Synopsis – A woman, surviving in an apocalyptic world, finds a journal, and decides to chronicle her remaining days.
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She’d set off early, early enough to just about need her headlamp turned on, as she rode. By the time she’s halfway there, the sky looks like a creme egg filling.
She stops on the motorway and sits atop the barrier that she leans her bike against. The map, one of the many things in her arsenal, is folded on her lap. She wipes the crumbs off it from her flake chocolate bar.
Finally, she pulls out the notebook. Feels her muscle unspool. She’d read once that keeping a journal was relaxing and it’s currently working out true. Especially because of the nightmares…
She flicks through it first. The adrenaline leaving her body meant she’d not been fit for intelligible thought last night. Now, she wonders if the scientist had noticed the infected’s…evolution?
She pauses on a page titled The Infected. She blots out the mumbo jumbo and reads the bits she can actually understand.
Not much is known about the infection. But there’s two most probable theories. it came on the meteor that smashed down or it was under the ground and said meteor brought it to the surface.
She skims some technical jargon.
The infection needs a host in order to survive. It can keep a host alive long after they should die, but they can’t do it indefinitely, which is why they’re so aggressive in hunting for new hosts, healthier ones.
It tapers off there so she flicks to a fresh page and writes,
Seems like what I figured about the infection was on the nose. Not that it helps me much. Unless I happen upon another genius who’s got a cure.
I’ll have to be more careful now. If the infected’s getting smarter, more evolved. I wonder if it’s because there aren’t many hosts left. I know in my city that’s it’s rare to see anything alive. Plants rarely grow. I’ve haven’t seen an animal in a while. And, well, who knows about humans?
She packs everything away into her backpack and slides back onto her feet with a wince. She rubs her behind before climbing back onto the bike.
She grimaces, wobbling as she pushes off. She forgot how uncomfortable bike saddles were. From her internal clock, she guess that it takes another hour and then she’s there. Albion City is spread out before her.
If she’d thought her home city in bad shape, then it was nothing to Albion City. It looks like a war zone. There are bodies everywhere. Fresh enough that they were still decomposing. And where there’s rotting meat, there’s flies. Masses of them. The buzz makes her teeth vibrate.
Seems someone did OK in the apocalypse, she thinks dizzily.
It’s been awhile since she’s been near such rot which is why she stumbles off her bike. It clanks to the floor, and she doubles over, spewing all over her shoes.
It burns her throat. Wiping her mouth, she glances around because none of the bodies look to be touched by the infection. Which means there’s other people alive, and probably not very friendly.
Coming here was a mistake. And she won’t repeat it for a second time by staying. She’d watched enough horror movies before the end.
She heaves her bike up. Something moves just outside of her vision. She snaps her head toward it, eyes widening.
The man’s bald with cold eyes and lips twisted into a half grin, half snarl. Or maybe it’s because he’s missing a piece of his upper lip, “Hello,” he says in a low voice and swings a metal bar at her head.
He catches her cheek, splitting it, blood gushes down her face as she drops to the floor. Her vision blurs as she fights down the urge to vomit. Once is enough for a day.
The man raises the bar above his head, mouth open in a snarl, revealing surprisingly pearly white teeth. Her own are tinged yellow and she’s sure one has a hole in it.
She rolls out of the way, but it still catches her side. Her ears are assaulted by yells and loud noises. It fades aways as she blacks out.
Her last thought is that she’d been wrong. Luck’s never been on her side.
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After, a week or so of avoiding this chapter, I pushed through ‘finished’ it and just decided to post it.
I’m not happy with it at all, but that’s the risks of blogging a novel you’ve not plotted or even named your character. Like I’ve mentioned everything that happens will be surprise, even to me.
Like I keep reminding myself, this is more a writing practice novel, though it would still be nice for it move smoothly.
Critique is welcome. I always appreciate those who take the time to help me improve.