Adam watched the end of the world from his apartment's second story window, peeking through the drawn curtains when people started screaming and dying in the streets below as they were eaten alive by the newly risen dead. Not knowing what else to do, Adam checked to make sure that the front door was locked and then began to fill anything that could hold water from the tap, including the bathtub and all the sinks. He had just gone grocery shopping so his freezer was full with enough precooked chicken, mac and cheese, and broccoli. He would be fine for a few weeks if he rationed out his food. If the power grid failed, the pantry was full with All-Bran and Lipton chicken noodle soup packets. Socializing never coming easy, Adam didn't like grocery shopping so he always bought in bulk, even more so this last trip. He realized then it would probably his last trip ever to the grocery store. Everything would be different now.
There had been warning signs about this sort of things all over the internet. The first videos about the attacks had been pegged by the media as fake and no cause for concern. Enough scientists that Adam chatted with on a regular basis about space and its contents had said otherwise though. Thinking it prudent to do so while he still could, Adam asked their advice in the matter, taking down pages of careful notes. During his last shopping trip, Adam had made it a point to stock up on ridiculous amounts of batteries, medical supplies, canned food, bottled water, duct tape, bullets, and other various and seemingly random items like cans of WD-40 and camping equipment. He didn't care about the amount of money he spent from his savings. If his and other scientists' predictions were correct, money wouldn't matter soon enough.
Various store had had to deliver it all for him, his purchases too much for him to carry back home all by himself. Adam stored all the supplies in his father's room, hoping the dearly departed elder Raki wouldn't being returning home anytime to use it. Looking up the make and model of the coffin his father had been buried in, Adam calculated that it was highly unlikely due to the depth his father's grave and the integrity of modern coffins. He wondered why other people weren't doing the same thing though, preparing like he was. No one seemed to be too worried about the virus that was spreading like wildfire whether the media wanted to admit it or not, or what it was doing to the deceased. Adam didn't know how to bring it up in conversation or if he should. Even Harlan didn't seem too concerned about it the last time they had talked, though Adam taken it upon himself to tell Harlan to leave the city as soon as possible even if the old man didn't understand why. He hoped Harlan had listened to him.
Wishing he could have followed his own advice, Adam chose to stay in his apartment until he felt comfortable enough to leave. People with Asperger's Syndrome could change, could be open and flexible to it. They just had to do it on their own terms and in their own time. Adam decided he would know when it was the right time to leave, so he fortified the door's framework and while he still could, bought a heavy new door made of metal, having it delivered so that he could install it himself.
Unlike most horror movies about monsters would suggest, it didn't happen at night or even very slowly, at least not in New York. Adam theorized it was due to the amount of people who lived such a small contained space. It seemed like one bite was all it took to make a person eventually turn, Adam watching the video's over and over again to study the outbreak. The end of world happened around three in the afternoon which surprised Adam as he made note of it. He had often been told by Harlan that 3pm was too early or too late to really do anything of merit. The universe begged to differ, the walking dead sweeping through the streets of Manhattan, attacking and eating anything that was still alive and kicking.
Turning off all his lights and drawing his curtains at the sounds of the first screams, Adam watched from the shadows, holding his hands over his ears. He needed to study the walkers but not be noticed by them. From what he had gathered from the videos, which had been becoming more and more frequent of late, sudden movements attracted their attention. Light did as well, so while the power held, Adam took great care not be make himself a beacon. Having grown up in this space his entire life, he didn't need to anyway, having long ago memorized the layout of the apartment and all the furniture in it. Adam moved like a ghost while the dead rose back to their feet.
A few neighbors or people trying to get off the streets had pounded on his door, but Adam had remained quiet, knowing that they couldn't get in with all the new changes made to the entrance. He hid his face behind his palms and stuffed his shaking fingers in his mouth to keep from crying or making a sound as people were attacked and eaten in the hallway a few feet from where he sat. Focusing on what he could, Adam reasoned that the dead were attracted by sound as well. Being a naturally quiet person, Adam decided he could do that best in his bedroom while everything that lay outside his front door sorted itself out. He screamed into his pillows until his throat was raw.
In that days that followed, Adam studying this new world from his windows, staying out of sight and careful to not make a sound. Several somethings paced out his door in the halls, bumping into each other or the walls. The constant noise of it made Adam want to panic. Knowing that would probably cause him a very painful death, Adam took endless notes instead and wrote down observations about what was happening. Other people had taken to the notion of staying in their apartments as well, but Adam realized that they had not been as well prepared as him. The living's hunger drove them out into the open arms and chatting teeth of the dead's own, Adam witnessing attempt after failed attempt of survivors emerging from their hiding places to be outnumbered and cornered in an instant by the too numerous dead. The blatant attempts were usually accompanied by a lot of gunfire. Adam had considered getting a gun but had decided against it, having no experience with firearms although it was something he studied now. Other people's mistakes confirmed this notion and his other theories, the noise of gunfire sounding off a feeding frenzy by attracting more walkers.
It was the people who tried to sneak past the dead that interested Adam the most though. Human eyeballs were mostly water and had the consistency of a grape, so they rotted out fast and first. By that observation, Adam reasoned that the walkers' eyesight must be quite poor, which was why quick movement and light sources drew their attentions while subtler motions went unnoticed. It was when the dead tilted their heads back to scent the air that Adam knew yet another way of how they hunted the living.
It was only an idea though, and needed to be tested. If this were true, if one could simply move slowly enough and not give off a scent, then one should be fine. Reviewing everything over and over again, Adam knew if he were to prove this right, he would have to figure out a way of going outside his apartment. He also knew that he couldn't stay here. His supplies would eventually run out and then he would start making poor decisions based on fear and bodily needs. The power would also eventually go off, he was actually astonished that it was still on this long, and Adam only had a finite amount of batteries to work with. It was time to leave.
Sighing, Adam padded around his apartment in a pair of socks to reduce noise and took stock of what he had, which was a lot. Too much for him to carry all by himself. Some sort of transport would have to be acquired, he decided and hard decisions would have to be made about what could come along with him. All his telescopes were out of the question and really too delicate for transport. He also had to decide where his final destination would be. While the web had still been up, Adam had printed off a few locations outside the city that just might suit his purposes. It was getting to them all in one piece that was the challenge.
Sighing, Adam began the long process of implementing his new life into action.
OoOoO
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!"
Nigel chanted out the words, knowing he should be saving his precious air for running. That was all he did now was run. The entire world had gone to shit, his feet had hit the pavement, and they hadn't really stopped since everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. He often wondered now who had pissed off the Devil enough to make the evil bastard leave open the gates of Hell, flooding the surface of the earth with its occupants.
The once most feared and most powerful drug lord in all of Europe, Nigel realized in these dark days that he had humbled into being the human version of a rabbit, hiding in holes and running from a world full of predators that wanted to eat him. His fucking luck, he had been in the States when the shit hit the fan, the dead getting up from where they had fallen to shrug off hails of bullets and answer back with gaping mouths and sharp teeth. After a lifetime of making other people scared, Nigel began to believe in karma because he couldn't remember the last time he had felt safe.
The American army had turned out to be useless, learning too late it was only head shots that really counted. After trying the whole group survivor thing, Nigel decided to go it alone after the last batch of crybaby morons starting piss poor judgement calls. No one breathing he met seemed to have a good plan other than 'let's find an army base' cause that always went well. Nigel had a plan though. He was trying to make it back to the New York shoreline to steal a boat, a really big boat. One that was stocked with food and booze. All he wanted to do was get back to Romania or to some place that made sense. Everywhere he went though, people made stupid ass decisions. Everyone was still playing by the old rules and expecting the dead to play along with them. No such luck for those sentimental fuckers.
Nigel was grateful that despite some of his vices, he had never really let his body go to shit. He was almost fifty but he outrun and outmaneuver just about anything, including the dead. Parkour had not been a choice to learn but a calling he had answered if he wanted to survive, Nigel taking to the sport like a fish to water. God and all his angels knew he had enough proper motivation to learn, that motivation literally wanting to bite him in the ass. There was no room for failure in this game of life, Nigel using walls and corners and his own body's power to make his way up to rooftops, over barriers, and always stay two steps ahead of the walkers. With the balance of a gymnast and the grace of a dancer he never knew he could have been in another life, Nigel survived by his wit, speed, and skin of his teeth.
What he did not have was a sense of direction. He had somehow ended up in rural New York with nary an ocean in sight, just more mountains. Following road and maps, Nigel had no idea how he had managed to do that. He was in yet another bum fuck, Stephen King-like tiny town, being chased by the dead. The car he had liberated from a parking lot back in New Jersey had died on him just a few miles back, forcing Nigel to look for another vehicle or some gas on foot. Some walkers had met him along the way, taking an interest in him.
Like all things did, his Devil's luck eventually ran out. Or maybe he was just tired of running. Whatever happened, all Nigel knew was that he had mis-stepped and fucked up, falling flat on his ass. He had no ammo left, hadn't eaten in almost a week, and was dangerously dehydrated. He had no idea where he was anymore. Lighting his last cigarette, Nigel sighed as the dead approached him, deciding maybe it was time to finally give up the ghost.
Dying from thirst and starvation was doing funny things to him anyway, Nigel decided, because he was beginning to hallucinate. Looking like a white, fluffy marshmallow, a spaceman was approaching him and his undead entourage, pulling a little red wagon full of stuff behind him. The spaceman stopped just a few feet away from their little gathering to raise what looked like a gun with a potato stuck to the end of it. Nigel didn't really know where to look, face his death or make sense of an astronaut with a potato gun.
Firing the gun cause the potato to explode, the tuber muffling the sound much like a silencer would, the bullet taking out one of the walking dead's head along with it. Nigel watched in amazement as the gun was dropped but not lost, the weapon ziplined back to the spaceman's tool belt as he reached for another potato gun. He took out six of the nearest walker near Nigel like this. The skinbags didn't seem to register the spaceman at all standing right in front of them, not even as he drew close now to cave in their brittle heads with a sledgehammer.
Very soon, Nigel was surrounded by the things that had been trying to eat him, the spaceman and Nigel the only two left in the open for the time being. The faceplate of the spaceman's helmet was opaque, Nigel wondering what the hell was going on as he shakily stood up to try and look in.
The street they were on was surprisingly clear, no walkers currently in sight on this little town's main street, still decorated for some sort of festival. Nigel nearly jumped out of his skin when the spaceman bumped him with something cool. It took a moment but Nigel soon realized that he was being offered bottled water and a granola bar.
Unsure if he was going crazy or not, Nigel tore into both. He finished them far too quickly, the nourishment barely putting a dent in his appetite. Instead of more food and water, the spaceman handed Nigel a pile of clothes before a small air tank was set down at his feet. Motioning for Nigel to put it on the strange outfit, the spaceman busied himself by fishing out more potatoes from his little red wagon to place on the end of his guns.
The clothing turned out to be a weird double layered body wet suit of some sort, the helmet going along with it appeared to be something straight out of science fiction. Besides being fugly, it looked like the bastard child of scuba diving gear and a Stormtroopers' helmet. Shrugging, Nigel put in on anyway over his clothing, taking off his shoes so that he could struggle into it. The final touch was the spaceman handing Nigel a roll of duct tape, and motioning him to seal the minor gap between the wet suit and the helmet. Doing just that and shouldering the air tank, Nigel complied, because fuck, this guy had something going for him. The spaceman helped him connect the two, the taste of metallic air from the tank almost refreshing. Nigel had almost forgotten what air smelled like with it wasn't tainted by rotting flesh.
Kind of glad that most of the population was dead to not witness him in his new apparel as he shoved his feet back inside his shoes, Nigel followed the spaceman who dragged his little red wagon a block over to a waiting shopping cart full of more random things and started to unload his haul into it. Walkers shuffled off in the distance, but the spaceman didn't seem to mind their presence. Though the suit didn't restrict his movement much, the air tank on his back was bulky and an added weight. Wondering why the fuck he was wearing it all, Nigel tried to estimate how quickly he could rid of it all he had to bolt, the walkers shambling toward them.
Glancing over the spaceman though, Nigel realized that his hallucination didn't appear to be too bothered by this, taking his sweet ass time rearranging things in the shopping cart. He even took the time to pull out a can of WD-40 and spray the wheels with it. Nigel knew how this story ended though, already shuffling back to break out into a run. The spaceman must have noticed because he moved quicker than Nigel had thought possible in that suit, grabbing for Nigel's right hand to place it on the cart, motioning for him to keep it there. Nigel's left hand was held, the spaceman using his own to help direct the cart as well.
Stunned that his hallucination was feeling very real, Nigel bit back a scream as walker came within biting distance to him.
And walked right past him and the spaceman. Panting hard enough to fog up his part of his goggles, Nigel watched as the other walkers followed suit, ignoring the strange pair as they made their way down the street. Hand being tugged, Nigel was pulled out of his stupor, helping the spaceman push his cart. Nigel had no idea where the spaceman was taking him, watching in wonder as they meandered their way past dozens of dead, not one of the fuckers bothering them.
By the time they got of town, Nigel was shaking, barely able to walk. He leaned heavily on the cart to propel it forward and tried not to throw up the water and granola bar he had wolfed down. Now Nigel was no stranger to chaos and danger, but taking a stroll like that through the dead was beyond anything.
The spaceman still held his hand, keeping Nigel there beside him and walking. The two of them stayed liked that for what seemed like hours, first down a country road and then down a dirt one. At the end of the dirt road, was a large house set up on a river with a watermill busily spinning, a high fence around it. The few dead that were around were quickly dispatched, the spaceman taking them out one by one with his sledgehammer with no fight from any of them. It was like they never saw it coming or knew he was there. The gate was unlocked, the spaceman waving in Nigel who did a second sweep of the property as the spaceman locked up again. He noticed a fuck load of cameras though, and most surprisingly, all of them appeared to be working.
The inside of the house was just as weird. The walls, floors, ceiling, and every other surface had grey padding all over them, the window covered with the shit. Even better though, the place had power, Nigel taking off his helmet to be hit with air conditioning. Nigel could have died a happy man then and there.
"Would you like some more water? You look dehydrated." Said a voice, making Nigel remember that he was not alone. The voice belonged to a young man, probably ten years younger than himself, with chocolate brown curls and the softest blue eyes Nigel had ever seen. He was partially stripped down and not wearing much besides the space suit he stepped out of. "You can talk in here. I've soundproofed the building and the windows have been painted over and padded…"
The man would have said more, but Nigel reached for him, pulling the man close to him so that they were chest to chest, blue eyes staring back wide and white ringed with sudden fear. Not wasting a second, Nigel pressed his thin lips to parted ones, licking his way into a sweet, hot mouth that tasted faintly of peppermint. Nigel couldn't even imagine what he tasted like, and didn't much care. The body flush to his own was warm and so wonderfully alive, and that was enough. Nigel's body had other issues though, the man's stomach growling loudly enough to part the two for some much needed air.
"I'm Adam." The younger man panted out, looking a little stunned.
"I'm Nigel."