June 12, 2020

2:00 P.M.

Foster Residence

Adam Foster

_________________________

It had been three days since the world Adam knew had been ripped away from him with no warning. 

He lay in his bed, unmoving. He didn't know what to do. Each day that had passed, brought one problem after another. Day one, tap water was shut off. This occurred right as Angie was busy filling up the bathtubs and sinks in the house in an attempt to stockpile water, in case something like that would happen. Well happen it did, and only a small amount of water could be collected.

Day two, the power went out. 

It was early in the morning when Adam had woken up from a nightmare and tried turning on a lamp in his bedroom. When the lamp didn't work, he checked his digital alarm clock. The device was connected to an outlet in the wall, but there was no display visible. The only mode of communication left working was the emergency radio that Angie had stolen from the store a few nights prior. She kept the thing with her 24/7, always anticipating some form of an announcement from the government, or any information about the crisis they were in. 

His watch however, still functioned. He reaches over to his nightstand to retrieve it, and groans when he sees the time. The past few days he had simply been trying to process the situation. Which meant a lot of time alone in his room, worrying about the future and the people that he cared about. Adam tried hard to push the worries about his friends out of his head, but was unable to.

A knock sounds at his door, causing his heart to skip a beat. 

"Adam?" his sister's voice comes from the other side of the door. "Are you up?"

"Yup," he responds, hopping out of his bed and throwing a tank top on. He walks over to the door and opens it. "Everything ok?"

"Yeah, yeah," Angie assures him. Adam sees the plate Angie was holding, which contained a  small sandwich and some grapes. "Figured you haven't eaten today."

"Shouldn't we be rationing?"

Angie raises a brow. She shoves the plate into Adam's chest.

"Eat it," she orders him. "We have enough food in the house to last us for a long time. Besides, it's not much."

"Right," Adam accepts it from her. "Sorry I keep waking up so late."

"Hey, I'm not here to judge," she crosses her arms. "A lot has happened this week. The way your handling it is understandable."

"How are you feeling about all this?" Adam asks her. He had realized the day earlier that it seemed like Angie was always the one looking out for him and encouraging him, and he hadn't done a good job reciprocating. 

"Me?" Angie pauses. "I'm fine. We've just gotta take this one day at a time."

Adam catches a glimpse of something in his sister's expression. He couldn't quite wrap his head around what it was. It was a small moment where her eyes seemed to dim slightly. Her soft smile dropped into a frown. In addition to this, Angie had been acting strange lately. Her usual, charismatic attitude that often prevailed over the bleakest situations was absent. She was more erratic. Restless.

"Are you sure?" 

Angie doesn't answer. She meets Adam's gaze, unwavering. Angie takes a deep breath and sighs quietly. 

"Adam, we need to talk." 

Her voice is quiet and sounds exhausted. Adam starts to become worried, but tries to conceal his concern from his sister. 

"Ok sure. What is it?"

"I haven't been..." Angie rubs a hand over her head and hesitates. "...completely honest with you lately."

"No problem," He reassures her. "I guess you had your reasons."

"I did. But I guess those reasons don't really matter anymore."

"Yeah, I bet," Adam sighs. "So, what is it you weren't being honest about?"

"Everything." 

_________________

2:05 P.M.

Marco's Grocery Outlet

Male Survivor

He crouches low and moves around another aisle, keeping a watchful eye out for any infected. The rucksack upon his shoulders had started to become heavy as he had been stockpiling food and supplies across town. Some stores were already cleaned out. Many were littered with the bodies of looters and individuals who desperately tried to salvage what they could before conditions became worse. 

Then there was the undead.

They were everywhere. Too numerous to count. Most were slow and stupid, but there were some that displayed...abnormalities. He had come across a few that possessed a wicked speed and voracity. They had been harder to kill. The crowbar that the man carried with him had started to wear down after each encounter with an infected individual. 

He scours the shelves of an aisle and manages to find a container of salt crackers, which he quickly grabs and shoves into his rucksack. It was the last aisle that he had searched and the man tightened his backpack, getting ready to leave. He approached the front of the store quietly and started making his way towards the exit.

"Going somewhere?"

The man whips around at the sound of a raspy voice. Another figure stood at the back end of the store, watching him from the opposite end of an aisle. The figure was jacked, looking like a bodybuilder you'd see on T.V. Well, when that was still a thing. The individual appeared extremely tall, even from far away, which caused the survivor to become unsettled. It wore a strange outfit, comprised of what appeared to be combat pants and a dark, metallic breastplate on top of a gray, long-sleeved undershirt. 

"Yes, yes," the survivor stuttered. "I'll be going on my way now. No need for trouble." 

The figure begins walking towards him at a quick pace from the end of the aisle. The survivor clutches hold his crowbar tightly with one hand, not raising it yet, but to prepare himself for any violent altercation that could arise. As the figure gets closer, the survivor notices the dark, black veins that arced across the individual's face. He starts to back away.

"I said I'm leaving," The survivor raises his crowbar and moves towards the exit. "Stay safe out there."

"Not a wise decision," the hulking figure chides. Its voice was deep and scratchy. Quite uncomfortable to the ears. "It seems you have an audience."

The survivor rotates his head slightly, and his mouth goes agape in shock as he observes a dozen or so infected standing outside the store. All eyes fixed on him. He swings his body around and angled his crowbar in defense. Yet the infected don't move a muscle. The survivor examines their eyes, which were glowing slightly.

"Magnificent creatures, aren't they?" The figure laughs cruelly. The survivor turns sideways, as to keep both the brutish figure and the infected outside in view. 

"What did you just say?" The survivor scoffs. "You're kidding, right? They're monsters!"

"From a certain point of view." The brute says. He claps his hands twice, and the undead begin moving into the store, breaking windows and shattering glass. The shards rain down on the floor around the entrance, cracking under their footsteps. The brute holds a hand up and closes his fist. To the survivor's surprise, the infected stop moving. He turns back to face the brute, who at this point was standing in front of him. The man begins to sweat nervously.

"How did you do that? What do you want with me?" He demands. The survivor examines the brute in full glory and wishes that he hadn't. It was easily eight feet tall. The brute's eyes were fully black, as if they were made of tar. Its skin was an ashy gray, with the prominent veins visible all over its face. On the dark breatplate the thing wears, is a small image in the upper right corner from the survivor's perspective. It was a simple image; an outstretched hand enclosed in a circle. The survivor feels an intense wave of dread wash over him. 

"Nothing really," the brute begins. "I'm simply out here cleaning up loose ends." 

Loose ends? 

"If you don't fight back, this will be over far sooner," it continues. The brute places a strong hand on the survivor's shoulder and stares into his eyes, the unwavering black wiping away any last sentiment of resistance he possessed. The survivor drops the crowbar as his arm goes limp. He feels weak. Exhausted. 

The brute steps back and unleashes a guttural roar. In a split second, the infected are upon the survivor, ripping him to shreds. He barely makes a sound. As his mangled body falls to the floor and is consumed by the dead, the hulking figure disappears as silently as it entered before.