Clayton let out a sigh, as he over looked the Manhattan Bridge, now the only way in and out of New York on foot. He was stood on top of the huge metal wall that had been erected in the first day of the crisis basically to prevent the infection from spreading out into the city. There had been one or two outbreaks in the city and he'd lost a friend in the number of deaths that had occurred but New York was now a safe place, one of the few left in the world. At least his family was safe his father, mother and sister were probably at home. Clayton had joined the New York Militia the moment it had been set up. He wanted to play a part in defending all that now meant so much to him. Clayton was only eighteen and up until about a week ago he was intending to go of the university the moment that he left high school but the out break and shattered all the usual dreams. Of going to university, getting a house with a job, getting married, having kids and owning a car. In some ways Clayton was grateful to have this change in the world it would stop it from being a boring place now. So now he would have to fight to grab a place in the new world that was constantly changing.
It was currently one o'clock in the morning and the only noise from the city at the present was silence, there were plenty of army vehicles moving around on the bridge. They were constantly moving cargo crates around full of weapons and ammo. It was surprising how many guns there were in the city, Clayton had his own side arm, which had been given to him by his father, and an M-4 machine gun, which is what every one in the militia, seemed to be using. The one good thing about New York was the vast amount of gun stores located in it. So when the crisis had arisen the civilian population had been more then adapt at defending itself. However all guns were located at the bridge now, with the exception of the police who were doing a good job of maintain order in a city that could so easily descend into chaos.
Clayton himself had hardly been affected by the disaster except he now had a job to defend his home city. His sister however had taken to staying in the house every day. Her husband was outside the city when the chaos had started. Several hundred miles south in fact. He was a doctor in a hospital. They had recently had an argument, which is why his sister was staying with them at home when the crisis started.
Quinn that was the name of her husband was probably dead by now, which Clayton couldn't deny made him feel bad. The guy was quite cool and the two of them had always got on with each other. He remembered the day they first met, Rachael had to go out with their parents and Quinn was left to look after Clayton, the two of them sat around the living room and played on Clayton's X-box together for ages then Quinn let Clayton have his first nip of whiskey. At the time Clayton hated it but he'd developed quite a taste for it now even at the age of eighteen.
Clayton was dressed in his own clothes at the moment, the militia didn't have a proper uniform but they were all given badges, which made them members of the police force. Clayton wore typical clothes for his age. A pair of jeans, some trainers a t-shirt, and a jumper and also leather blazer with a scarf to keep out the cold. It was very draftee on the bridge as the wind glided across making it seem much colder than it actually was. It was turning November at the end of the week and Clayton knew it would be getting much colder soon. His short hair ruffled in the wind and his scarf fluttered around his neck.
He took another gasp of air then slung the M-4 onto his shoulder by the strap. It was time to move along the wall, in another five minutes he'd be relieved and get another break.
The wall itself was a good ten meters high with a large gate in the middle that allowed the occasional excursion to the "wastelands" as people in New York had started to refer to the outside country as, another term that had been floating around was to name the zombies as "The Horde". This name had been circulated by the heavily religious of the city claiming that The Horde had come to cleanse the earth. It was amazing how many people had suddenly become very religious as well since the outbreak.
Experiments that had occurred on the few of The Horde that had been captured had already proved that the condition that caused the "zombieness" was a type of virus. Some scientists in the city were currently trying to find a cure. However no one was holding out any hope on that front.
The one thing people did focus on was the chance to escape the city. The boats that were taking people out of the city to take them to Australia were arriving every other day. Plus shipments of essential food and supplies were arriving on a daily basis. So the city although its population was slowly decreasing was defiantly safe. People instead of going to their jobs tended to lend a hand trying to help with the vast exodus any way they could. Jack, Clayton's father, had got a job down at the docks, as he was an ex-cop he helped arrange the people onto the boat. Others were involved with keeping the power to the city safe in another branch of the Militia, there was also a boat force to the militia that moved around the New York patrolling all the opposite banks and monitoring The Horde. Some delivered the food and supplies and others simply stayed at home and waited for the time when they were chosen to leave.
Clayton scanned the bridge out in front of him, which was strewn with rotting corpses and smouldering car wrecks. The Horde now had a habit of attacking the bridge in numbers instead of just running at the bridge in vein hunger. He could see a bit of movement on the bridge but it was most likely crows and rats having their feast upon the corpses.
He'd never been one to flinch at violence and blood and gore he'd always found it fascinating in the gory films he'd seen, as most teenagers did he had no concept of what it was like to be in a war. Now he understand why it was not glorified, it was true that he wasn't in a war against other people he was fighting things that were once people but his desire to fight and blood lust had disappeared over the week. He'd now give anything to go off back to his normal boring life.
Instead all he could do was go back to the other guards and carry on the game of 21's that they were playing.
He turned and headed down the ramp off the huge wall. When he reached the bottom he saw the other five guards huddled around a brazier and a table with a few stools. There were only five guards on the wall at a time when there wasn't an attack. The soldiers and other militia soldiers were sleeping in barracks that had be constructed nearby on the bridge itself and could be here in a matter of seconds in the alarm was raised.
"Hey Pete, it's your turn on the wall" Clayton said to one of the men.
"Aww Shit! Just when I was on a winning streak as well" The man called Pete complained putting his cards on the table and collecting his winnings, they weren't playing for money as it'd become worthless due to the current crisis but they played for other items usually cigarettes.
Pete then left marching up the wall obviously annoyed but still willing to do his duty.
"Anything up Clay?" Rico asked, Rico was the only soldier out of the five of them, each militia squad had a few soldiers in them to give an example and of course the militia officers were proper soldiers as well.
Clayton suddenly realised that the expression on his face showed that he wasn't in the best mood.
"Oh nothing just thinking about my sisters husband" Clayton replied.
"He might still be alive." Rico said, his voice trying to get across some sort of hope.
"I doubt it." Clayton replied.
