The Chosen
There were those that now lived life a lot like the old days. They’d managed
to reclaim a few cities, and over the years, they had clawed back a few choice
vices. In one city, I’ve heard stories of movie theaters, and even radio and
television broadcasts resuming. Last I made contact with other survivors, I
heard of a place where the landline telephones were working again. Imagine
that!
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still have a spot in
my heart for a few of those long lost amenities, but to be completely honest,
I’d be lying if I said I wanted any of them back.
My name is Dan. I’m a survivor of a global epidemic
that saw to the destruction of 19 out of every 20 people. Things got bad,
quick. Within a week of the first news reports of what they called Super
Rabies, the entire communications grid was crippled. No one really understood
where it came from or how it spread so fast, but in the end, those things
didn’t really matter.
What DID matter was being able to run faster than
the infected.
I was lucky enough to live in a suburb well outside
the city. After the phones and TV went down, I remained hidden in my basement,
listening to the radio for updates. I heard reports of the infected being cut
in half, and yet still pulling themselves forward with their arms, trying to
attack people.
During one evening, a doctor was being interviewed
that claimed to have one of the infected strapped to gurney, and that when they
injected enough anesthetic into it to kill a dozen African elephants, the
infected person still showed no signs of even slightest slowing.
Another doctor was interviewed on a different
station and he called the previous doctor a quack for even suggesting that
these infected people could be dead and yet up and moving around. There never
was a straight answer given as to what these things were on any of the public broadcasts
I saw, but it didn’t matter, for soon enough, even the radio went dead. It
only took a few more days of staring at my dwindling food supply for me to
realize that I could no longer afford to wait for the cavalry.
I hit the road, and right off the bat, I did things
that I never in a million years would have thought I was even capable of
doing. I killed a lot of infected. That’s a given. I also had to kill a few men.
Dickens said, “No man knows till the time comes,
what depths are within him.”
I discovered those depths first hand. The first man
I killed went by the name, The J-Man. He rode a Harley, and with him, a young
woman with long blonde hair, and a very haunted look in her tearful eyes. I
waved them down, trying to trade some batteries for food, but soon, The J-Man
had pulled a knife on me.
The woman took off into a field, and the man then
spun around, hopped on his bike, and rode after her screaming violent threats
and vicious obscenities at her.
I now knew why her eyes had looked so lost and
terrified, and in that moment, something in me snapped. Before I even knew
what I was doing, I was in my truck, plowing through the same field at
incredible speeds.
I saw the man glance over his shoulder, just as my
truck plowed into the back of his motorcycle, sending him tumbling through the
air.
I slammed to a stop, jumped from my truck, and found
the biker crawling through the dirt, coughing up copious amounts of blood. I
was still afraid for my life, and wondering how I would defend myself when he
got back up, but he never did. He just sort of curled up and died like an old
dog.
I asked the woman her name. She said it was Laura.
Though she still seemed terrified, I finally convinced her that I wasn’t a
threat. I offered to give her a ride. Told her I was trying to find a military
protection zone, and that she could come with if she wanted. She did.
Didn’t know it at the time, but I’d just saved the
life of the woman I would spend the next 10 years of my life with. She became
not
There were those that now lived life a lot like the old days. They’d managed
to reclaim a few cities, and over the years, they had clawed back a few choice
vices. In one city, I’ve heard stories of movie theaters, and even radio and
television broadcasts resuming. Last I made contact with other survivors, I
heard of a place where the landline telephones were working again. Imagine
that!
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still have a spot in
my heart for a few of those long lost amenities, but to be completely honest,
I’d be lying if I said I wanted any of them back.
My name is Dan. I’m a survivor of a global epidemic
that saw to the destruction of 19 out of every 20 people. Things got bad,
quick. Within a week of the first news reports of what they called Super
Rabies, the entire communications grid was crippled. No one really understood
where it came from or how it spread so fast, but in the end, those things
didn’t really matter.
What DID matter was being able to run faster than
the infected.
I was lucky enough to live in a suburb well outside
the city. After the phones and TV went down, I remained hidden in my basement,
listening to the radio for updates. I heard reports of the infected being cut
in half, and yet still pulling themselves forward with their arms, trying to
attack people.
During one evening, a doctor was being interviewed
that claimed to have one of the infected strapped to gurney, and that when they
injected enough anesthetic into it to kill a dozen African elephants, the
infected person still showed no signs of even slightest slowing.
Another doctor was interviewed on a different
station and he called the previous doctor a quack for even suggesting that
these infected people could be dead and yet up and moving around. There never
was a straight answer given as to what these things were on any of the public broadcasts
I saw, but it didn’t matter, for soon enough, even the radio went dead. It
only took a few more days of staring at my dwindling food supply for me to
realize that I could no longer afford to wait for the cavalry.
I hit the road, and right off the bat, I did things
that I never in a million years would have thought I was even capable of
doing. I killed a lot of infected. That’s a given. I also had to kill a few men.
Dickens said, “No man knows till the time comes,
what depths are within him.”
I discovered those depths first hand. The first man
I killed went by the name, The J-Man. He rode a Harley, and with him, a young
woman with long blonde hair, and a very haunted look in her tearful eyes. I
waved them down, trying to trade some batteries for food, but soon, The J-Man
had pulled a knife on me.
The woman took off into a field, and the man then
spun around, hopped on his bike, and rode after her screaming violent threats
and vicious obscenities at her.
I now knew why her eyes had looked so lost and
terrified, and in that moment, something in me snapped. Before I even knew
what I was doing, I was in my truck, plowing through the same field at
incredible speeds.
I saw the man glance over his shoulder, just as my
truck plowed into the back of his motorcycle, sending him tumbling through the
air.
I slammed to a stop, jumped from my truck, and found
the biker crawling through the dirt, coughing up copious amounts of blood. I
was still afraid for my life, and wondering how I would defend myself when he
got back up, but he never did. He just sort of curled up and died like an old
dog.
I asked the woman her name. She said it was Laura.
Though she still seemed terrified, I finally convinced her that I wasn’t a
threat. I offered to give her a ride. Told her I was trying to find a military
protection zone, and that she could come with if she wanted. She did.
Didn’t know it at the time, but I’d just saved the
life of the woman I would spend the next 10 years of my life with. She became
not
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