A New World Order

Prologue

The weary traveller on the road to nowhere. He has no goal in mind. Nothing to aim for. He moves slowly, almost dragging himself forcefully, as though he wants nothing more than to stop and just close his eyes. But to stop is to die. So he forces himself on, walking along the highway. He checks the cars that are strewn all along the road, if there is food or ammo or even a nice gun. He would take it. He wears a backpack, filled to the brim with ammunition and snacks. There's no electricity any more, and he is scared to light a fire. So he eats what he doesn't need to cook. A shotgun is resting against his shoulder, fully loaded and pumped, ready for action. He wears a Disturbed hoody, and jeans. A remnant from two months earlier. Hidden in the deep pockets of his hoody is a small revolver, his fathers gun. He appraoches an abandoned humvee, its front is crumpled and broken, the windows shattered violently. Blood stains the floor around it. It rests on the concrete block on the side of the highway, and the survivor appraoches carefully, shotgun aimed at the window.

The traveller looks the backseat over. Glass is scattered over the leather, this window was smashed inwards. He tries not to dwell on what happened to people, they didn't make it and he did. That's all that matters, and maybe he'd end up killing them again somewhere. He scans the front seats. There is a large knife, stained with blood on the passenger seat. He reaches in, a proper combat knife. Not like the kitchen shit he carries. He tosses his own knife into the humvee, and places this new one in backpack. As he zips up the bag, he hears it. A clanging. He is alert immediately, aiming towards the sound. There are two cars, collided with one another. It was the sound of metal falling, and it came from the crash site. He shuffles forwards and picks up a small piece of debris. He tosses it at the car to make a dull thud. Then it rises.

The shambling mess that was once a human. A deep, rattling moan escapes its cracked lips. Dull eyes filled with black stare hungrily at the traveller. It is blocked by the two cars, and cannot get out to catch its prey. It pounds slowly, but heavily on the hood of the car in front of it. A piece of jagged metal impales itself into the monsters hand, blood squirts out alarmingly but these things do not feel pain. They aren't human anymore. He decides that shooting it would be a waste of bullets. He draws his new knife, and advances just out of reach. The monster raises its arms, moaning louder, its hands grasping frequently and fruitlessly. The traveller laughs and slams the knife hilt deep into its forehead, the eyes extinguish their stupid malice immediately, and its arms feebly claw at the fabric of the travellers shirt. Then, the arms droop, the body goes limp and collapses hard. Its knee buckle and its head smacks hard on the bonnet of the car, releasing a spurt of blood. The traveller rips the knife out of the monster. He wipes it clean on the tattered clothes of the corpse. "Go fuck yourself." He says calmly, and begins walking down the highway once more, no destination. No transport. Just his gun, his ammo and his potato chips.

When nights roll around, they're the worst. There's no light anywhere, especially on cloudy nights. It's worse when it rains. Even worse trying to find a place to hide and sleep. He travels down the highway, because the creatures stick to cities, and because there is always refuge in a car. He tends to go for the ones with intact windows and lockable doors. Nothing has happened so far, so his luck seems to be holding out. He remembers his old life as he walks. He is only 16, but has adapted to the plague like a natural. He remained uninfected, he escaped Los Angeles before the army quarantined it and condemned millions to death... Or, living death. It was ineffective anyway. It just helped the shit spread, and their numbers were enough to overwhelm the army. Their tanks and high tech weaponry was no match for them. Only shots to the head killed, destroy the brain or the spine. The brain preferably. They can still bite without a spine. The tanks just dispersed them, and spread them further out, allowing them to flank the army. Airstrikes did nothing but to dismember limbs. They didn't die. The soldiers did a lot better than the machinery, but they still died. There are a lot of the creatures shambling around in their US army uniforms. Many still have guns slung around them, dangling miserably as their owners shuffle along to wherever their hunger takes them.

And so, the first days were painful. No weapons besides a knife, heading to evacuation zones. But all had either been overrun, or left already. He found other survivors. None of them stayed together. Not unless they had the same destination. Many were still concerned about family and rumours. "Haven't you heard? Texas is plague-free!", "It's too cold for them to survive in Canada during the winters. If we survive until then, we'll be okay." and of course, "Hawaii is fine I heard. That's where a lot of the evacuation parties went to." But the traveller believed none of it. He didn't want to go West to the ocean, not be able to find a boat and then end up miles from anywhere he knew, and off course from South. He was heading South because there was still electricity. He knew this from people heading North. They said it was the same as anywhere else, but he would much prefer living in the apocalypse with some electricity.

So he continued, following the highway East to Texas. A forest of metal and a path of concrete, cracked and strewn with debris and splatters of blood. His trusty shotgun in his hands, his mind on the task ahead. He would survive no matter what...

AWSOME, KEEP GOING its pretty good already!

New chapter

Chapter One : The End of the Road

The traveller came across a school bus. He shuddered at the thought of children in this mess, and pried open the doors. They gave an audible creak which was horrible and exruciatingly loud in the eery silence. It was always quiet now... He stepped insde, and examined every gap between the seats. Nothing. He moved to the back part of the bus, and saw a small notebook on the seat. He picked it up and flipped through it. A journal. The last date entry was two weeks ago. He read it aloud to himself. Sometimes it was comforting to hear another human voice, even if it is your own. "We're stuck on the highway. The bus broke down, and we're stuck on the highway. I don't know what we can do, but we'll try holding off. The driver has a gun. And we all have weapons of some sort. We can hold out for a while, maybe leave when the day comes and stay in a group. We'll make it to the shore, I know we will. I fear I will need to leave the journal here. They won't let me take more than we need. - Keira." He tossed it to the floor, and shut the doors of the bus. He looked at the highway from all angles, and what he saw turned his stomach. A large host of the undead were shambling his way. There was a large gap in the concrete barrier that seperated the two roads. And they would be moving through it within minutes.

The sun was setting, which was bad. The last thing he needed was to be running from a horde of them, while they had his scent and in the dark. They don't give up. Ever. He knew it was fight or die. He dumped the backpack of ammo on the back seat, and practically tore it open. He drew his other weapons and placed them on the seat too. He pumped the shotgun, just to make sure and proceeded to smash one of the windows facing the oncoming horde. The gap in the wall was literally, centimetres away from the bus, which meant they would be awfully close. The first of them made it to the gap. It placed both hands on the ruined slabs. It seemed to smile triumphantly, and looked at the traveller with relish. It grunted as 12 gauge racked its upper body and sent it flying back a metre. The rest were squeezing themselves through. He pumped the shotgun as fast as he could, each shot aiming for the head. One of the smarter ones gripped its hands onto the edge of the smashed window, glass stabbing into its palms and fingers. It hoisted itself up, and its face was literally touching the barrel of the gun. It doesn't take a genius to guess what happened next.

He pumped again, splattering the side of the bus with blood as yet another zombie went back to the grave. He saw that they were spreading out on either side of the bus, and before he knew it they were pounding on the door. He pressed the trigger and was momentarily caught off guard as the weapon didn't buck violently. Instead, there was a sharp click. He jogged to the back of the bus and loaded the shotgun full, checking the progress of the monsters every now and then. He pumped the first shell into place and made to go back to the window. He slipped on the notebook. "Fuck!" He fell onto one of the seats, he laughed as he realised he was quite safe on the inside of the bus. He sat up, but didn't get to his feet. The window behind him shattered, showering his head with glass. Several arms grabbed him and dragged him close to the window.

He fired the shotgun once behind him, one handed. One hand released him, and he felt something warm splatter his thumb. He twisted and pulled, but they were uneartly strong. He dropped the shotgun, and wormed his way out of the hoody. He fell to the floor, his heart pounding hard. He turned and picked the shotgun up off the seat. The zombies were tearing into the hoody. They were biting it and ripping with their nails. He stifled the image of himself being in the hoodies position and he heard the door give way. It slid slowly open, the creaking louder than the moaning of the zombies. They were getting smarter. He turned and fired at the first one inside the vehicle. It fell backwards, knocking over its comrades behind. Blood soaked the front window, as he continued firing rounds. They got ever closer, as the shotgun was slow firing and slow reloading. Eventually, he was right at the back of the bus. Fending off every zombie who ever drove the highway as a human.

The corpses piled, rotting, stinking, bleeding and battered. He heard the click that sounded from the shotgun, and he shuddered in horror as the first zombie to breach his defense lurcher towards him, its moan hungry and wanting. He quickly reached to the back seat for the knife, and held it out instinctively as the monster made to fall on him. The knife penetrated the skull. His arm trembled violently at the impact of solid bone, and the crack and squelch was sickening. He left the knife inside the zombie, and reached back for the pistol, terrified now. He turned again quickly and fired a single shot at the next beast. The bullet hit true, between the eyes. It collapsed almost on top of him. He felt claustrophobic, but he wouldn't give in... Not yet.

He knew he only had one bullet left in the clip of his pistol. He raised it and fired the last shot, the report was stunningly loud, and the zombie fell to its knees, gurgling while blood surged from its orifices. Then it fell face first onto the corpses of its former allies, its blood mingling with theirs, creating a little river of gore that spread around the bus. The traveller realised that all was quiet. He looked outside, nothing apart from the bodies of those he'd killed earlier. He laughed. Unsure at first. He laughed even harder when he saw his torn hoody. He fell back on the seat, guffawing insanely. His heart was still racing, and he felt the blood pound in his head with every drum beat of his heart. But he was alive. He reloaded his weapons fully, and left the opportune graveyard.

He stepped off the steps, and saw the sunlight receeding in the distance. The dark was settling in all around him. He couldn't walk at night, and so he ran to the nearest car with his ammo and guns. He shut the door, put down the backpack and laid the shotgun next to him with the safety on. He was dirty and covered in blood, but at least he survived. He lay down on the backseat, curled up for warmth. Sleep came easily. He opened his eyes to silence and daylight. He groaned as he sat up, stiff and aching. He stretched and yawned as sunlight streamed through the windows. He quickly looked out the windows to see if anything was around. His heart gave a leap of joy as he saw it was empty all around. He grabbed his shotgun and opened the door. He slid out onto the concrete, and stretched again. Reaching back inside the car, he grabbed his backpack and put it on. He then thumbed the safety off the shotgun, and continued walking.

According to the signs all around, the highway was going to end soon. No more easy places to sleep, no more easily defendable positions. He didn't want to think about that. Instead, he continued. It began to get hot now. He assumed it was early afternoon. He smiled as he remembered what happened to his watch. He lifted his hand, and examined the cracked watch face. Shame it was a Rolex. The watch was a testament to his ability to survive this shit storm. His first brush with the undead. He had been out on the streets, coming home before the curfew, when it lurched at him from a nearby alleyway, seeming to form into being from the very shadows themselves.

It had wrapped one hand around his wrist, crushing the watch with immense strength. In fact, the watch was the only thing that stopped his wrist from shattering. And the zombie swiped at him with the other hand. He fell back when the zombie released him, and backed away. He pulled the tiny revolver he was allowed to carry, and fired off the deadly bullet. Lodged into the head of this former human, it tore the brain and the zombie fell. He had been terrified, frightened and concerned. Even though these things were creatures of monstrous realities, he always felt that they were in some small part, still human. This encounter proved otherwise. He looked at the corpse. The homeless man he had seen sometimes begging for money from that very alleyway. It was strange how the past came back to haunt you. And in this case attack and eat you. He left the body, and returned home. A week later, he left the city when he was seperated from his parents.

He still clung to the belief that his parents were still alive. Along with his sister. Katie was strong willed. And she knew how to handle a gun, spending weeks on end at the firing range. Although he hadn't seen them for two months, they were survivors like him. They would all be headed to the same place too. Katie would go for Texas for the electricity. He just knew it. And so he walked onwards, through the hot sun and down the highway, wrought with abandoned vehicles and the ruins of humanity.

It was some hours before he reached the end. If he continued forwards, he would keep going all the way to the East coast. If he turned here, straight towards Texas. One path showed him safety but no hope. The other showed him danger, but hope. He looked down each path. One stretching on into the distant horizon, metal and concrete. The other opened into the world. Wil and uncaring. He swallowed his doubts, and moved off the highway. He reached the bottom of the small ramp, and turned back. The wind blew through his long-ish hair, and whistled through the trees on either side of him. He gave a silent farewell to his home for 2 months, and walked on once more.

This truly was the end of the road.

New chapter

Chapter Two : This isn't a soup kitchen,,,


Our traveller has travelled. Young, dirty, weary, but strong, brave and hopeful he has fought and lived for two months in this world of death and gore. He has killed more people than he cares to mention. Although he doesn't see them as people anymore. Now, he walks somewhere. He doesn't know where. The street signs say different things but convey no meaning to him. And this is a big town, rows of houses and shops and malls. The traveller remembers how the streets would have looked back in the days of normalcy. When all you had to worry about was homework. People milling from place to place, talking, laughing and walking. Now he was the only one walking.

There was a complete lack of the undead around the town. He moved from street to street, seeing the normal signs of abandonment and neglect and horror. Abandoned vehicles, smashed house windows, front doors smashed to pieces, blood stains. But no signs of life... Or, what passes as life these days. He rounds a corner, and sees one. There is a freshly killed corpse in the middle of the road. Blood stains her features, her face is twisted in a look of terror, her mouth frozen in an eternal scream. She has been picked almost clean. Her torso lies open, ribcages creating miniature walls around the insides. One of her eyes is hanging out of the socket. As the traveller notices this, the creature, bent low and rummaging its hands through her carcass, reaches over and tears the eye from the stalk, releasing blood and pus. It pops the eye into its mouth.

He silently approaches the creature from behind. He lowers the barrel to its head, and pumps. It grunts when it hears the sound. The monster slowly turns its head, growling menacingly at the traveller as it prepares to lunge. It never gets a chance. The shotgun explodes a shell into the skull of the creature, demolishing a good portion of the head. It keels forwards, its shattered remains resting on the woman it was just eating. He looks down at her, and fires a second round into her head. Best to make sure she doesn't come back. He has grown used to sights like these, and they no longer affect him. There was a time when, having seen this, he would have probably thrown up on the spot. But he kept his cool and continued on. He felt a little better for some reason. As though a cannibalistic freak chowing down on a corpse was a regular occurence he hadn't seen in a while.

He comes to the entrance to a mall. Although our traveller is aware what happens when you oombine zombies with malls, he was in dire need of more food. And a toilet. He placed a hand on the handle, and pulls. The door slides open, and he steps inside. Being back in a mall is a source of nostalgia. He remembers good times with his family, a single tear travels from his eye to the floor, and he examines the surroundings. Relatively easy to defend. No signs of zombies, dead ends or looted shops. Which is odd. He sees a Subway on a corner turning. His stomach growls hungrily, and he has a new goal. Find food. He looks inside the Subway. Chairs are scattered all over the floor, tables upturned and used as barricades. It doesn't look as though the defenders won. Maybe they died early into the siege and there is still food.

He tries to open the door, but it's locked from the inside. He takes a step back, and raises the shotgun. He slams the butt unto the glass and cracks it. He hits it harder, and makes a small hole. He kicks and hits the area around the hole until it's big enough to fit his hand through. He turns the lock, and the door swings open. He raises the shotgun and calls out. "Hello? Is anyone back there?" He almost trips over a chair, before walking over to the counter. He looks down at the selection of foods. Most of the food is gone, and what remains is mouldy and rotting. He sighs and jumps the counter. He hears scuffling from the kitchen. "Hello?" He walks into the kitchen slowly, shotgun raised, alert for danger. "Hello? Anyone?" he slips on something wet. He looks on the ground and sees a trail of blood leading to the back of the kitchen.

His view is obscured by cookers, and pots and pans. But he follows the trail through the kitchen. He hears the scuffling again. This time much, much closer. He finds the source of the blood now. A body is propped up against the side of an over, a bullet hole in the side of the head, and a large chunk of his neck missing. He is wearing an employees outfit, he looks recently dead. The traveller turns to leave, and gives a yell of fear as he sees someone stood behind him. The man is holding a pistol to his head. "What the fuck you doing here?" The traveller is confused, he stumbles his words. Forming a sentence and then abandoning it. The man presses the gun into his face. "I said, what the fuck are you doing here, huh?!"

He blurts it out. "I just want some food, man!" The man spits on the floor.

"You want food? This ain't a fucking soup kitchen, get out of here kid." He jerks the gun towards the exit. Our traveller runs out of the kitchen, confused and frightened. The first human he encounters in a while, and he's as hostile as the ones trying to eat everyone. He leaves the Subway and gives a quick look back. The man is standing at the counter, watching him. It's unnerving, he breaks into a run again. He stumbles upon a small grocery store. The doors are hanging open, bloody handprints are smeared all over the glass. Despite the scenes of unimaginable horror, there does seem to be a total lack of the monsters that perpetrated the horror. He goes straight for the canned foods, ignoring the blood streaked floors and toppled shelves. He fills the remaining space in his backpack with everything from beans to fruit. He saves a little room for some water, which he gulps down.

He tosses the empty water bottle on the floor, and grabs another, which he places in his backpack. Then he hears the dry rasp. He turns his head quickly towards the sound, and sees one of the monsters at the end of the aisle. It's a child, no older than 8 years old. Blood coats his dirty clothing, his face is twisted into a vicious snarl not suited for the young. The traveller is taken aback at how the child looks. The first wave of pity he has experienced in a long while shakes through him, but he knows what he must do. The child begins walking towards him. Grunting and snarling, but slow. He raises the shotgun and takes careful aim for the head, knowing that he is performing a mercy for this boy. He pumps the shotgun and squeezes the trigger.

He leaves the grocery store, with food and water. He puts his most recent kill to the back of his mind, and heads instead towards a map. He reaches it, and looks for the "You Are Here!" marker. He finds it, and traces a path to the toilets. He finds it strange how, even when the world is at an end, he still has to use a toilet. He could do it wherever he wanted, but he chose not to. Which was weird considering he had broken every other of his rules by now. Including killing. He turns a sharp corner, and sees something. A flicker of movement. Too fast to be a zombie. A leather boot dissapears around a corner. He steps out into the middle of the large space. Escalators give a path to the second level, although they are not moving and coated with dirt and litter. Around him are multiple shops, and the mall suddenly seems eery and sinister. There is a loud crack, and he hears a bang as a section of the wall behind him shatters. He turns around to see two people stood next to each other, both aiming rifles at him.

God OB I love this.

comment

Real comment or els?

Reminds me of the book cell kinda

It' pretty good. The main character is kinda shadowy, and thats a good thing in this.

I hope you didn't do all of the backstory exposition this early. It would leave the rest of the story rather lacking.

Hey OB mind giving us a new chapter?

plz?

Sure.

good OB