Left 2 Die
Episode One: Left Behind
Chapter One: Since Now
Dawn. It always found him with such a bad taste in his mouth. Some days, when Scott Collins slept for a particularly long amount of time, he hated waking up. It took ten full minutes of brushing his teeth and a quarter container of mouthwash to get out that awful taste and all the phlegm that had accumulated overnight.
This morning was particularly merciful. Only a quick brush had cured him of the taste, and any lingering remains were demolished with a bowl of Frosted Flakes. Scott sat alone at a small table in his apartment. He ate quickly and quietly, musing over his agenda for the day. As per usual, there was much to do.
After eating, he washed the bowl and spoon, left them to dry and made his way into the living room. With practiced routine, he turned on the radio first, and then the television. Neither presented anything new, whispering only static through both speaker and screen. Having come to expect this, Scott was dejected only slightly. He turned off the television, but switched the radio to CD, selected a song, turned up the volume and hit the play button.
As Paper Planes began to emanate from the high quality, overly priced speakers, Scott moved across the living room to the sniper rifle perched near the window. It was facing up, at the ceiling, as the window was closed. Nodding his head slightly to the beat, he pulled open the heavy shudders he'd installed and moved the rifle into position. Sunlight spilled into the room, bright and fresh, and was accompanied by a cool breeze.
It could have been a regular day, Scott reflected as he settled into position, the handle of the high powered rifle tight to his shoulder. It rested on a tall tri-pod. It could have, if not for that soft whiff of old death and rusty blood that wafted in with the new day's breeze. It was a smell that, despite his considerable exposure, he'd never grown used to. It still sent a shiver down his spine. He settled his eyes against the scope, closing the other.
"Let's see what we're working with today." he murmured softly, moving the rifle and scope across the street below his third story apartment in a slow, broad arc. The street was rife with destruction and rubble. A few skeletal remains of burnt out vehicles here, a pile of corpses there...someday he vowed to give them all proper burials, even if they were complete strangers. They hadn't asked for this, and burial seemed correct.
At first, only a trio of the ugly, undead horrors milled about mindlessly on the street. But, as the song playing behind him picked up, others began to trickle into the area. A soft grin tugged at the corners of Scott's mouth. His finger tightened a little on the trigger as he began to pick his targets. None of the special ones, not yet, at least. Hopefully none at all. He considered the rifle in his hands as he prepared to fire.
It was an absolutely amazing piece of equipment. Semi automatic, none of that reload after ever shot nonsense, and he'd even managed to rig it so that it was belt fed. A chain of lengthy, bronze colored shells went from the rifle to a box on the ground. It was amazing what the military just left lying around...
Scott squeezed the trigger.
Life wasn't always like this for Scott Collins. In fact, nineteen of the past twenty years had been surprisingly dull. In relevance to the current situation, Scott felt that none of it had mattered until he turned nineteen. And received the present that changed his life. A fixation on Zombies became a full blown obsession when he read the pair of novels World War Z and The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks.
Before that, Scott's life was dull and almost listless. He'd graduated high school, but with rich parents came the absence of need. He wanted for nothing. He was lazy, doing little more than playing video games, hanging out with his friends and drifting around Portland, his hometown. Something like an existential crisis was abruptly absolved by this simple pair of novels. Scott knew that he had a purpose now, even if the purpose was ridiculous.
Knowing that his parents would never support him if he moved away, he took as much advantage as he could. For six months, he remained in Portland. He had laser eye surgery to correct his eyes and removed his need for glasses or contacts, knowing that he could never rely on replacements should the Zombie Apocalypse occur. He hired a personal trainer and worked his skinny, somewhat flabby form into...well, not quite a rock hard physique. But at least he could see some definition in his muscles, and he could run a mile without dying for air.
He quit fast food and soda cold turkey, which was by far the hardest part. The video games, movies and novels stayed, however. His only real escape. With no job and no school, he needed some outlet from his training. In between sleeping and working out, he began training himself to do simple tasks. Basic electronics, vehicle repair, maintaining a garden. He also spent a lot of time training himself on basic combat techniques and firearm use. In six months, he learned more than he thought possible.
Once he began, and got going, Scott was amazed to discover how flat out motivated he had become. Throughout high school, he had often found himself desperately bored and borderline depressed. He'd seen a psychologist about it once, and the man had given him excellent advice that had, at the time, fallen on deaf ears. Humans were meant to stay busy, to advance themselves, to learn. They were also meant to be fit and healthy.
Deciding this meant he'd have to actually work at something, Scott had ignored the man and buried himself in pointless media and useless culture. But during those six months and even beyond, it seemed as if he'd been storing up nineteen years worth of motivation and energy. And it was just now being tapped into.
Feeling fit and capable, and taking whatever money he had siphoned off one way or another into a private bank account, Scott found a job and an apartment in a town called Fullton in Pennsylvania, far away from his family, friends and life. He knew that in a world ruled by the undead, he would need to severe all attachments. His parents were furious, obviously, but they couldn't make him stay.
They didn't let him take anything, except for the car. Not that it mattered. He'd managed to talk them out of so much money beforehand that he was able to furnish his third floor apartment with more than enough to keep himself busy. The simple job, repairing vehicles in a nearby garage, both increased his knowledge of such, kept him busy and further sustained him with income. For six months, he continued his training, his exercise, his new life.
And life continued much in the same manner. He bought supplies, stocked up on cans and bottles of water. Surprisingly, it didn't get dull. It wasn't boring. He was obsessed with something, and it felt great. His life had meaning, even if it was a meaning that was probably never going to be fulfilled.
He watched the news and hunted for stories to fill the back of The Zombie Survival Guide, a section called the Outbreak Journal. And for six months, there was nothing. Not a thing. But all that changed a little over a month ago, when he began hearing reports of riots further north in the state and something called the Green Flu. It didn't sit well, so he touched up all of his preparations, listened harder and began writing in the journal.
It didn't take very long. Within days, the 'riots' began spreading all over Pennsylvania. Within a week, it had reached Fullton. Then the military moved in. Scott locked himself inside of his apartment and watched the chaos unfold. He refused to leave, to answer the door or the phone. Internet was cut, soon the TV and radio went dead. The phone lines became inactive. Blood ran in the streets. People died, fell down...and got back up again.
There was literally no more perfect of a vindication. What Scott had spent the past twelve months preparing for finally happened. He had no idea it would happen so soon...or at all. For two weeks, there was nothing but bloody chaos. And then there was nothing. Nothing but the moaning. As far as Scott knew, the last living Human had either left Fullton or died. He was all alone. And so he'd lived as such.
As the final shot rang true, and the last Zombie skull burst, spraying the vicinity with tainted gore, Scott nodded to himself. The area was clear, at least as far as he could tell. He turned and began to prepare his next activity.
Going out into a city ruled by the undead.