"Beyond Saving", An Extended Outbreak Story

“Hey, what’s on the radio?”

A static fuzz built up on a rigged radio system as a middle-aged man, clothes clean but torn and patched, walked up and listened.

“Survivors…. Happiness Island….safety….heli-….zeds…..”

The man banged on the side of the transmitter as the fuzz left into cold silence. A young man, possibly in his 20’s quickly entered the room.

“Fucking liars…” the middle-aged man muttered.

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, the transmission was for the dumb asses that haven’t seen outside in a couple years. The last word I heard was “zeds”. There aren’t any zombies anymore, and there aren’t any helicopters coming to pick us up either.”

The younger man was silent and a little heart-broken. He walked across the dark room to a window, the grey clouded light casting a shadow on the wooden floor.

“The river’s beautiful this time of year. I think it’s spring.”

The old man grumbled a little and wandered over to join the younger man.

“No time for scenery, you ready to go down the fire escape and find some supplies? Watch for crazies.”

“Yeah, sure.” The younger man frowned and started heading to the door leading to the fire escape.

The two lived in an apartment building somewhere in south Algonquin. They had enough supplies to last for another few months, and rigged a plumbing and water collection system throughout the years they’ve lived in the building. A clanking noise was overheard as a fire escape later was lowered into the city alley. The young man had an empty school backpack on, and a lever action .22 which appeared to be stolen from a Wild West exhibit somewhere.

He grinned as he shouted back up to the building, “I’ll be back in a little bit, OK? Don’t get yourself into trouble, old man.”

“I’ll just be sitting here listening for some real radio contact.”

The old man wondered around the apartment, inspecting everything as if looking for something. He passed through their storage room, searching canned goods, ammunition, and several jugs of somewhat clean rain water. He then looked back at the living room, which included an old couch and a table with the radio set on top. It occasionally produced static and laughter of the only people that appeared left alive. The crazies, he called them. They were a group of savages who traveled in caravans along the city streets, looking for people to rape, kill, and even eat. They were the reason the military stopped evacuating people from the city after they shot at several landed Blackhawks and raided the supplies. After awhile the two men realized that the crazies went on patrol during mid-afternoon, usually starting once the sun was at its highest point.

“He better be careful out there.”

More chapters to come.

I am intrigued, good start keep writing.

awesome, ive been wanting something to read lately,

You should continue with this its an awesome story.

Meatshield, continue on dude, I want to see more of your marvelous art of writing