Post by Obi on Nov 1, 2009 17:34:28 GMT -5
The skies… evil… orange. It’s so strange that an emotion or deity could be summed up by means of color. Yet, it was prevalent, calling out to those who held hope in all that was good. It wished only to crush them, devour them, and spread it’s icy grip of death. This was the invasion. Started a few months ago, exhaled from a person who was seemingly meaningless. How I would not want to be that person, the bringer of the end of days.
I will never forget my first experience with this invasion. It’s denizens walking towards me, hungering for my flesh. I was in my garage, readjusting a carburetor inside of my brand new Harley Davidson “Panhead”. Greasy towel in hand, I took in a deep breath, letting the acrid smell of engine oil fill my lungs. This was where I felt most at home, amongst the cold steel of my garage. An Easy Rider pin up girl hung to my left, grinning at me through white toothed lips.
Leaning down, I could hear my kids playing in the yard. All was as it should have been. Sunday Morning with the family… how iconic. I never would have heard them coming had life intervened. It’s funny how things have a way of doing that. There was an explosion, it shook my whole neighborhood. Leaning against the wall, I braced myself. I could feel the drywall against my fingertips, it was reeling. Soon, there was another one, this time even more powerful. I stumbled towards my garage door, my black boots kicking a few cardboard boxes along the way.
As I raced into the living room, I saw my family. The dark hair of my boy covered his youthful features. His skin was wet, glistening with tears… the product of fear. Next to him was my daughter, she held dearly to her favorite doll.. An Oblivion doll. Behind them was their mother.. My lovely Shelly. Her fingers gripped our children as the pupils of her eyes bounced about. Her face was blushed, her hair matted down with what looked to be sweat.
I reached out to them, my instincts wishing only to protect them. I have decent instincts. Sure, I am not as quick as I once was. A man in his late 30’s normally would not be. Yet, what I lost on physical skill I had gained in life experience. I would like to think that this gave me the advantage when living day to day. Sometimes… youth is better.
I walk closer, entering the kitchen area of my home. The yellow tile floors come into view, displaying a small trail of crimson. A streak. A… path. My eyes follow the trail until I see it’s source, my family dog. It lies upon it’s side, no longer breathing. Damn I loved that dog. I listened well. I spent hours teaching it what every good dog should know. Seeing it lie still in a pool of it’s own blood awakened something primal inside of me. I would use these emotions as I stared into the eyes of it’s murderer.
It’s pupils were yellow, sparkling with red spores. It’s skin, dry and cracked… void of any natural tones. It’s most noticeable feature, the teeth. They looked sharp, precise, and hungry. I wanted to ask why, how could a person hurt such a giving and loving animal. I couldn’t. My next instinct was far greater. As my family cowered behind me, mature took it’s course. I lunged forward.. Meeting the creature’s attack with my own. We locked up, it lashed savagely. Using it’s dark green nails in an attempt to pierce my skin.. And deploy it’s own venom.
With my hand, I grip the neck of the beast, holding it firmly against the kitchen floor. For a minute there is silence. The two of us sizing one another up. And then.. It bites me.
My wrist feels an agonizing sting. Looking down, I see the thing twist it’s jaw unnaturally, digging deep into my flesh. I yank my arm back but it clamps down, feasting upon me. Finally, I am free, as I drive my knuckles into the face of my attacker.. Or zombie. I repeatedly punch it, letting loose with all that I have. My kids begin to whimper and then cry as they watch their father lose it, letting go of all humanity as I remove all facial features of the zombie. Finally.. It is over.
As I stand up, I look at my kids. They are terrified, staring at my hand. I look down at it as well, noticing the missing chunk of flesh. I am infected, soon I shall become just as that dead thing on my floor was. A hungering, predator.. Living only for the taste of human blood.
“Gather your things and head to grandma’s house.” I begin. Time was of the essence. My wife ran to me, not willing to let go and I, was hesitant to do the same. After a brief moment together, I leaned down to kill my kids as well, telling my son that he was the man now. And then, they were gone, as was my life.. Gone in an instant.
I walked towards my living room, staring at the framed photos of my family. Grabbing a small glass, I pour myself some whiskey and swig it down. It was then that the call came through on my cell phone… a call that would give me one more reason to keep fighting.
“Obi, we have a plan. Meet us at the Suicide Zone. Together, we have a way to fight off this invasion. Hurry.. Things are getting worse faster than..”
(Click)
I hang up and toss my cell phone with bloodied fingers. Warrior called upon me for help. I didn’t understand it nor complied. I never was one of the “boys”. Why was I even an option? Yet, the Asylum needed me. If their was a chance to live… to fight on.. Than I had to press on. What other choice did I have?
“Fine, Warrior. The ball is in your court” I mumble, heading back to the garage. Stepping through the door, I turn and snag a rusted machete from the wall, sliding it into the hook of my belt loop. A few more things are gathered as I turn to my motorcycle. It was time to leave this place behind. Again, life intervened. Or perhaps the lack of?
My wrist began to seize up instantly, the bite now becoming quite infected. I fall backwards, knocking over an old friend.. My old Asylum World Championship title. It falls into my lap, mocking me. Reminding me of what I walked away from so very long ago. For a brief moment, I let myself drown in my past failures. Until the pain returned, coursing through my body.
I look down, noticing the veins around my wrist have shifted colors.. Looking more purple now than before. I needed to make a choice. It was a life altering choice… but the pay out was in my favor, I would still have a life to claim. Standing back up, I shimmy to my work bench and wipe the wooden table clear of obstruction. My hand is driving spears of pain through me now, I can barely hold still. Reaching out, I snag my old tackle box. The dust covers it, showing how it was long forgotten.
Opening it up, I dig into it.. Searching. Fishing lures pierce my hand but I hardly feel it. I finally find the tool I searched for, an old fish cleaning blade.
My wrist is laid down upon the table, I am starting to sweat. After a few practice swings, I slam the blade down hard. The flesh does not cut as easy as I thought it would, so I begin to saw away at it. The pain is unimaginable, the table now covered in the sprays of my life fluid. Finally, my arm feels lighter, perhaps I am lightheaded from the blood loss? Stepping backwards, I grab some paper normally used to cover the garage floor from grease drops and wrap it around the end of my arm. With a few wraps of a small rope, I tie up what is now a stump of a hand and head back towards my bike.
With my feet now resting on each peg, I tie up the left handle grip to make due for the loss of a limb. Looking up, I see that I have gained a few new guests as well. Slowly walking, they drag themselves up my driveway… hungering for my blood. These zombies look at me as I look back. They hold no fear… and neither do I.
I kick on the engine, and blast out of my garage, slamming into a few and kicking one off into my neighbor’s front lawn. I begin to feel a bit better as the winds hits my face, a side effect of stopping the infection inside of me. I would ride straight through the night if I had to. I was not about to give up now. Throughout my life, people had looked at me as some sort of hero. It was time to actually be one.
Hell’s gate had been opened. I would ride through them if I had to.
