base camp. The next hit would have to wait until tomorrow. It was already too late. Carter turned a corner onto West Ohio Street. The Sheraton Hotel was directly ahead. Carter sped up to a brisk pace, hoping to beat the dusk. To beat THEM. He checked his watch. 6:56 PM. He broke into a run. He could hear THEM. They were coming out. Hunting. They could smell him. His heart began to pump wildly. He tripped. Carter picked himself back up. They were coming. He could hear their growling and moaning. Closer. Closer. Closer. He could see the doors. Almost there. He dove into the lobby and barricaded the doors. Safe. No time to rest. He had to get to the second level. He jogged up the stairs to the second floor, and opened the first door on the left, sliding down to the floor when it shut. He sat there, breathing hard, catching his breath. He cleared his throat and wiped the sweat from his brow.
He had made it. Carter rested his head against the cool oak door and sighed deeply. His heart thundered inside his chest. After a moment's rest he got to his feet and tossed his backpack onto the old bed. The dust flew up into the air and hung there in the haze. Carter unzipped the backpack and dumped out his meager spoils. One bag of jerky, six packs of smokes, and a few bottles and rags. Pathetic. Well, at least he could trade the smokes for rations at the Indianapolis Outpost. It wouldn't be much, though; just enough to tide him over three days at the most. He ripped open the bag of jerky and bit into one. The meat had little taste but felt good going down nonetheless.
Very soon, he drifted off to sleep.
The pain. The pain. The intense pain. Never stopping. Never ending. Ceaseless, horrible pain. The grumbling. The moaning. The wretched and the cursed. THEY. THEM. US. THEY caused this. THEY created US. We hate THEM. THEY hate US. Death. Rot. Disease. Decay. Mold. The horrible pain.
Carter woke up, bolting upright, a cold sweat coating his face and T-shirt. He trembled, his breathing ragged. He ran a hand through his mussed hair and groaned. The same nightmare every night for over a year. He couldn't escape it. It invaded his sleep constantly. Always the same. THEY. THEM. US. What did it mean? What was it trying to say? He shook his head and got out of bed. He checked his watch. 3:23 AM. He walked over to the window and opened it, allowing the cool night air inside. Down below he could see the infected ones shambling around with no goal. He grimaced darkly. After a short time standing in the cool breeze he walked over to the bathroom and turned the faucet. A small trickle of cold water came from the pipe and he washed his face. Carter wiped the grime from the cracked mirror and watched his reflection. The crack made his face appear disjointed. Wait…
A shriek. A crash. An explosion of water as the sink was shattered. Carter stumbled out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He grabbed his backpack and turned to leave, only to find his escape route blocked by the feral creature.
THEMTHEMTHEMTHEMTHEMTHEMTHEM….
THEY had somehow found a way inside. Which meant this was no longer a safe place. He had to leave. Had to get past the thing before him. The thing that looks human but is not human. The infected clutched its head in what seemed like agony, and shrieked again, dashing towards Carter. It closed the gap in less time than it took for him to blink. The creature tackled Carter. He grunted in surprise as the two fell to the floor. The infected snarled and gnashed its teeth in his face, saliva dripping from its lips onto his neck. Carter fought the urge to vomit from the stench. He gave a heave and tossed the infected off of him. This one had surprising strength despite being emaciated. The thing screeched again and charged. Carter vaulted over the bed and grabbed a sharpened broom handle. He whacked the creature in the side of the head and kicked it away. The thing stumbled and he took his chance. With a great yell he charged forward and buried the handle in the temple of the monster. The infected gave a croaking cry and was still.
Carter fell back, in shock. He had not expected any of them to figure out a way inside so quickly. He laid his head back against the end of the bed, taking a moment to catch his breath. He placed a hand against his temple and took a ragged breath. He instantly jerked back to conscious thought at the sound of distant shrieking growing closer. He bolted up and grabbed his backpack. The teen placed his back against the wall and peeked outside into the hallway. It was clear. He silently moved down the corridor, taking care not to make any noise. The groans and cried of THEM were growing closer. He just had to hope against hope that he managed to avoid a pack. Dealing with just one infected was dangerous enough. But a horde… Carter shook his head. Don't think of that. Just move.
He came to a split in the corridor. It was too dark to see without a light, so he took his flashlight out of his jacket pocket. He slowly pressed the switch and stifled a scream. Right in front of him, facing away, was a clicker. It was hunched over, twitching violently. Carter's heart skipped a beat in terror. He had no knife to kill it. He slowly backed away, sweating bullets. Something shattered in one of the rooms. The clicker spun around, fully alerted, and shrieked. Carter cried out and dodged to his right, narrowly missing the clicker's grapple. The creature spun around again and ran towards him, flailing its arms wildly. Carter stumbled down the hallway and tripped over a bottle, falling onto his right arm. He felt it give out. He groaned in pain and flipped over onto his back. The clicker was right on top of him. He grabbed the bottle and smashed it over the monster's head. A piece of fungus broke off, revealing an empty eye socket with strands of fungus peeking out of it. The clicker staggered back, stunned. Carter took the chance and backed into a room, holding his aching arm. He kicked the door shut and backed into the bathroom, closing the door. Carter fell back into the tub and leaned against the wall, groaning in agony. He wasn't a doctor, but he was sure he had broken it. After a while of listening to THEM shriek and croak, he succumbed to the embrace of unconsciousness.
Carter awoke to a pulsating agony in his right arm. He groaned and gingerly sat up, clutching his forearm. He could feel the throbbing sensation through the thin cotton of his hoodie. He struggled to remember the previous night.
Gnashing teeth. Dripping saliva. Moldy flesh.
Carter winced at the memory and a needle sharp twinge of pain. He slowly got up, using his left arm to brace himself. He grunted at the effort, his knees popping from stiffness. He rolled out of the tub and slowly opened the bathroom door. Sunlight made the dust motes in the air glint. Carter opened the main door to the room and checked the hallway. Clear. Gripping his arm, he wandered down the corridor to the lobby. Gotta get to the Indianapolis QZ. Stock up on supplies. Get this arm looked at. He pulled out his tattered map of the Indianapolis downtown area and studied it briefly. Time to go.