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Quest for Recuperation
Introduction
30 years ago, a massive and terrible tragedy occurred all over the globe. Death rejected everyone and people were rising everywhere. Rising from the dead. There was a virus, and not just any regular kind of virus. A kind of virus that proved nearly impossible to survive, which subsequently caused the death of billions. But there were some that made it through, the survivors of the fittest.
I was the son of a single mother and was born on January 24th, 5 years after the start of the infection, in spite of all the chaos that was ensued in the town of Louisville, Kentucky. I was named Clovis Videl and shortly after, my father left us and decided that Canada was best for his own self. I could only imagine that he couldn't take care of us.
When I was almost 2 years old, my mother had found a group that was passing by; they took me in but left my bit mother to fend for herself in her dying hours. The leader of the group, Joan, had vowed to protect me and his daughter Mariette, someone that would soon prove extremely important to me.
The whole group and I ended up in Burlington, Vermont where we had no choice but to reside in the infected town as our only other method of transportation was just our feet. There had been an EMP attack on all of America a couple of years after the, my birth, which caused us to remain immobile. Why it happened I still wish to know.
Eventually, Mariette's father, also my unofficial godfather, had died in from a heart attack. He could not handle the stress and anxiety of leading a group in dangerous peril. Subsequently, Mariette's mother had committed suicide, leaving the group to be led by a 24-year-old brother of Mariette. A couple of years later, Mariette's brother had died trying to protect me from a zombie that was about to surprise attack me. Had he not jumped in front of me, I would have died… and for that I respect him deeply and I will always owe him one. Even beyond the grave.
Before I knew it, I was already 16 and the most significant part of life was to come. I had lost everyone I was ever close to, save for small friendships with the other survivors. But I had lost the closest person.
I remember one night with my old group - including Mariette - when we were fending ourselves off a surprising wave of the undead that came out of nowhere. Day after day, night after night, we fought back thinking nothing but the idea of making it through.
Early May, another group came in with a very old car. Old enough to avoid the earlier EMP attack. They helped us win the battle over the "walkers" and offered my group and me to join them in their trek to Northern Canada. It turned out that they were from Maine, avoiding some sort of human rebellion/invasion. Everyone in my group but Mariette denied the offer. I was much too attached to Burlington and couldn't leave it just like that. I had also taken full responsibility over the leadership of the group and I could not abandon them… even if it meant sacrificing Mariette.
She tried to persuade me but it did no good as I continued to deny. Mariette had told me I was the closest person to her and she couldn't afford to lose me, but in conclusion, she decided to leave me be as she perpetually and ultimately would care for her safety more. She exchanged looks of sorrow and mouthed "come back for you". She got onto the large truck; the male survivors around her looking a bit jumpy. Suspicions within me had arisen.
"If I had it my way, I'd slit your throat with the knife that you left in my back," I whispered to myself, "If you ever come back, you better fucking bow down to me, you better beg me for mercy, and you better cry me a river." But my feelings of anger were quickly overridden and replaced when I noticed a sinister smile from one of the survivors sitting in the passenger's seat. Before I could do anything, the truck was already speeding away. Chasing after by foot was nearly impossible and pointless. All I could do was realize the life-changing mistake I just made where I stood and focus all my anger, shock, and sadness into the baseball bat I was holding. The months passed by and my group of originally five, slowly turned to two, until I and another man named Albert were the only survivors in Burlington. But it wouldn't be long until I would be completely alone… alone to survive the latest horrors of mankind. And I would manage.
During my 20-year stay in Burlington, I claimed both Burlington and South Burlington. Hard as it may seem to take control of two towns, it wasn't that difficult as I was the last man in both cities. At the start of the disaster, over 40,000 people left the cities to go to Canada to escape the oncoming atrocity of the undead. After the massive evacuation, there were only 10,000 people left. Those 10,000 thought they could handle the national epidemic but eventually they all "turned" from carelessness, stupidity, or starvation.
Over my "reign", I jokingly named myself King of Burlington. I unofficially had turned this small little part of America into a monarchy. There was no democracy left in America. It was lost and most politicians were dead.
In time, I had killed over 5,000 of the walking dead and the remaining "population" was killed off by other survivors that would pass through. Though rarely, I would encounter some survivors passing through that would assist me in the slightest bit. Usually, they wanted to relation with me. This had caused me to develop a liking towards being alone. Doing things, and ultimately surviving by depending completely on myself. So when there were humble groups of survivors, and when they did offer me to come along and make their way out of Vermont, I would decline without a second thought. I felt it was my fate to stay in Burlington and live out my life, surviving, and only leaving when I choose myself. And in a weird way, it almost seemed that way. Almost.
Chapter One: Burlington Death Factory
The month was August, and the morning shined on through what little space the highly-secured window on my side allowed. As soon as the light invaded the previous darkness, I had awaken and quickly pulled out my HK USP Tactical .45 pistol. I had completely demolished the stairs so that if in the slight chance that a walker had gotten in, they wouldn't be able to get upstairs, where I'd be safe and sound. My replacement to get up and down was a simple ladder. Climbing down carefully and relaxing after seeing that the front door untouched, I mumbled "Time for breakfast…"
I walked out the backyard door and felt the sudden change in smell, and sight. The time was 8am yet the skies were filled with massive amounts of dark clouds with little light passing through. Averagely, you could only see the sun every 15 minutes through the dark clouds.
Broccoli, Peas, and Beans were being grown in a vegetable patch about 10 feet in front of me. I had to admit it wasn't easy to learn how to plant and grow these plants… especially with limited light. On top of that, I had roosters and hens for obvious reasons. I had put a blanket over the rooster's cage, reading somewhere that it would prevent them from cooing so much to the point that it would attract walkers. The hens were for eggs so I could consume and raise more chickens.
I brought out a cook pan and started a fire with my lighter and fire wood. Placing the pan over the fire, I grabbed some of the eggs that the hen had laid and washed them thoroughly. By then, my pan was ready to cook. I cracked my egg and professionally spilled the matter inside the egg onto the pan. After some flipping around, it was ready to eat on my plate.
Picking up some broccoli, I threw some into the pan with a little water and cooked it around. When finished, I added some good sauce to eat with. I crunched down my meal in near-silence while observing the ashy clouds that were sprawling all over the sky. It was said that those dark ashy clouds were because of the world-wide, massive amounts of the dead being burned to ashes.
Everyday, getting up in the morning, I couldn't be not be proud of the defensive system Before my group had diminished, we had built strong concrete walls had rose 15 feet high and stood 3 feet thick around the house. There was no way through except through the ladders. It took us 3 years to complete the defensive system taking brick by brick from the nearest Home Dept, using only feet as a means of transportation. Now I ask you… how could you not be proud?
After I ate my meal up, I brought myself up to kill the fire and head back into the house to grab some appropriate clothes. It was time to go hunting… for the dead. Within 15 minutes, I had my HK USP in my dominant hand, my XD-9 Springfield handgun in my holster attached to my waist, my Remington M870 Express shotgun strapped over my back, a few magazines for my two pistols in my pockets, a box of shotgun shells in my pants' back pocket, and two pipe bombs attached to the other side of my waist. These weapons, as soon as wielded, made me feel… powerful. And they had saved my life too many times.
I was about to go to the center of town to start my "hunting" for the day. Everyday, I would commit myself to finding at least 15 walkers to eliminate before I would I allow myself to return home. I had planned to kill every single walker in Burlington, and then build a defensive system around the town… however long that'd take. And maybe even start a colony. I had read about the old American colonies back in the early 1600s. If they could do it, so could I, except all these fuckin' walkers were my version of the plague and diseases those colonists endured.
I unlocked the front door that was heavily secured with bolts and locks. The house was virtually impenetrable so I didn't both locking the door. Hastily, I picked up the 15 foot ladder and laid it against the concrete wall. Climbing cautiously as there could have been some walkers on the other side, roaming aimlessly. As I neared the peak of the wall, I bobbed my head over the wall to check if the coast was clear. It was. I sat on the top of the wall and pulled the massive ladder up and over the wall down lay it against the other side. I made more noise than I would've liked to which made me instinctively look up, gun at the ready. After listening in for about a minute, there was no response. No moan, no screech, so I slid down the ladder and placed the ladder down carefully to the ground.
Just ahead of me was an old house that I had kept my mountain bike on the porch. It was an excellent method of transportation, especially from the "runners". Most zombies were walkers, but some could run fast. It… had something to do with the genes of host in relation with the structure of the virus.
I hopped on the bike and pedaled my way towards the center of town, taking me only a couple of minutes. Call me trigger-happy, but I was extremely compelled to put a bullet through a walker's head. I took a deep breath and then screamed at the top of my lungs. I waited a few minutes, and to no surprise, I could hear a faint moan coming from the distance. Another few minutes passed and I could see 9 of them showing themselves, coming to surround me. All but one was slowly coming at me… step by step, wanting nothing but the flesh attached to my bones. Flesh that they'd do anything to get a piece of, no matter what.
The only one that wasn't walking slowly towards me was a runner. Thankfully, it wasn't the Olympic-like kind of runner so I had plenty of time to prepare myself to assimilate the bastard in one shot. And one shot was all it took me. The bullet from the trigger I pulled pierced through the air and found its way through the delicate and decayed skull of the runner. Its head jerked slightly upward right after the point of impact and it dropped lifelessly onto the ground. I smiled satisfyingly, feeling the first rush of adrenaline of the day.
One interesting characteristic between runners and walkers were that runners normally screeched and walkers normally just moaned or groaned. That was one way to tell them apart.
The distance between the walkers and I were slowly decreasing and I knew I couldn't fool around anymore. I positioned my .45 very carefully to the head of closest walker to me and squinted one eye in order to get a better aim. I pulled the trigger but the result was not what I had expected. The bullet had pierced through the scalp on the side of the walker's head, but the impact was not deep enough to do critical damage to the brain. The walker stopped for a second when hit, but continued to pace towards me, moaning like a motherfucker. I took one deep breath and tried again, squinting. As soon as I pulled the trigger, I had already I knew I got the bastard. It fell down pathetically, just like the runner I had just demised.
The next two walkers closest to me had gained some on me by taking advantage of my miss just now. They were closer than I'd like, but at least they were close enough to kill easily. Without any need for squinting or very careful positioned, I did what I was trained to do for over 17 years. Holing 'em right between the eyes. I dispatched the two closest walkers within a couple of seconds and they both met their fate. To lay face down on the ground with a bullet in their head. There were now 6 of 'em left, but it wasn't going to be 6 for long.
After waiting a few seconds for them to get closer, I dispatched another one easily. I moved to position my pistol on a target I noticed with my peripheral vision. Another one down. With only 4 of 'em left, I decided I could relax a bit and let my guard down slightly.
The center of town was a deserted and hopeless place. It had years of erosion and bloodstains across its streets. This place was forsaken by everyone – but me. I leaned against the old and moldy fountain to observe the buildings that lacked care for over 30 years. Some brick buildings were burnt black; some of them had bullet holes all over them. Bloodstains all over the walls and in between alleys. I remember the many years before, when there was a lot more people alive in town – at least compared to now – that had tried so hard to survive. And I was hiding in this waterless fountain, listening to the sound of death, gun in hand. I was shaking badly those times. Those times where I had still felt for other people and was still nervous at the site of those walkers. But over the years, I learned to cope. And I learned to fear nothing.
I aimed my gun at a walker closing in and pulled the trigger lazily – it dropped flat on its face. Getting tired of only shooting their heads, I locked onto my next and closest target and repeatedly pulled the trigger, throwing numerous bullets all over its torso. It jerked and twitched like it was having a seizure while still standing. The sheer force of the bullets toppled the walker onto the ground. It got back up as I expected. I released the empty clip, letting it fall, and reached in my pocket to slam a full clip into my .45 pistol. I aimed lower than usual – the walker's knees – and shot both of them. It involuntarily jerked once again and shambled onto one knee and then the other. Before I could let gravity pull the walker completely down to the ground, I shot its head, confirming the kill.
"That was fun…" I chuckled. Now there were only 2 left and it wasn't going to be hard. But suddenly, out of nowhere, I heard a loud screech and a runner had came out of nowhere to my left. This one was running at Olympic speeds. I knew I couldn't risk it so I took out my XD-9 and aimed both of my guns to the runner's blurry legs. I simultaneously shot as fast and as ferociously as I could, watching the bullets impact its legs. I saw it fall and skid and I knew I was successful. Taking no chance to leave it alone, I jogged to the now-crawling corpse and ended its misery.
I turned to finish what I came here to do and aimed one pistol to one of the two walkers, and the other pistol to the other walker, not 3 feet away from the first. The second walker had plunged just a millisecond after the first. I was now complete here and it was time to leave. I blew the smoke from my pistols and smiled as I walked towards my mountain bike.
But… in one striking second, my charismatic mood was suddenly interrupted by a roar… a roar that sent a chill up my spine. The roar that I heard many years ago. Before I knew it, my hands were searing with pain from how tight I was holding my guns.
I turned to see the SEAD only 50 feet away, making its way to me. A SEAD stood for Strong Even After Death. Walkers would eat you, bite by bite; runners did the same, just more hastily, but SEADs… these bastards would wreak havoc everywhere and rip you apart; to shreds. They were twice the size of regular zombies and were rare, meaning only 5% of all the living dead were SEADs.
SEADs usually roar or roar-screech when they see humans and this one was definitely roaring its ass off. It was walking very fast in a horrible stance – not running – but just walking very fast. It gets to you quicker than you think. A little bit intimidated, my index fingers twitched to pull and pull I did after I quickly aimed both pistols at the SEAD. Even though I was raining bullets all over its head and torso, it was still barely affected. I continued to shoot and shoot until both clips were empty. Tossing the pistols aside, I knew I had to get serious. I pulled out my shotgun that was strapped on my back and turned off the safety. It continued to walk horribly and awkwardly towards me, seemingly unaffected by the large amount of bullets it just took in. I huffed in and out in anger and intimidation. "No… no, no, no! NO, motherfucker. You're not coming after me… I AM!" I yelled to it, pumping my shotgun. I started power-walking towards it, aiming my shotgun to its head. Yelling from the adrenaline and rage, I turned from a power-walk to a sprint.
As soon as I got close enough, it took a swing at me with its large arm, which I instinctively shot. The arm was deemed useless. Taking no time to stall, I pumped my shotgun right after and quickly blasted the SEAD in the torso. The power of the impact sent it flying backwards a couple of feet. I started laughing out of nowhere, maybe because it was easier than I thought.
I used to be scared of this thing… but then again, who wouldn't? However, my confidence was tested once again as it got right back up again, roaring louder than ever. For a short moment, we made eye contact and it was standing there, still. I pumped my shotgun and pointed it towards the SEADs head. Jerking forward, ready to come at me in rampage, I gave no opportunity to it by blowing its head off. The SEAD was now dead… at least I hoped so. I had not killed on in more than 10 years. When it fell, the ground shook. The weight of that thing must've been over 500 pounds.
I sighed and turned around, but I heard a screech right before I saw a runner come jumping onto me. I only had a split second to put my hand over its neck and endure the heavy fall onto my back. Pain was nothing close to the fear I was also enduring. Why today? Why would I suddenly, out of nowhere, deal with a SEAD and now this?"
The runner continued to scratch me and I continued to try to push it back. With all the strength I could muster up, and with all the adrenaline rushing through my body, I managed to place my foot over its torso and kick it into the air. I pumped my shotgun, and shot it in the middle of the air right before it was about to drop. I sighed in relief again and got up to check the premises. Clear. I then checked my injuries. Multiple scratches.
Thankfully, there was no means of infecting people by scratching. But it was still painful like a son of a bitch. I limbed towards my mountain bike, tossing my shotgun near it. My back was not feeling well after that fall just then. I grabbed my pistols from the ground and reloaded them both. Water was all I could think about now. I was more tired and exhausted than I knew.
I sat and leaned against the fountain and gulped my water bottle down like it was tossing. I threw it when I was done and then rested for a minute. When I would get home, I would have a good meal, shower, and have a good night's rest. Maybe not go hunting tomorrow. After a while of resting and staring at the dead SEAD, I felt I was strong enough to go home. I shoved my pistols down their holsters and picked up my shotgun to strap it over my back with a long exhaling sigh when finally sitting on the bike. I checked for the coast being clear, spit as far as I could to the SEAD corpse, and then started pedaling.
My home was very, very safe. Even from a SEAD. It was pretty much a mini fortress. That thought was comforting. I guess you could say I was proud that I was going home to such a haven. So now you see… when dealing with the living dead, these guns have saved my life numerous times. Too many to count, even. I would have been pieces of decayed flesh without 'em, and for that I am grateful. There was store that used to be called Burlington Coat Factory. Great place for coats, sweaters, accessories. But this town… I named it "Burlington Death Factory" because this town was a great place for death, sadness, and fear.
A/N: Well I hope that you liked and enjoyed this chapter. I'm well under my way to start the next. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!!! Thank you all, and the next chapter will be called "The Imprudent and Dim-Witted".