29 April 2012
~And now for something completely different! I suppose it's survival-horror, but it's still in its infancy so I'll see where it goes!~
•One
I knew your plan; we had laughed and talked about it over late-night drinks and while watching movies. I never thought I'd be creeping along the train tracks, rucksack and weapons strapped to my back, hoping you had put it into practice. It was about seven miles, give or take, from my small town flat to your house in the city. I had driven at first, but as I neared the city I had hidden the four-by-four in a railway siding, for fear of attracting attention. Alone, walking and silent, I hoped I could slip in unnoticed.
The city was quiet, except for the distant crackle of flames and the muffled wail of an alarm, which even now refused to give up. I crept, almost crawled, over a dangerously exposed railway bridge. I risked a glimpse over the wall; the streets were empty, strewn with abandoned cars, newspapers, the dead. It was a cool day and the breeze blew the acrid smell of decay and death across the city, and to my elevated position on the bridge. I stifled a retch. There, half-way up the hill, I could see the roof of your house hidden amongst the trees. Its semi-secret location had confounded many postmen and pizza-delivery boys; I hoped it had been enough to keep the hoard from your door.
I followed the railway until it intersected the alley beside your house, then quietly scrambled down. The alley was empty; a good sign. Staying close to the wall I slowly rounded the corner onto your street; the row of four stern, victorian houses looked dark and lifeless. My stomach knotted. I wanted to find you, but...alive. I sidled past the first house, checking over my shoulder, left, right, and repeating. Paranoia had kept me alive thus far. Your house seemed deserted, the windows were shut and boarded up, but I knew the things that lurked, silent and horrible, in places like these. However, I still hung on to hope; so far it all fitted with your plan. Briskly, I crossed the lawn and cobbles to the faded blue front door and tried the handle. Locked, maybe even boarded shut. I stepped back and gazed up to the windows, and thought I saw something; was it movement or just the reflection of the trees in the squally breeze? I searched the ground and selected a small stone. I made to throw it but hesitated, arm drawn back. You could be inside, hidden, afraid. Or you could be...one of them. Waiting in the darkness.
"It's now or never," I whispered, releasing the pebble. It hit your bedroom window with a gentle tap; in the silent street it sounded like a sonic boom. I held my breath. For a moment nothing happened, then slowly, like a child unwrapping a long-wished for present, someone unfurled one corner of your bedroom window and peered through the gap; whether it was you or not I couldn't tell, as it was gone again as quickly as it had appeared.
Barely audible sounds came from within the dark house; there was someone, or a former someone, now a something, inside. The front door groaned and creaked, resisting whatever was happening on the other side. Fearing the worst, I pulled my crowbar from its position on my back. I had learned, quickly and out of necessity, how to use it as a weapon.
The door opened, just a crack at first. I gripped the crowbar tightly, my sweaty palms threatening to slip and let it's heavy steel form clatter to the moss-patched cobbles. I held my breath as the door swung open the rest of the way.
As Yet Untitled Story! • Opuss № I