Death Or Glory
By Griffin Corallo
Hey guys, Tazer here. I really hope you enjoy this first installment in my story. This is my first real story I've ever submitted to... well anything really. I don't expect it to be that good, but I really hope you guys like it. Enjoy.
In two weeks, the whole world managed to go to hell. It started off simple, the green flu. Nobody expected it to be what it became. They say patient zero went mad during his treatment and bit his nurse. Just like him, she became victim to the green flu, and she too, infected those around her. It spread fast, faster than anything the world has ever seen. It took over the United States in a matter of days, with the majority of the population becoming "infected" and looking for people to eat. Zombies. Then it started to spread to the other nations of the world. It was a catastrophe. Cities were evacuated. The death toll in the hundreds of thousands, the undead toll in the millions. But this is no history lesson. This is the story of the survivors of the hell they call the world around them.
It was a cold day in the Savannah. Rain harder than most town folk had ever seen, that is, the ones that were left. Buildings empty. Cars in the middle of the street, doors wide open. A lone figure walked through the wreckage. He walked slowly, cautiously. He held a crowbar, bathed in rust and blood. It wasn't the suspense of being attacked that killed the man, it was the silence. The town had always been loud and full of life, and to see it like this was simply unbearable. The silence was broken. He heard a low growl, somewhere near by. He looked around, and found the growl coming a small alley near the local bar and a 7/11. Too dark to see anything. He walked in, doing his best not to make a noise.
He heard the footsteps. They were slow, but didn't attempt to hide from the stranger. He saw a figure limping torwards him. He finally saw the figure, a woman. Her skin a pale white. Her hair dead to the roots, her yellow tank-top ripped, blood stains. Blood coming from her lip. She looked at the lone survivor.
"Aw crap..." He mumbled.
She let out a loud moan, and charged at him. She reached for his left arm, he dodged as best he could, but her nails scratched his forearms. He gripped his weapon, and swung at her right temple. Hit made contact, hitting her as hard as she could. She let out a groan, and tilted to the left. He kicked her in the chest, knocking her off her feet. She feel to the floor. In an attempt to take advantage of the situation, he began to beat her as she layed on the ground. After several whacks, he stopped. She didn't move. The survivor let out a huge sigh. He turned to his left, and next to a small garbage can, was a door that went to the bar. He walked to the door, and to his surprise, it was unlocked. He opened the door, to find a dirty and smelly hangout for the scum of the Savannah. He found himself on the bartender's side of the counter, finding the remnants of drinks and bottles. Someone had been here first. He looked around the small room, to find a few supplies that may get him through a week or so.
"Well I'll be a sonofabitch..." He murmered.
Unexpectadly, he had found a small handgun by the register. A single clip layed beside it. It was better than the blunt weapon he had now. He continued to rumage through the area. He found by a table, writing on the wall. It was the first sign of any communication he had seen since epidemic began. He skimmed through some of the writings.
"No zombie is safe from Chicago Ted"
"It takes a day for the infection to take place"
"I've seen it happen in a few minutes."
He grinned. It was the first and only sign he had seen of survivors. He found the sharpie they had been writing with. He uncapped it, and began to write on the wall.
"E-L-L..." He said to himself.
In stood up, proud to make some communication. He walked back to the counter to continue to look for supplies. He stopped, and looked back at his writing.
ELLIS WAS HERE
He turned back to the counter, and continued his work.