Side Story, Part 1
…Jim…
Jim sat in a small, seedy apartment. A single lit bulb at the center of the room hung from the ceiling, and dust covered nearly everything. An automatic rifle sat in his lap; the safety off. It had a single, 30 round clip loaded into it, and it was all he had. He could hear those things down the hallway, and in the other apartments, tearing the occupants apart. He knew that if he lived to survive, or even get out of the building, the purely horrible sounds would haunt him forever. And over the past ten minutes, they'd been growing louder and more sporadic. A man in his early Twenties sat near the window, who looked like a younger version of Jim. He sat by a small, rusty window which had been bonded shut with rust and age. which happened to lead out onto a fire escape. He had a light stubble on his face, and kept mumbling about a girl named Samantha. He was quietly trying to open the window as he sat.
"Hey man, could you quit that? I won't be able to hear them, if they come that is." Jim said in a haggard and deep voice. His knuckles turned white as he picked up the rifle, gripping It with interminable terror. The screaming had stopped for the most part, meaning it was almost time for them to invade the small shit hole of Apartment 104. "No man, if I can get this window open, we can escape to the street. Then we don't have to die here." The other man said. He seemed to have a fatherly bond with the other man.
"Don't be so optimistic, Michael. They're in here and they won't be leaving anytime soon. Even if you do escape to the street, where will you go from there?" Jim told him, crushing his hopes. As Michael opened his mouth to answer, several sharp and fast pounding noises filled the air. The things reached their humble abode. Jim quickly stood up and cocked his weapon, and proceeded to shoulder it so he could use the sights. Outside, people ran to and fro, screaming at the tops of their lungs, creating a gloomy mood. The door began to shudder violently, with the incessant pounding taking it's toll. And with a sharp crack, it fell from the hinges and zombies flooded the room. Jim opened fire on the closest ones, dropping them to create an obstacle. He had to carefully choose his shots, as every single one counted. Even with his marksman-like shooting, as one fell, another one trampled over it's corpse. And with a final click of the rifle, it had run out of ammo. All the while, Michael had been working on the window, and finally got it's rusty frame to budge.
"Hurry up, we can escape!" He yelled frantically. But it was too late for Jim. He was desperately fighting the creatures off with the butt of his weapon, wielding it as a caveman would a club. He was quickly swamped, and disappeared under the flood of zombies. His voice was loud and arrogant, like it had always been, as he screamed, "Get out of here! I'm screwed, so-" His cry was cut of with a bloody strangle of pain, and he ceased breathing. Michael quickly hopped out the window and onto the fire escape, getting a head start since his Father's attackers had been busy with something else. He quickly hurried down the escape, and hit the pavement running. He needed to get away from the horror. And the best place looked like a small, rural town, which was over 50 miles down the highway. It would be a long way to walk, but first, he had to save a girl named Samantha…
Jim sat in a small, seedy apartment. A single lit bulb at the center of the room hung from the ceiling, and dust covered nearly everything. An automatic rifle sat in his lap; the safety off. It had a single, 30 round clip loaded into it, and it was all he had. He could hear those things down the hallway, and in the other apartments, tearing the occupants apart. He knew that if he lived to survive, or even get out of the building, the purely horrible sounds would haunt him forever. And over the past ten minutes, they'd been growing louder and more sporadic. A man in his early Twenties sat near the window, who looked like a younger version of Jim. He sat by a small, rusty window which had been bonded shut with rust and age. which happened to lead out onto a fire escape. He had a light stubble on his face, and kept mumbling about a girl named Samantha. He was quietly trying to open the window as he sat.
"Hey man, could you quit that? I won't be able to hear them, if they come that is." Jim said in a haggard and deep voice. His knuckles turned white as he picked up the rifle, gripping It with interminable terror. The screaming had stopped for the most part, meaning it was almost time for them to invade the small shit hole of Apartment 104. "No man, if I can get this window open, we can escape to the street. Then we don't have to die here." The other man said. He seemed to have a fatherly bond with the other man.
"Don't be so optimistic, Michael. They're in here and they won't be leaving anytime soon. Even if you do escape to the street, where will you go from there?" Jim told him, crushing his hopes. As Michael opened his mouth to answer, several sharp and fast pounding noises filled the air. The things reached their humble abode. Jim quickly stood up and cocked his weapon, and proceeded to shoulder it so he could use the sights. Outside, people ran to and fro, screaming at the tops of their lungs, creating a gloomy mood. The door began to shudder violently, with the incessant pounding taking it's toll. And with a sharp crack, it fell from the hinges and zombies flooded the room. Jim opened fire on the closest ones, dropping them to create an obstacle. He had to carefully choose his shots, as every single one counted. Even with his marksman-like shooting, as one fell, another one trampled over it's corpse. And with a final click of the rifle, it had run out of ammo. All the while, Michael had been working on the window, and finally got it's rusty frame to budge.
"Hurry up, we can escape!" He yelled frantically. But it was too late for Jim. He was desperately fighting the creatures off with the butt of his weapon, wielding it as a caveman would a club. He was quickly swamped, and disappeared under the flood of zombies. His voice was loud and arrogant, like it had always been, as he screamed, "Get out of here! I'm screwed, so-" His cry was cut of with a bloody strangle of pain, and he ceased breathing. Michael quickly hopped out the window and onto the fire escape, getting a head start since his Father's attackers had been busy with something else. He quickly hurried down the escape, and hit the pavement running. He needed to get away from the horror. And the best place looked like a small, rural town, which was over 50 miles down the highway. It would be a long way to walk, but first, he had to save a girl named Samantha…