magusmachine
01-01-2005, 03:38 AM
Well. Without further ado. Might be a couple errors.
-----
The television was illuminating the room, engulfing it with its images. On the screen, pictures of horror and devastation. Then there's just a head talking at us with all of it behind it, everything thrown in our faces. On the screen he's telling us to stay inside and keep alert. This house? It's practically a cage, and the only thing we are paying attention to is the box. It's strange, because even in a time like this we can still watch television and expect it to relate to our lives, as if the cable feed would sympathize with us. We've been sitting here hours and all we know is that we're doomed. We have duct tape around the windows and the doors boarded shut, so I figure we're fine. That's what we figure anyways, but a guess never comes close to actual security. Well, it's better than being outside anyways.
"The infected have been known to stand in place for hours for no reason at all", the television buzzes. "This span of time is important to the Elimination Corp an-"
The channel is changed. That could've been important. Sitting in the middle is the bearer of the remote control, Ralph. I've known him for years. Brad is on the other side of the couch, he used to be my neighbor and we've been in touch since. Our so-called "survival squad" is in shambles. None of us know where our parents are, they've been missing for days. I think we can all accept that they are infected, but won't. In this situation we should've sought out people with guns or a bomb shelter, even a solid basement. But instead we decided to just go over to a friend's house. What a mistake that was. On day one we met up and chose Rodney's house. Then he got infected, and for all we know he's still out in the yard, just standing there. In just a week we've lost our parents, our friends. Not a one of us could contact our families when we tried, and now the phone lines have become so congested all we're getting is a recording.
The television continued "All three counties have been confined, and the Elimination Corp will soon sweep through and rid them of the infected, but until then they warn residents of those counties to stay indoors, they cannot stress this enough. If loved ones have been infected do not remain with them. If possible rid yourself of them in any way possible, and as soon as possible. Staying with them just increases your chances of becoming one of them."
"What a load," Ralph muttered, clearing his voice and sitting up "God, why can't they just get in there and help us now?"
Brad and I were still relaxed against the couch. "If we go to the county line and they don't let me out they're gonna get cussed at." He continued. "Freakin' army guys got AK-47's and they don't even use 'em. We really need one right about now."
Brad sat up. "Dude, they won't let us out. If we stay here though they'll come get us, they have weapons and stuff."
"No," Ralph remarked "They won't because they've been sayin' that since Sunday and it's Wednesday and we still don't got any help. This is retarded; if somebody don't come soon I will leave."
I decided to sit up. "Actually, it's Thursday."
"Pssh, figures, they ain't ever comin'." He pitched back at me.
"They are comin'," Brad voiced with confidence "My brother's probably in the Corp. I bet they're just teachin' 'em how to handle the infected."
I was still watching the television while Brad and Ralph talked. On it was our president, and a reporter had just asked him about foreign concern with how he was handling the infection crisis. "Well, I do appreciate the, uh, the foreign beliefs, we appreciate it as a nation to be criticized, but, I believe there are a, is a line, excuse me, between criticism, and" then he awkwardly looked down at a sheet of paper "v-vituperative comments."
"Way to dodge a question."
I didn't notice Ralph was watching too. Brad had slouched back against the couch and was looking at the floor. On the television all you could hear was shouting from the press. They were interested in turning this into another phony political issue. I glanced over at the clock, and saw fifteen to ten. In a couple of minutes they'll run the "Preparation Film", the same one they've been showing since the outbreak. It's a short informational reel about the virus, the infection, and how the infected behave. It's for all those people who are still safe, for everybody who has a chance. If it continues to spread who knows what'll happen.
In the corner of my eye I saw Brad starting to rise. "I'm goin' to bed, I got enough of 'You're all going to die' on T.V. and with Ralph."
Ralph gave me a nod and did the same. I watched them move into their sleeping areas. We all slept in the living room. I had the couch, Brad was the floor next to the television, and Ralph slept in front of the door on a mattress. We drew straws to come about this arrangement, I guess I was lucky. Brad always fell asleep first, and Ralph followed him after complaining to me for a while. I stayed up an hour, two or three after they fell asleep. Since all this infection nonsense started I've been thinking really hard for long amounts of time. Just about everything. Life, survival, and I was always wondering what happened to my family. In the back of my head I was desperately hoping that they would come and rescue me, one of these nights where I stay up. These issues aside, I still made time for television. For the past three days I haven't missed the "Preparation Film". It's like an after-school special about flesh eating corpses. I just find it fascinating, I suppose.
There was always a couple of minutes before the program started that would be filled with commercials for anti-infection products. "Slicker", a spray you use all over your clothes, it's supposed to make you un-grabbable, therefore safe against all threats. The people preparing for this must think that the shumblers coming after them will just slide off like some Three Stooges sketch. Zomb-X, Anti-Kill, and even mass-produced cyanide pills. These always make me sick to my stomach.
I looked over at Brad and Ralph. Their eyes were closed. I propped my legs up on the coffee table in front of the couch and pulled out my wallet. Looking at family photos was something to do in private. I had pictures of my mother, father, even the friends laying in the room here with me. I pulled out a photo from Rodney's last birthday. We were all there, all happy again. Ralph, Brad, Rodney and me. I could even spot out a couple of others. Alex; he hung out with us before the outbreak, and was pretty much a runt. We used to tease him, and left him out of a lot of things. I feel pretty bad about that now. Now that I think about it, we even left him out of this. Could we have been so unkind? This kid was our friend and we just left him out? I can't remember anyone mentioning him, or even suggesting we get him. He might be dead because of this. I'll make a mental note. Alex will not be forgotten. If we ever get out of this house I'll find him, with or without Brad or Ralph's help.
I shouldn't dwell on it, I guess. I studied the photo and saw Brad holding a plate. Now there's something I dwell on. I still remember the f ood from that day, strawberry icecream and chocolate cake. My stomach ached for something like that. The last couple of days we've been eating leftover T.V. dinners and stale ghram crackers. Last time I checked we had two left, so it was a quick coming relization that we would soon starve or be forced to find some food. The water is horrible too, it's light brown and smells like fish. I have to wonder how long that's going to hold out. I flipped through the pictures and managed to find one of my Dad holding shotgun. I should have been thinking about getting back to my Dad, but I found myself fantisizing about having a shotgun and mowing down dead people.
9:58 and it's on. On the screen the program begins with a warning about graphic scenes. A man in his fifties, a newscaster, is sitting in front of the camera on a barren set. I've watched this scene so many times I could probably recount the whole program just from memory.
"Hello, and good evening. I'm Brock Jensen, and this a special report." The word "Preparation" appears on the screen, surrounded by black following a quick hauntingly orchestral melody. The screen fades back to the narrator. "It's shocking to think about, to even imagine, but the worst possible virus, the one many scientists say could whipe out the human race, is on its move. It's currently in two counties in Illinois, and some believe if it gets the Mississippi river it will spread to the rest of the world." It used to be two counties, now it's three. Already spreading, I hadn't realized how fast. The camera changes angles and now behind him is a screen showing an infected man.
"This is one of the government farmed infection subjects. His name is James Romero, and is formerly of the United States Coast Guard, he volunteered for this. So far no cure has been found, and sources say the best way to prevent spreading it immediate elimination of all infected persons. Some of the characteristics of the virus in the first two hours are hysteria, mood changes, pale skin, rapid drop in body temperature and loss of motor functions. Of the three test subjects the longest it took for the virus to fully inhabit itself was two and a half hours, although it has been said that it could take less than five minutes under certain circumstances."
A sweeping network logo "After the commercial break: We'll talk to national secretary of defense Garret Corvelay." I retired from my sitting position and laid down, pushing my head against the arm rest of the couch. It was in tangles because I hadn't taken a bath in days. Brad had the idea that we should store water in the tub incase the water gets turned off, which was his only good idea. It's really strange, this program. It tells you about how a super-virus may wipe humanity off of the face of the planet, and then it goes to a commercial break to sell you French fries.
I really wonder what it would be like to be one of those guys, one of those test subjects. You're in the Coast Guard personnel office, and you're in the waiting room. You flip through a couple of magazines, trying to be patient. You can't wait to see your wife and kids. Suddenly you're pulled into a back office, questioned, stripped and imprisoned. Days later they come in and force you down; they administer a mystery drug on you and leave the room without a word. Then you die, you're dead. They send your wife a letter, and she reads it crying, and it says you were killed in action. A couple of nights later you're on national news with a fake name, and all anyone sees is the shell of your body stumbling around in a prison cell. They hear about the tests they're doing on you and then they just expect everyone to believe you were a volunteer.
Oh, I missed it. The program is back on, already interviewing the defense secretary. "-everything we can. We'll always be doing everything we can. This threat is just like the flu or terrorists or even Hitler. We can make it through this, we have the strongest military on Earth."
Back to the interviewer, "Mr. Corvelay, as you know there has already been international discrepancies towards your policy on handling this, what do you have to say about those nations who doubt your plans?"
"Well," he said, almost shrugging, "those nations, uh, France, Canada, um... China, even, they just don't know how to handle a crisis like this. If you try to listen to everyone at once your head will start to spin, okay? So we're going to just ease through this one. We're going to stick to the plan."
"Alright," the interviewer said, leaning over and looking at a blue note card. "Could you outline your plan for us?"
"Absolutely, Brock." he said, shifting his weight and pausing. After a couple of seconds of silence it looked like the interviewer was about to say something but then the official awkwardly proceeded, but he did it in an improvised manner. I couldn't possibly believe he didn't expect the question. "The current plan... is to, it's to contain it. To contain the virus. We are doing that with some success. There are, in some, well, most cases in bordering counties, and ... states, there have been riots... but there has been evacuation drills, and ... services. We really hope that we can find a cure before we send in, uh..." he turned to an assistant and they exchanged whispers. "... More terminal forces."
At that moment it appeared the interviewer was going to ask another question, but it was cut. Now it was back to the barren set with the newscaster standing in front of the camera. Though it was grim, this was my favorite part. Yes, I have a favorite part of a film about possible viral holocaust. "Now I will let virus expert Dr. Pegg describe the infection and how it spreads." He turns to the monitor behind him where an obviously taped video of the doctor explaining the virus is shown.
"Thank you, Brock. Let me delve right into this. The virus spreads through fluid exchange, which can be caused from anything from a bite to open wounds. What this virus does, is it moves into the victim's cerebral cortex. It infects the brain and slowly takes over all of the functions controlled by it. After effectively 'killing' the infected person it slowly tests each function of the brain, until it gains complete control of the body. Now, we know that the virus cannot control vocal chords correctly, this is why all infected persons moan, or deeply grunt. In fact, the virus isn't that good at controlling the body at all, and infected persons, infected shells, as they are, are often clumsy and slow. They cannot climb, they can't run, and they certainly cannot use weapons. But they are still a great threat because of the way the virus spreads.
They bite. They are flesh-eaters. We... do not know why they feed on human flesh, and ignore animal meat, but we do know that the shell cannot digest it. So you may see very bloated zo-... infected persons because of this. Their digestive system lets the flesh gather and sit; usually it is forced out after a large amount is absorbed. There have been rumors that fire is the weapon of choice against these antagonists, but that is not true. Although it is recommended you burn destroyed 'shells' for safety, fire is actually a horrible weapon because after the infected person is set aflame he will continue to walk around for several minutes before the brain is destroyed. This brings me to another point, they do not feel. If there is an infected person you used to know... they will not recognize you. They don't care about you; all they care about is feeding. You should treat them the same way you treat all shells, you destroy them. They do not feel pain either, because the nerves usually die within a couple hours without blood flow.
You must know how to destroy them. It's a simple matter of ... destroying the brain, or... eliminating the brain/spinal cord connection. Once this is complete the corpse is still very dangerous, so do not pick at it. It's, it's ... just like that thing your mother always told you. The Wasp may be dead, but the threat lives on. You can still get stung, or in this case, contract a deadly disease.
Now, for a common question, how did this all start? It's the result from decades of genetic engineering. Monsanto, GM, all these companies that will screw with the laws of nature for a profit. Back when genetic research started people warned them about this, they told them that a virus could evolve based on human DNA. After generations of abuse they are finally regretting it. But when, if, ... when we get out of this, they'll keep going. There's no stopping them.. That corn crop in Illinois just happened to be the first, but how long would it have been without it? A couple of years? A decade? It had to happen sometime. Wh-"
What's that? It's far away, high-pitched... the phone! Pushing myself up, almost tripping over Brad, running to the kitchen. I half-slip and rip the phone off the wall, clenching my ear against the receiver. I can feel my heart beating like it's about to fly out of my chest, and the anticipation, it's deadly. I almost felt the screaming.
"Hello-" a woman's voice rang into my ear.
"Mom?!" I hopelessly screamed into the phone. I didn't care, I wanted Brad and Ralph to wake up. I wanted to see my parents. I couldn't wait until we met up, I couldn't wait. It would be just like normal, I'd have my parents back, and we could face the world together. I would feel at home again...
"Resident of Alton, this is the Elimination Corp auto-dialer, I am programmed to dial every number in your area. I have important news to deliver. The Elimination Corp has effecti-"
I dropped the phone against the counter, and fell to the wall. It wasn't my Mom, it wasn't even a person. Tears were streaming down my face, and I could feel the heat coming off of my cheeks. I clentched my fists in rage and grabbed the phone off of the counter. I held it in my hand for a second and screamed at it. I threw it on the counter and a piece of plastic flew off of the reciever onto the floor. I cursed and swung a chair into the refrigerator, a vase fell off of it. The tears were still coming fast. I sunk to the floor and burried my face in my hands.
The night before things got out of control my mom had to go to work. She works until the early hours of the morning, and when I woke up the next day, finding myself alone, I never assumed the worst had happened. I still think she's alive. My dad, too, he's got to be around. He's the toughest guy I know. If anyone would get out of this it would be him. The night I was alone no one knew about the infected. All across Illinois people thought it was a new flu strand. Then people started dropping dead, all over the county people were found dead in their houses or at work; relatives would say they were just fine hours before.
A couple of days before I was with my dad at a gas station and we saw a guy just fall onto his back in the parking lot. That was the first time I had ever seen a person die right in front of me. He was standing in line ahead of us, he paid for a gallon of gas and a lottery ticket. A couple of minutes later he was a cold corpse in the parking lot. But then again, I guess that didn't last long.
I put my hand down and felt a shard sticking up on the kitchen floor. All around me were pieces of the broken glass. For a second I thought about picking up the pieces and going to bed, but then I realized I could still hear the television from the other room. I whiped my nose on the right sleeve of my hoody, then rested my head on my folded arms. As I listened tears sunk into my shirt sleeve and my cheeks cooled off.
"Other commentors suggest that the outbreak's cause is not a genetically engineered virus, but rather nature-created spore. Pro-virus theorists have dismissed this claim as an attempt to bring enviromental issues into the mix. Further studies ha-" Click. Now the television is off. Great, Brad or Ralph must've woken up. Now I'll have to explain to them about my little tantrum. Removing my face from my arms I found the house engulfed in darkness.
-----
The television was illuminating the room, engulfing it with its images. On the screen, pictures of horror and devastation. Then there's just a head talking at us with all of it behind it, everything thrown in our faces. On the screen he's telling us to stay inside and keep alert. This house? It's practically a cage, and the only thing we are paying attention to is the box. It's strange, because even in a time like this we can still watch television and expect it to relate to our lives, as if the cable feed would sympathize with us. We've been sitting here hours and all we know is that we're doomed. We have duct tape around the windows and the doors boarded shut, so I figure we're fine. That's what we figure anyways, but a guess never comes close to actual security. Well, it's better than being outside anyways.
"The infected have been known to stand in place for hours for no reason at all", the television buzzes. "This span of time is important to the Elimination Corp an-"
The channel is changed. That could've been important. Sitting in the middle is the bearer of the remote control, Ralph. I've known him for years. Brad is on the other side of the couch, he used to be my neighbor and we've been in touch since. Our so-called "survival squad" is in shambles. None of us know where our parents are, they've been missing for days. I think we can all accept that they are infected, but won't. In this situation we should've sought out people with guns or a bomb shelter, even a solid basement. But instead we decided to just go over to a friend's house. What a mistake that was. On day one we met up and chose Rodney's house. Then he got infected, and for all we know he's still out in the yard, just standing there. In just a week we've lost our parents, our friends. Not a one of us could contact our families when we tried, and now the phone lines have become so congested all we're getting is a recording.
The television continued "All three counties have been confined, and the Elimination Corp will soon sweep through and rid them of the infected, but until then they warn residents of those counties to stay indoors, they cannot stress this enough. If loved ones have been infected do not remain with them. If possible rid yourself of them in any way possible, and as soon as possible. Staying with them just increases your chances of becoming one of them."
"What a load," Ralph muttered, clearing his voice and sitting up "God, why can't they just get in there and help us now?"
Brad and I were still relaxed against the couch. "If we go to the county line and they don't let me out they're gonna get cussed at." He continued. "Freakin' army guys got AK-47's and they don't even use 'em. We really need one right about now."
Brad sat up. "Dude, they won't let us out. If we stay here though they'll come get us, they have weapons and stuff."
"No," Ralph remarked "They won't because they've been sayin' that since Sunday and it's Wednesday and we still don't got any help. This is retarded; if somebody don't come soon I will leave."
I decided to sit up. "Actually, it's Thursday."
"Pssh, figures, they ain't ever comin'." He pitched back at me.
"They are comin'," Brad voiced with confidence "My brother's probably in the Corp. I bet they're just teachin' 'em how to handle the infected."
I was still watching the television while Brad and Ralph talked. On it was our president, and a reporter had just asked him about foreign concern with how he was handling the infection crisis. "Well, I do appreciate the, uh, the foreign beliefs, we appreciate it as a nation to be criticized, but, I believe there are a, is a line, excuse me, between criticism, and" then he awkwardly looked down at a sheet of paper "v-vituperative comments."
"Way to dodge a question."
I didn't notice Ralph was watching too. Brad had slouched back against the couch and was looking at the floor. On the television all you could hear was shouting from the press. They were interested in turning this into another phony political issue. I glanced over at the clock, and saw fifteen to ten. In a couple of minutes they'll run the "Preparation Film", the same one they've been showing since the outbreak. It's a short informational reel about the virus, the infection, and how the infected behave. It's for all those people who are still safe, for everybody who has a chance. If it continues to spread who knows what'll happen.
In the corner of my eye I saw Brad starting to rise. "I'm goin' to bed, I got enough of 'You're all going to die' on T.V. and with Ralph."
Ralph gave me a nod and did the same. I watched them move into their sleeping areas. We all slept in the living room. I had the couch, Brad was the floor next to the television, and Ralph slept in front of the door on a mattress. We drew straws to come about this arrangement, I guess I was lucky. Brad always fell asleep first, and Ralph followed him after complaining to me for a while. I stayed up an hour, two or three after they fell asleep. Since all this infection nonsense started I've been thinking really hard for long amounts of time. Just about everything. Life, survival, and I was always wondering what happened to my family. In the back of my head I was desperately hoping that they would come and rescue me, one of these nights where I stay up. These issues aside, I still made time for television. For the past three days I haven't missed the "Preparation Film". It's like an after-school special about flesh eating corpses. I just find it fascinating, I suppose.
There was always a couple of minutes before the program started that would be filled with commercials for anti-infection products. "Slicker", a spray you use all over your clothes, it's supposed to make you un-grabbable, therefore safe against all threats. The people preparing for this must think that the shumblers coming after them will just slide off like some Three Stooges sketch. Zomb-X, Anti-Kill, and even mass-produced cyanide pills. These always make me sick to my stomach.
I looked over at Brad and Ralph. Their eyes were closed. I propped my legs up on the coffee table in front of the couch and pulled out my wallet. Looking at family photos was something to do in private. I had pictures of my mother, father, even the friends laying in the room here with me. I pulled out a photo from Rodney's last birthday. We were all there, all happy again. Ralph, Brad, Rodney and me. I could even spot out a couple of others. Alex; he hung out with us before the outbreak, and was pretty much a runt. We used to tease him, and left him out of a lot of things. I feel pretty bad about that now. Now that I think about it, we even left him out of this. Could we have been so unkind? This kid was our friend and we just left him out? I can't remember anyone mentioning him, or even suggesting we get him. He might be dead because of this. I'll make a mental note. Alex will not be forgotten. If we ever get out of this house I'll find him, with or without Brad or Ralph's help.
I shouldn't dwell on it, I guess. I studied the photo and saw Brad holding a plate. Now there's something I dwell on. I still remember the f ood from that day, strawberry icecream and chocolate cake. My stomach ached for something like that. The last couple of days we've been eating leftover T.V. dinners and stale ghram crackers. Last time I checked we had two left, so it was a quick coming relization that we would soon starve or be forced to find some food. The water is horrible too, it's light brown and smells like fish. I have to wonder how long that's going to hold out. I flipped through the pictures and managed to find one of my Dad holding shotgun. I should have been thinking about getting back to my Dad, but I found myself fantisizing about having a shotgun and mowing down dead people.
9:58 and it's on. On the screen the program begins with a warning about graphic scenes. A man in his fifties, a newscaster, is sitting in front of the camera on a barren set. I've watched this scene so many times I could probably recount the whole program just from memory.
"Hello, and good evening. I'm Brock Jensen, and this a special report." The word "Preparation" appears on the screen, surrounded by black following a quick hauntingly orchestral melody. The screen fades back to the narrator. "It's shocking to think about, to even imagine, but the worst possible virus, the one many scientists say could whipe out the human race, is on its move. It's currently in two counties in Illinois, and some believe if it gets the Mississippi river it will spread to the rest of the world." It used to be two counties, now it's three. Already spreading, I hadn't realized how fast. The camera changes angles and now behind him is a screen showing an infected man.
"This is one of the government farmed infection subjects. His name is James Romero, and is formerly of the United States Coast Guard, he volunteered for this. So far no cure has been found, and sources say the best way to prevent spreading it immediate elimination of all infected persons. Some of the characteristics of the virus in the first two hours are hysteria, mood changes, pale skin, rapid drop in body temperature and loss of motor functions. Of the three test subjects the longest it took for the virus to fully inhabit itself was two and a half hours, although it has been said that it could take less than five minutes under certain circumstances."
A sweeping network logo "After the commercial break: We'll talk to national secretary of defense Garret Corvelay." I retired from my sitting position and laid down, pushing my head against the arm rest of the couch. It was in tangles because I hadn't taken a bath in days. Brad had the idea that we should store water in the tub incase the water gets turned off, which was his only good idea. It's really strange, this program. It tells you about how a super-virus may wipe humanity off of the face of the planet, and then it goes to a commercial break to sell you French fries.
I really wonder what it would be like to be one of those guys, one of those test subjects. You're in the Coast Guard personnel office, and you're in the waiting room. You flip through a couple of magazines, trying to be patient. You can't wait to see your wife and kids. Suddenly you're pulled into a back office, questioned, stripped and imprisoned. Days later they come in and force you down; they administer a mystery drug on you and leave the room without a word. Then you die, you're dead. They send your wife a letter, and she reads it crying, and it says you were killed in action. A couple of nights later you're on national news with a fake name, and all anyone sees is the shell of your body stumbling around in a prison cell. They hear about the tests they're doing on you and then they just expect everyone to believe you were a volunteer.
Oh, I missed it. The program is back on, already interviewing the defense secretary. "-everything we can. We'll always be doing everything we can. This threat is just like the flu or terrorists or even Hitler. We can make it through this, we have the strongest military on Earth."
Back to the interviewer, "Mr. Corvelay, as you know there has already been international discrepancies towards your policy on handling this, what do you have to say about those nations who doubt your plans?"
"Well," he said, almost shrugging, "those nations, uh, France, Canada, um... China, even, they just don't know how to handle a crisis like this. If you try to listen to everyone at once your head will start to spin, okay? So we're going to just ease through this one. We're going to stick to the plan."
"Alright," the interviewer said, leaning over and looking at a blue note card. "Could you outline your plan for us?"
"Absolutely, Brock." he said, shifting his weight and pausing. After a couple of seconds of silence it looked like the interviewer was about to say something but then the official awkwardly proceeded, but he did it in an improvised manner. I couldn't possibly believe he didn't expect the question. "The current plan... is to, it's to contain it. To contain the virus. We are doing that with some success. There are, in some, well, most cases in bordering counties, and ... states, there have been riots... but there has been evacuation drills, and ... services. We really hope that we can find a cure before we send in, uh..." he turned to an assistant and they exchanged whispers. "... More terminal forces."
At that moment it appeared the interviewer was going to ask another question, but it was cut. Now it was back to the barren set with the newscaster standing in front of the camera. Though it was grim, this was my favorite part. Yes, I have a favorite part of a film about possible viral holocaust. "Now I will let virus expert Dr. Pegg describe the infection and how it spreads." He turns to the monitor behind him where an obviously taped video of the doctor explaining the virus is shown.
"Thank you, Brock. Let me delve right into this. The virus spreads through fluid exchange, which can be caused from anything from a bite to open wounds. What this virus does, is it moves into the victim's cerebral cortex. It infects the brain and slowly takes over all of the functions controlled by it. After effectively 'killing' the infected person it slowly tests each function of the brain, until it gains complete control of the body. Now, we know that the virus cannot control vocal chords correctly, this is why all infected persons moan, or deeply grunt. In fact, the virus isn't that good at controlling the body at all, and infected persons, infected shells, as they are, are often clumsy and slow. They cannot climb, they can't run, and they certainly cannot use weapons. But they are still a great threat because of the way the virus spreads.
They bite. They are flesh-eaters. We... do not know why they feed on human flesh, and ignore animal meat, but we do know that the shell cannot digest it. So you may see very bloated zo-... infected persons because of this. Their digestive system lets the flesh gather and sit; usually it is forced out after a large amount is absorbed. There have been rumors that fire is the weapon of choice against these antagonists, but that is not true. Although it is recommended you burn destroyed 'shells' for safety, fire is actually a horrible weapon because after the infected person is set aflame he will continue to walk around for several minutes before the brain is destroyed. This brings me to another point, they do not feel. If there is an infected person you used to know... they will not recognize you. They don't care about you; all they care about is feeding. You should treat them the same way you treat all shells, you destroy them. They do not feel pain either, because the nerves usually die within a couple hours without blood flow.
You must know how to destroy them. It's a simple matter of ... destroying the brain, or... eliminating the brain/spinal cord connection. Once this is complete the corpse is still very dangerous, so do not pick at it. It's, it's ... just like that thing your mother always told you. The Wasp may be dead, but the threat lives on. You can still get stung, or in this case, contract a deadly disease.
Now, for a common question, how did this all start? It's the result from decades of genetic engineering. Monsanto, GM, all these companies that will screw with the laws of nature for a profit. Back when genetic research started people warned them about this, they told them that a virus could evolve based on human DNA. After generations of abuse they are finally regretting it. But when, if, ... when we get out of this, they'll keep going. There's no stopping them.. That corn crop in Illinois just happened to be the first, but how long would it have been without it? A couple of years? A decade? It had to happen sometime. Wh-"
What's that? It's far away, high-pitched... the phone! Pushing myself up, almost tripping over Brad, running to the kitchen. I half-slip and rip the phone off the wall, clenching my ear against the receiver. I can feel my heart beating like it's about to fly out of my chest, and the anticipation, it's deadly. I almost felt the screaming.
"Hello-" a woman's voice rang into my ear.
"Mom?!" I hopelessly screamed into the phone. I didn't care, I wanted Brad and Ralph to wake up. I wanted to see my parents. I couldn't wait until we met up, I couldn't wait. It would be just like normal, I'd have my parents back, and we could face the world together. I would feel at home again...
"Resident of Alton, this is the Elimination Corp auto-dialer, I am programmed to dial every number in your area. I have important news to deliver. The Elimination Corp has effecti-"
I dropped the phone against the counter, and fell to the wall. It wasn't my Mom, it wasn't even a person. Tears were streaming down my face, and I could feel the heat coming off of my cheeks. I clentched my fists in rage and grabbed the phone off of the counter. I held it in my hand for a second and screamed at it. I threw it on the counter and a piece of plastic flew off of the reciever onto the floor. I cursed and swung a chair into the refrigerator, a vase fell off of it. The tears were still coming fast. I sunk to the floor and burried my face in my hands.
The night before things got out of control my mom had to go to work. She works until the early hours of the morning, and when I woke up the next day, finding myself alone, I never assumed the worst had happened. I still think she's alive. My dad, too, he's got to be around. He's the toughest guy I know. If anyone would get out of this it would be him. The night I was alone no one knew about the infected. All across Illinois people thought it was a new flu strand. Then people started dropping dead, all over the county people were found dead in their houses or at work; relatives would say they were just fine hours before.
A couple of days before I was with my dad at a gas station and we saw a guy just fall onto his back in the parking lot. That was the first time I had ever seen a person die right in front of me. He was standing in line ahead of us, he paid for a gallon of gas and a lottery ticket. A couple of minutes later he was a cold corpse in the parking lot. But then again, I guess that didn't last long.
I put my hand down and felt a shard sticking up on the kitchen floor. All around me were pieces of the broken glass. For a second I thought about picking up the pieces and going to bed, but then I realized I could still hear the television from the other room. I whiped my nose on the right sleeve of my hoody, then rested my head on my folded arms. As I listened tears sunk into my shirt sleeve and my cheeks cooled off.
"Other commentors suggest that the outbreak's cause is not a genetically engineered virus, but rather nature-created spore. Pro-virus theorists have dismissed this claim as an attempt to bring enviromental issues into the mix. Further studies ha-" Click. Now the television is off. Great, Brad or Ralph must've woken up. Now I'll have to explain to them about my little tantrum. Removing my face from my arms I found the house engulfed in darkness.