Prologue
Is this how I die? Not by the world falling to pieces, but by a paranoid farmer who just committed suicide right after shooting me. Damn and here I thought I would be living through this. Sticking with it to the end. I guess not.
I feel so tired.
The blood was rushing through the open wound. It was a 9mm. Went right through. But still caused shit load of damage.
So this is how I die.
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This all started 20 years ago, but I still remember it like it was yesterdaywith more than 60% of the population dead. And turned. Nobody knows what happened, but all anybody knows is that they turn and kill. The only way to stop the turned is to destroy the host. I just couldn't do that to my wife.
One late summer day in Magrath, Alberta, Canada. There was a town-wide blackout. I came home early from work, as soon as I stepped in the door I noticed my boss's shoes. At that moment I was filled with rage. I ran up to our room only to find my boss on top of my wife. I instantly took the 9mm pistol my wife kept in her dresser and shot my boss without a second thought. I liked it.
I looked down to my wife, who was getting up. Without words I could already tell she was in pain. I looked to her arm and saw that son of a bitch bit her. From the wound there was a white ring around where his teeth went in and what looked like streams of white rapidly crawling under her skin and in her veins. What was going on.
My wife looked distressed, but I didn't know what to do so what I did was I packed up two bags full of food and clothes for us. When I went back to our room I saw my newest nightmare. My wife was eating the corpse of my former boss. She looked to me and snarled, showing her now bloodied teeth with flesh in between. I was mortified. I raised the handgun and aimed down the sights. But I couldn't do it. I ran out of the house. To my work grabbing a crowbar in the process and I smashed my co-workers faces in. It felt liberating. I walked slowly out of my work and walked away. I never looked back.
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The blood was pooling. The 9mm round did more damage than I first thought. Those things were starting to gather. With my shoulder busted from the round, my crowbar was useless. Then I heard the gunshots. They were coming closer and closer. Until I could see where they were coming from. A group of survivors, probably on a supply run, came running forward after clearing most of the turned. Until they saw me. Most of the turned have been taken care of. The few stranglers served no threat. My vision was fuzzy. Last I remembered, a gun was pointed in my face. I hear what could only be a question, but my hearing was fading as well as my life. I was only able to answer that I was alone before passing out.
I awoke with my head pounding and my shoulder throbbing. What happened? It's all too fuzzy. But then my senses kicked in, I was moving. Was it a vehicle? Shortly after the thought I passed out again.
I was awoken again by water poured on my face. And I was asked again what I can only assume was another question about who I am and where I'm from. But I couldn't reply, my throat burned with dryness. My vision cleared little by little as two figures appeared into my field of view. One was a burly African American male with a concerned look on his face. The other was a short white female with medium length blonde hair.
"Water," was all I could say with my burning throat.
"Oh right," the burly man replied.
He tossed me a small can of soup stock. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
"Thank you," I managed to choke out. "So what do you want to know?"
"We want to know who you are, where are you from and how many infected you've killed," the lady asked?
"Magrath, Alberta and oh I don't know about 372, somewhere in that range," I replied compliantly. "Oh and about humans, 2. Hunters 73. I counted."
They scurried into a side room, most likely to discuss whether to kick me out of let me in. They came back minutes later.
"What's your name," the burly man asked?
"Mason."