The Living Dead

 

The living dead

The apocalypse had arrived, and humanity teetered on the brink of extinction. Survival was the only law, and morality was a forgotten concept. Life was as fleeting as the sunrise, and death was a constant companion. No one knew the true cause, but whispers spoke of a failed experiment that birthed the living dead. Some, unable to accept the decay of their loved ones, hid them away, chained them in cellars and barns, clinging to the hope of a cure. But the infected only sought to attack.

Griffin sat in his bunker, listening to the news, his frustration mounting. He cursed the president's inaction, the endless speeches that did nothing as the world crumbled. He sighed, mentally inventorying his dwindling supplies, knowing he'd soon have to brave the dangers outside. He was startled by the announcer's voice: "The President has a message."

"My fellow citizens," President Ben began, his voice heavy with false sincerity. "It will be alright. Remain calm. The National Guard is working tirelessly to restore order. This trial will pass. We will look back and say we overcame. We will prevail. We will never give up. Together, we can fight this setback and emerge victorious."

Griffin shook his head, a mixture of sadness and disbelief washing over him. How had this man become president? How could he speak such empty words while people starved and died without medical care? What was there to prevail over? He knew this madness had to end. Action was needed, or humanity would become another victim of the living dead.

Sarah couldn't help but wonder how she and her six-year-old son, Jason, would survive. It had been almost a week since her husband, Frank, had gone out to forage for food, and still, he hadn't returned. A cold dread snaked through her, raising gooseflesh on her arms as she imagined venturing out into the ravaged streets. The moans of the living dead, a constant, guttural chorus, echoed in her memory, a stark warning.

She surveyed their home, a fragile fortress against the encroaching horror. The door was barricaded with a haphazard collection of furniture, a flimsy defense. The windows were boarded up, with only a few narrow slits offering a glimpse of the outside world. It was through one of these that she currently peered, her heart pounding, desperately hoping to see a friendly face, a sign of help.

"Mummy?"

Jason's small voice, laced with hunger, broke through her desperate vigil. She turned, the weight of his words pressing down on her.

"I'm hungry."

Sarah sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. "There's nothing to eat, Jason. You finished the last piece of bread yesterday."

"That was yesterday, Mum."

"Yes," she replied, her voice flat. "Go and drink some water, that will help."

"Mum, there's no water left." Tears welled in his eyes, mirroring her own silent despair. "I'm hungry."

"Hush, Jason. Keep quiet," she whispered, her hand flying to his mouth. "Or we're done for."

He wriggled free, his lower lip trembling. "But..."

"I said, calm down," she cut him off, her voice sharper than she intended. "We just have to wait for your dad."

"Where is he?"

"He went out to get us food."

She turned back to the window, her gaze sweeping the deserted street. The sun beat down, baking the cracked pavement. The silence was almost as terrifying as the moans. The world was a tomb. She knew she couldn't stay here, but the thought of stepping outside was paralyzing. She hadn't eaten in two days, and weakness gnawed at her. But she had to be strong. For Jason.

With a firm resolve, Sarah got up and started removing the furniture blocking the door, moving slowly to avoid attracting the undead with any noise.

"Mum! What are you doing?" Jason asked, his voice trembling. He'd witnessed the undead's brutality firsthand, how they'd attacked and devoured their neighbors, even though his mum had tried to shield him from the horror.

"We're getting out of here now," she said, picking up a table and carrying it to the center of the room.

"But... the undead?" Jason asked.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"But I don't want to die, Mum."

"It's either we die from hunger and thirst, or we face it out there now. Come over here and help me with the chairs."

Griffin checked his rations and sighed, disliking what he saw. He sat down and reflected on his life, trying to distract himself from facing the undead.

It all started one sunny morning when he was working as a lab assistant with the Biological Modification Group (BMG). He couldn't recall what he'd done, but that fateful morning, he was dismissed for insubordination for calling his boss a "toad in a human laboratory coat." He left, and within an hour, the screams began, which he remained unaware of for about a week. BMG had tried to hush it up until it was too late.

To be continued...