Slow Decay

Written By:

Styx (A. F. Parker)

Ideas, story, characters, texts, and content are all © copyright to A. F. Parker 2006. No whole or part of this work may be copied or reproduced for any reason.

Note: This work of fiction is not affiliated with Resident Evil, Dawn of the Dead, Night of the Living Dead, or any of those. It does admittedly bear a strong resemblance to RE and DotD. However, since this is a short story I have left out much of the back-story. Any of those would work as a back-story for this, so just make up your own.

Chapter 1 Virus Venom

It’s been a week since he was bitten.

Hugh Feardorcha and Royce Pryderi, Roy for short, moved through the ravaged streets of some city whose name no longer mattered. All of them seemed to be the same. Torn apart, collapsing, as if stricken by war. No war had stuck the heart of the great America, but a disease. No war could have brought it so swiftly to its knees as did this virus. This… living dead virus that had wiped out over two thirds of the population. Its reason or origin remained unknown; its effects confused; its lethal strike terrified.

They had been together for nearly three years before the virus struck. It had been only a few months since then. It spread so swiftly; it’s effects so devastating, society buckled in a matter of days and then it was every man for himself.

Hugh’s black hair had that just-rolled-out-of-bed look, but in a good way. Few people could pull off the unkempt look and still appear attractive, as opposed to seeming like a hobo crawled out of his box for some early panhandling. His strong jaw and classically handsome features probably helped as well. Straight narrow nose, high cheekbones and almond shaped brown eyes. He was average in height, around 5’10’’, clean shaven, and made sure he at least looked presentable. Even if the world went to hell, he wasn’t about to look like crap along with it. He had a lot of pride in himself, and his appearance, but slowly, that was giving way to the desperate urge to survive. He carried a barrage of weapons concealed about his person, strapped to his ankles under his jeans and around his waistband. He never moved on anywhere without checking for weapons. When he ran out of ammo, he discarded the item. He bristled with a deadly array of whatever he managed to come across, kind of like Iraq.

Roy crept behind him, carrying bags of supplies. He wasn’t any good with weapons, so he tried to carry only one fully loaded 9mm handgun n case Hugh needed backup. Hugh had been a former police officer and the day he needed support from Roy Hell would have seen its first snow. Instead he hauled around their gear, extra bullets, food, first aid items, and whatever was absolutely necessary to their survival including a small hand radio and extra batteries. Occasionally, a broadcast would be made, the information always important. He kept it on and plugged into a headset while they moved about from place to place. Usually, he heard nothing, sometimes static, and rarely, something vital. He kept it on a headset on low around his neck so as he could hear it if he needed to, but an static or useless noise would be low enough not to distract from Hugh’s hearing or call unnecessary attention to themselves.

His light, almost caramel colored brown hair he kept short and neatly parted; angled down in the front so lengthy bangs fell to just above his nose and cropped higher in the back. A bit of Hugh’s quirks had worn off on him, and he too wanted to look good, if for no other reason than to please his partner. He wore a pair of blue jeans a green tank top. Hugh only wore t-shirts, he knew, usually black or gray, sometimes blue or brown. But his skin was such a pale white with hints of pink he was almost translucent. On the insides of his arms and wrists, blue veins appeared under his flesh, bulging slightly in places, deeper in other places so they appeared to be emerging from beyond a mist. His legs were worse; a network murky looking blue veins iced across his thighs and hips, so close Roy sometimes felt he could grab one.

Roy possessed a much more natural appearing skin tone, fair and slightly tanned with a few small moles dotting his arms and other places. He was also a full inch shorter than Hugh and younger by two months.

Now, their lives seemed to be dictated by the cruel winds of chaos, tossing them about as if they were twigs in a tornado. What misfortune they would smash into next unknown, but the threat always present.

“Hugh!” Roy gasped softly, grabbing his arm to halt him before sliding the headset up onto his ears. “Paper!” he then yelped, indicating he’d need to quickly write down some information. Hugh grabbed a pen from the pack on Roy’s back while he fumbled for a pad of paper from his pocket. Once in hand he swiftly scrawled out a message, silent, listening to the broadcast. In a few minutes, it was over.

“What did they say?” Hugh asked as Roy pulled the headphones off his ears.

“The meet place is still secure. If we hurry, we can make it by tomorrow. They said they will be evacuating people Wednesday, which is the day after tomorrow. So, we should be able to get there in time to get out. They didn’t say where we’ll be heading. Guess it doesn’t matter so long as it’s safe.”

Hugh grunted his agreement and started picking his way through the rubble strewn streets again. They’d been searching for a car with enough gas to get them a distance and little damage. It was slim pickings, so they made their way towards the military base just North of their location, checking vehicles and buildings every now and again.

As dusk began to cast it’s lengthy shadow of oncoming night across the world Hugh and Roy located and office building still in good shape. They climbed the stairs to the tenth floor, making their way through the cubicles and offices until they found an office with a window view and a locking door. They rarely encountered problems this high up with the undead unless they were already there, and a quick, but thorough sweep of the floor proved that nothing unsavory lurked nearby. Closing doors to other floors and securing them as best they could they returned to the room they had chosen. The floor was a hard Berber, not at all comfortable, but Roy had picked up several jackets off the backs of chairs he laid out across the floor. He pulled off his sneakers, his feet needing a break from their confines. He kept them beside his backpack, close in case anything happened. He then set his gun and radio with his other items as well, unplugging the headset.

Sitting lotus style amongst the blazers and windbreakers, Roy beckoned to his partner with a silent gesture. Still edgy, but physically and mentally exhausted, Hugh sat across from him after pulling off his high tops, and unloading his weapons nearby and within easy reach.

Slowly lifting his left arm, he produced it for Roy’s inspection. The brunette carefully unwrapped the gauze and bandage across his forearm, grimacing at the wound. It oozed puss, enflamed an angry red and mottled with dark bruising.

It had been a week since Hugh had been bitten.

Fluids from the undead spread the virus, and a bite was the most common way to contract it. Carefully, Roy cleaned and dressed the bite, wrapping it in gauze after spreading antibiotic across the deep punctures.

Hugh dropped his arm onto his lap once Roy had finished. His partner leaned in; he knew for what and jerked his head away. He saw the hurt in his eyes and he felt the need to say, “I don’t want you to get infected too…”

Roy’s pain only deepened at those words. Hugh was dying, and he couldn’t even kiss him. Show him physically how much his sacrifice meant to him. Comfort him.

“I know,” he murmured in response. “I hope the base has an antidote. We’ve just got to find one…” He couldn’t bring himself to fathom the possibility of not finding an antidote in time.