Day One
It was a rather nice and beautiful summer day in the now rather large city of Fairbanks Alaska. The year was 2039, just shortly after the completion of the Russia-Alaska tunnel, and Fairbanks had grown to over two hundred and fifty three thousand people, and was now the largest city in Alaska.
School was nearly out for the year, only three days left, and on the playground of the Barnette Magnet School a large group of children were out playing.
Back and forth. Back and forth. The kids on the swings weren't necessarily young, being in junior high, but hey, who doesn't like swinging? Those that weren't swinging were standing next to the people that were, chatting idly. Off in one corner of the playground a group of kids were looking rather suspicious, if nothing else.
But then there were those few kids, two to be exact, who decided that running through heavy objects swinging backwards and forwards was quite fun. So there they were, one rather tall skinny boy and his friend.
The tall boy was, of course, tall, and gangly. He had a pair of glasses perched on his nose and brown, messy hair and brown, tired looking eyes.
The shorter boy had close cropped blond hair and blue eyes. He was roughly five-seven and of a medium build.
As they ran through the twenty something kids who were swinging so happily, they talked about whatever they felt like.
The tall boy, Derik, was talking about a game he had just beat for a third time, BioHazard or something like that.
"I honestly think it's the best game ever," the tall boy said running non-stop through four people, and halting to wait for his friend to catch up.
"Yea, and it probably is, though I wouldn't know, not owning it," replied the shorter boy, Ernie, Ern for short.
Stopping at the end of one set of swings to catch his breath, Bert continued on, "Well, you got your head cut off anyways, right? Too bad there aren't any zombies in it, though."
The two boys were now walking idly behind the swings, back towards the other end.
"Yea. Hey, speaking of zombies and other various undead, you know that kid Rudy?" That was Ern.
"Yea? The liar? What about him?" That was Derik.
"Well, he told his tallest tale ever during English. He claims that his dad works for the Umbrella Corp. and that he can bring the dead back to life."
"Seriously? Sweet. Too bad it ain't true though, I could easily utilize a zombie outbreak to score with some chicks!"
"Hell yea, man."
They finally reached the other end of the swings when Blake, a slightly overweight anime fan called out Ern's name, and Ern went to see what was up.
So Derik walked at a leisurely pace through the swings to where a few certain girls, all of whom were younger than him by a year, were swinging. They were a good crowd, screaming in surprise if he could sneak up on them and get right in front of their swings, jumping out of the way just in time.
It was definitely a great way to pass the time as the sun shined down on you from a clear blue sky.
Mean while, in another part of the city, a man in a white lab coat was running to his car to grab some papers he'd forgotten.
Grabbing them he slammed the door and began to run back towards the warehouse. His hair was a very dark brown and his frame very thin, and a pair of thick glasses kept slipping down his greasy face.
Arriving at his destination he slowed to a stop, pausing to smooth his hair and his lab coat, before entering the large and seemingly abandoned warehouse, one among many others in the downtown industrial district.
Ripping through the white corridor and down a flight of stairs on the left at the end, the man emerged out onto a large platform covered with various equipment, including two nondescript tankers and seven nondescript black SUVs.
Only one light was currently working, casting shadows across every surface, and illuminating the thick dust covering everything.
He paused at a large painting that seemed very out of place, pulling a small black key card from his back pocket and inserting it into a small slit in the wall, and he stood back as the painting opened outward, allowing him access to another dank white hallway.
Only every other light was working here, and every ten feet was a wooden door on either side of the hallway, each and every one of them looking as if they contained secrets left best untold to either man or god.
He stopped at one of these doors, opening it and then pulling it closed behind him.
The room in there was also dimly lit, cluttered counters lining the entire thing. Several chairs lay scattered about, and various scientific looking equipment lay about. Seven cages were mounted in the wall at the back of the room, and all but one was empty. The last contained a now very dead rabbit, half of its body missing, and blood smeared about the cage.
Dropping the papers on top of some other papers the man nearly ran to a closet and opened it, pulling out several vials of stuff, and bringing it all to a rather fancy looking contraption on the left of the room.
He then gingerly proceeded to lay out the vials in respective holders, and then glanced at some of the papers, then glided over to the closet and pulled out one single very sinister looking vial. Inserting it in the last slot, he closed down a small hatch over all the vials and pressed several buttons, starting the contraption.
Sitting down in a chair, his shoulders slumped, the man sighed. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was done. He had successfully recreated the G-Virus, and now he was free. Free to take his one son and his daughter away to somewhere safe, somewhere where he could sip coffee and watch things unfold.
The machine stopped, beeping once rather cheerfully, and then staying still.
And then there came a horrible screech, echoing through the halls and through the doors, eventually dieing quietly away.
"Fuck! Fucking shit," screamed the man, leaping towards a metal box on the other side of the room, and opening it hurriedly, withdrawing a 1911A1 Colt 45.
Inserting a clip with his hands shaking madly, the man swore a few more times, then pulling the slide back.
Taking a few deep breaths he calmed himself, then slid over to the door, pressing his ear against it, listening… listening… Aha! There it was, that distinct scratching sound, the sound that told you something was out there, waiting, watching.
Pulling his head back the man put his right eye up to a peephole where he peered into the dimly lit hallway. Yep, there it was.
Pulling back, the man cleared his throat, and yelled, "Fuck you!"
There was silence for a moment as an unknown presence pondered the noise, then turned to begin viciously attacking the door.
Thud. Thud. Thudthdthudthud. Thud!
Putting his hand to the door, the man calmly gauged where the thing was, and then raised the 1911.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Bambam!
There was a wet slap as something hit the floor, and silence as several pieces of brass clattered lightly on the floor.
Breathing heavily, the man jogged over to the machine and removed a large silver cylinder.
Stashing it in the metal box where he kept his pistol, he closed the box and sped out of the room, accidentally knocking over picture of a fourteen-year old boy with protruding buck teeth.
Dashing by a lifeless lump hidden in shadows, down the hallway and, by a busted door that only opened on shadows, the man burst through the painting door.
Dashing towards one of the SUVs and throwing the door open, he jumped in, sweat pouring out of every inch of his tense and nervous body. Slamming the door shut and throwing the box in the passenger seat, he fumbled with the keys that had already been in the ignition.
Humming obliviously to life, the vehicle stirred from its long and dusty sleep.
Revving the engine anxiously, the man shifted gears and sped forwards, nearly rolling the car in his haste. Speeding down the dark tunnel that was illuminated by headlights, and up a ramp out into the daylight and down the alley ways, away from the monstrosity that
lay beneath the forlorn and decrepit warehouse behind him.
Slinging his large, purple, and defiantly robust backpack over his shoulder, Derik closed his locker and started towards the stairs at the end of the hallway.
School had just gotten out and the hallway was quite empty, despite the fact that school had gotten out only several minutes ago.
Walking past several people who were still gathering their things or chatting idly, Derik checked his watch, more out of habit than anything else. Flattening his tousled brown hair with his hand, Derik started down the tiled stairs. It was three o' clock.
Coming to the bottom of the stairs Derik turned to his left, exited through two sets of back doors, and was greeted by the general hub-bub of people hanging around the school grounds after school, or people just waiting for a ride home.
Walking over to a group of people hanging around waiting for rides he began chatting idly.
There was only three people today, chiefly Nichole Shultz, Emily Koenig, and Ern.
"Hey guys, sup?" asked Derik, coming and standing with them.
"Not much," replied Ern.
"Same here," said Emily.
"So, Ern, what's the homework tonight?" asked Derik.
"Uh… Which class?"
"Math."
"Let me think… I'm pretty sure it was page three eighty, numbers one through forty."
"Aw man…"
"Yea," sighed Ern, sharing his friend's lament.
They were interrupted by Ern's little brother, Ryan, telling him that they had to go. So Derik, Emily, and Nichole all said bye as Ern walked off toward his mom's car, a blue Yukon Excel.
"So, Nichole, how was your day?" Derik asked, smiling absently as he watched Emily chase after Vance, who had taken Emily's backpack.
"Oh, it was alright," she replied, nodding slightly.
"So, how's the wall-paper coming?"
"Oh, it's going pretty well."
"Yea?"
"Yep."
Bert stepped to the side as Vance ran by with Emily's water bottle in his hands.
"So, you gonna e-mail me sometime?" Nichole asked Derik. She secretly like Derik, secretly as in he knew and no one else did.
"Well, I don't know, Nichole, maybe I would if you emailed me back," Derik said grinning.
"I'm pretty sure I did e-mail you," she said smiling, her rosy freckled cheeks looking as nice as ever.
"Are you absolutely sure?" Derik asked, raising one eyebrow skeptically.
"Yea, I'm pretty darn sure," she answered, looking at the cars behind Derik. "Oh, I've got to go!"
"Alright then," Derik said, waving goodbye, "Catch you later."
"Ok, bye!" Nichole said, waving goodbye as she climbed into her step dad's car.
As Derik stood by the fence watching everyone go about after school, he observed a sleek black SUV speed through the loop and screech to a halt in front of the school.
Watching the crowd for signs of anyone moving towards the car he spied Rudy looking at his cell phone, and then watched as he dashed for the suburban, slamming the door shut after him, and then watched as the SUV sped off, nearly hitting another car.
"Huh, weird," Derik muttered to himself.
There were thirty of them in all, each and every one of them African-American, walking in the shadows of dusk. They were rather young, being about an average age of seventeen. Seven were carrying visible weapons, mostly pump-action shotguns, except for two, one of which was a beautiful bolt-action rifle that had a large, black scope perched on top. The other long gun was an Ak-47, and not of the semi-auto kind, but a class three firearm.
The other twenty-three people were carrying various handguns, mostly semi-automatic; with a few exceptions, the most notable being a Smith & Wesson 500 revolver.
Their destination appeared to be a warehouse among many, one that only stood out because the main doors seemed to have a sandbag bunker constructed in front of them, and the bay doors had similar setup involving many sand bags.
As the thirty people neared the warehouse they began to take up positions behind an old, burnt out semi truck and tanker trailer.
As they silently waited, some of them checking their weapons nervously as the silence pressed in from all sides, the boy with the scoped rifle entered one of the adjacent warehouses and climbed the stairs all the way to the roof. He then crept over to the edge of the roof and set up his rifle with a bi-pod and drew back the bolt, inserting a thirty ot six round into the breech, and pushed the bolt back forwards.
Peering into the scope, he observed the large sandbag bunker, looking for signs of life.
He spotted one person, a boy in his late teens, Caucasian, with an SKS clutched in his sweaty hands.
Grabbing slowly for his radio, he pressed the button and radioed one of the men below, whispering into it, "This is Big Meat, to Skinny Boy, we have one observed man in the sandbag bunker. Im'a gonna take that sucker out, and then you boys charge it, and toss one of 'em frags in there."
There was no reply, but he knew the other had heard. Peering into the scope, he grinned with a malicious, perverted pleasure as he zeroed the sights on the boy's forehead, and slowly pulled the trigger back.
Crack!
The thick silence was disturbed as the rifle jumped, and one person fell back, dead.
The boy watched as the shadows previously hidden behind the truck and trailer began silently forwards.
There was now yelling and screaming coming from the warehouse, and gunfire spurted from several of the windows.
From what he could hear there was several handguns and a few shotguns, and the rattle of automatic fire could be heard, most likely from and old world war two relic.
The shadows had now reached the warehouse's wall minus two and without firing a single shot, and the boy watched as one of the shadows threw something into the bunker.
A few seconds later there was a large, muffled explosion as the grenade detonated, and the general intensity of things increased.
The shadows were now entering through the breach, and the volume of the gunshots increased tenfold.
As he watched, though, a single shadow could been seen shambling towards the warehouse. Observing it through his scope, the boy couldn't discern anything, so, erring on the side of caution he drew the bolt back again and inserted another round, pushing it forwards again.
Centering the scope on the figure's chest, he pulled the trigger.
Crack!
And nothing.
"What?" The boy said to himself, "What the hell?"
Because the figure had only stumbled a little, and other than that was still moving at the same pace.
Drawing the bolt back again, he inserted another round into the breech and pushed the bolt back forwards.
Crack!
And still nothing! What the hell?
And then it was too late, the shambling figure had already reached the hole in the sandbag bunker and had entered the warehouse.
Grabbing his radio, the boy turned on the radio and said low and fast, "Yo man, you got someone coming in behind you guys, keep an eye out for him."
Again, there was no reply, but he knew the person on the other end had heard.
Several minutes passed with sporadic gunfire coming from inside the building, but nothing else. Then there was a scream, a blood-curdling bone shaking scream accompanied by the noise of some small caliber weapon going full-out. The screaming continued for several seconds and then died down.
It was then that the boy realized that all the gunfire had stopped for a moment. It was dead quiet in there.
And then there was the moan, a deep, guttural moan that permeated through the night air and chilled the boy to the bone.
"Fuck man, what the hell is going on down there?" the boy yelled into the radio, spit flying from his mouth.
No reply.
Suddenly a gunshot cut through the silence like a knife through hot butter, and the gunfire continued again as if everyone inside had just put the moan at the back of their heads.
The noise continued on until it was coming from one apparent location in the warehouse, and the shots were few and far between.
Then there was an influx in the amount of gunfire and yelling, and then someone screamed again and the gunfire continued for about thirty seconds, with screaming interspersed among it all.
Then there was no noise.
"What the fuck is going on in there?!" the boy yelled into his radio. This only elicited several moans from inside the building.
And one from behind him.
Turning around the boy swore as he saw a shambling figure making its way across the rooftop towards him.
Pulling out a nine-millimeter pistol from a holster at his hip he opened fire at the figure, blowing of one of its fingers and part of its leg and arm, and opening several new holes among several old ones.
Click. Click click. Click.
The boy fumbled for a new clip for his pistol, but was over run, and he began grappling with the thing, the thing that smelled like rotting shit.
Later, surveillance tapes showed two figures fall from the top of one of the warehouses, plummeting to the ground below.
Closing his math book Derik set it down on the coffee table and put his pencil next to it. He sighed, wondering if tomorrow would be as tiring as today was. Oh well, it didn't matter, being tired was a small price to pay for having such a great day.
Laying back on the couch Derik became mesmerized by the flames in the propane fireplace, watching as they licked at the glass.
The T.V. was on, but that didn't matter because to Derik it was just background noise.
Uuuunnngggghhhh…
Wait, that wasn't the television…
Uuuunnngggghhhh…
There it was again! What was that damned noise?
Getting up Derik walked over to the back door and opened it cautiously. Sensing that there was no immediate danger, he stepped out onto the deck and peered over the railing out into the dark, sloped forest below.
The only thing he could see, though, was the dim outline of the trees around him. The noise had stopped.
"Weird," he said aloud to himself.
Turning, he went inside and started to shut the house off for the night.
But outside, an undeniable evil lurked, ready to pounce on the no longer innocent frontier city of Fairbanks, Alaska.