'The day the world ended.' These words are so often said and rarely actually true. I suppose it is the fact that, at the time, those living during those times really believed it. Looking back on life one can understand why they felt so. The WWI was supposed to be the war that ended all wars. People back then would often find themselves wondering if they would survive. When the war ended people rejoiced and were happy to try and pick up the fragments of what they once called their lives.
Just as the world started to find its feet WWII struck. Again, it was the end of the world. These very words were on the lips of many people as they, once again, wondered if they would survive each day. But, as history has proven time and time again, mankind survived, albeit a little worse for wear. Organisations were formed and lines drawn for new boundaries,
Those who studied the history of mankind wondered when the 'end of the world' would come again. They knew it was only a matter of time. Mankind was its own worst enemy. If times were difficult they would always look for a scapegoat. If it wasn't a nation then they would blame God. He was never at fault, but mankind was never a reasonable lot. Again, historians would note that the many problems and calamities that had befallen them were their own fault.
Time passed and the world seemed to settle. Small wars broke out among countries and random acts of terrorism held many in a grip of fear. The world seemed to wait with baited breath. It was as if every country was waiting for something dramatic to happen...
The sound of a low moaning and groaning permeated the air. A young man hid amidst the fallen debris of a crumbling building. He was trying his best to keep his breathing under control. A sheen of sweat could be seen on his brow. Pieces of dust and dirt stuck to his head. The moaning sound drew nearer and he crouched behind a large piece of rubble. He closed his eyes as the noise came closer.
A shuffling could be heard, the dragging of limbs. A pungent smell wafted in the air, the smell of rotting flesh making even the strongest of stomachs churn. Slowly the shuffling and groaning passed by him and he opened his eyes. He was looking up and hadn't realised that he had turned his head. He was staring at a quarantine sign that was plastered over a condemned sign.
He waited for several minutes before moving. He peeped around the corner and saw that the small group of corpses had moved on, making their way to who knows where.
"Stupid groaners." He muttered softly to himself.
He stood up with a moan of his own. His back muscles were sore from staying in that position for so long. Silently he cursed himself as he realised that he had dropped the bag that he had been carrying. The bag with the supplies that he had been sent out to get.
There was nothing for it. He couldn't hang about and made his way back to where other survivors were. He glanced down at the long gash that ran down the side of his arm. It was strange because, while it was long and jagged, there wasn't that much blood. He sighed as he remembered falling over a piece of metal that had been jutting from the side of the building that had been condemned.
His fall had caused the jagged laceration on his arm. In days gone by he knew that he would've needed a tetanus shot to make sure that he wouldn't get lockjaw or some other disease. He knew that he would really be in for a going over when he got back. Any wound may have been caused by a groaner and the individual was treated in a rather humiliating manner.
Before he knew it he was standing beside a smallish hole in a wall. It was about a metre from ground level and required some manoeuvring to get through. This made it all the more challenging for the groaners to get through. Traversing through the hole was made more difficult due to the gash on his arm. He hissed as pain shot through his arm when he slid across a particularly rough patch. He felt as the wound was ripped open again.
When he had gotten through (it was about a two metre crawl) he fall through the other side into a room. It was a bland room that had a hole above. This allowed either the sunlight or moonlight to shine down and bathe the person on the ground in light. He moved into the small area of sunlight and knocked on a thick steel door that stood before him.
The door didn't make much noise but his knocking was answered by a voice.
"The hell you want?" an angry man's voice called out.
"Seriously Gil, do you need to do this every time I knock? You know it's me. Open up!"
"What's with all the blood on you? You get bit? You ain't getting in here if you're bit!"
"And so it starts." Guy thought.