Creep World: The End (Part One)

[MalReynolds]

The End of the World and the Copy Shop:
http://www.flashflashrevolution.com/index.php?name=PNphpBB2&file=viewtopic&t=37493

The Burning Building and Wheels:
http://www.flashflashrevolution.com/index.php?name=PNphpBB2&file=viewtopic&t=37533

The Signal and the Station:
http://www.flashflashrevolution.com/index.php?name=PNphpBB2&file=viewtopic&t=37589

The Source and the Problem:
http://www.flashflashrevolution.com/index.php?name=PNphpBB2&file=viewtopic&p=519781#519781

The Toystore and What They Forgot
http://www.flashflashrevolution.com/index.php?name=PNphpBB2&file=viewtopic&t=37744



The high noon sun beat down on the travelers as they slowly made their way down the West Side Highway towards the Holland Tunnel. The creatures were nowhere to be seen, miniature or full sized. The road was deserted. New York had turned into a ghost town in the span of hours.

They reached the mouth of the tunnel when Wheels finally spoke.

“It’s dark in there. I don’t see any lights. Do we have a light?”

They didn’t. And it was dark inside, swallowing the light from the sun but giving no hints as to what lay inside.

“Alright, let’s go back up a block or so. There was a Lowe’s back there. They should have some lights there,” Eric said.

And so the group began to move back, towards the hardware store. They reached the glass doors by 1 and had shot their way inside in a matter of seconds. The concrete floor was spartan and uninviting, but it was cool inside the building. It smelled of sawdust, wood, death, and it was completely silent as they entered. The ceiling fan display was still, hanging like ghosts in the warehouse.

Iggy walked over to the customer service phone and picked it up.

“Hi, we need to know where the flashlights are,” he said into the receiver, smiling.

There was a long pause as Iggy stood there, listening intently.

“Iggy, put the phone down. We want to make it to the other side of the tunnel by nightfall.”

But Iggy stood there, listening. He nodded and hung up the phone.

“Follow me,” he said, ducking into the bathroom appliances aisle. He briskly walked up to a shower display. Five bathtubs in a row all with showerheads and shower curtains, and stepped inside, drawing the cloth.

“Get inside a bathtub and hide, now. Do it.”

“But,” Eric began, “We ha-“

“Get inside now, don’t question this. Just go. NOW!”

Eric jumped into a shower and Gopher followed suit. Eric peeked out of the curtain and saw three hundred Mini-Creeps marched past, laughing. They were completely hidden as fifty Creeps followed.

Eric heard a door in the back slam shut and threw his curtain open. Gopher stepped out of his shower, but Iggy didn’t come out.

“Iggy, come on,” Eric whispered, sliding the veil open. Iggy was collapsed at the bottom of the basin, unmoving. Eric leaned down and began to shake him, but Iggy didn’t move. Gopher leaned down and smacked Iggy. He stirred and looked up.

“What the hell am I doing in a shower?”

“Iggy… There’s something not quite right with you, is there?”

“What are you talking about, Eric?”

“You picked up that phone and then got us to hide as our doom went marching past, none the wiser that something they were looking to kill was less than an six inches away.”

“I remember picking up the phone, and I remember someone talking to me telling me that the store still had Creeps in it, but I blacked out. I don’t remember anything after that.”

“There was someone on the other end of the line??

Iggy nodded.

“Well… Do you know where the line connected?”

“My guess is the reference desk.”

Eric held his hand out, and Iggy grabbed it, slowly rising to his feet.

“Let’s go get referenced,” Iggy said.

“We’re going to need to work on the ‘cool’ things that you’re allowed to say,” Eric said over his shoulder, taking point.

They made their way to the back of the store, keeping their eyes peeled for flashlights or the reference desk. They found the reference desk first, painted with blood and Behr acrylic.

“Hello?” Iggy tentatively called out.

Nothing.

Gopher walked behind the counter, bumping Wheels against the side of the island.

“Watch it,” he hissed.

The phone was off the hook, Gopher noted. He followed the line from the phone box to the receiver, still clutched in the hand of a corpse on the floor. The flesh was tainted green and a sick smile curved around its neck. The blood on the concrete floor had pooled and faded, staining the ground.

“Iggy, did you talk to her?” Gopher motioned?

Wheels sighed.

“No. I… She’s dead. How could I have talked to her?”

“Well, she’s the only one with the phone, now isn’t she.” Eric called from behind.

“Oh, look over there,” Iggy motioned to a display. “Flashlights. Let’s grab some and get out of here. It’s giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

Iggy began to walk to the display, eyes burning in the back of his neck. Eric stood motionless with Gopher, watching him as he grabbed four flashlights. He tested each one systematically before turning around.

“Look, I don’t know. I don’t know whom I talked to. Whoever it was had the capability of speech and wasn’t a corpse, alright?”

“Iggy, you know how you said you were going crazy? I’m beginning to take stock in that,” Eric said, grabbing a flashlight.

“I’m not really going crazy. There’s a logical answer for all of this, I know there is,” he said, laughing. “Now come on. Let’s get to the tunnel.”

As they left, the door behind the reference desk opened and the beady eyes of a Creep watched their exit with eagerness.

They hit the tunnel at 2, the sun in a move favorable position, shining more into the tunnel.

“I don’t want to go in there,” Wheels started.

“Well, you don’t have much of a choice considering you’re riding on his back,” Eric said.

“Riding on my back,” Gopher repeated.

“Yeah, man up Wheels! It’s just a tunnel.”

Eric took point, raising his gun and resting it on his flashlight arm. The walls were still teal, slick. There were a few cars jammed up in the entrance. He inhaled sharply and stepped up and over a Buick and into the darkness.

His beam of light cut across the infinity, revealing almost nothing. The ceiling was high; there were a few scattered cars with the windows busted, and the regulation door every twenty feet. Three other beams turned on behind him and he began to walk quickly.

They all could hear the water outside of the tunnel around them. The downward slope made them feel as if they were descending into the depths of some great pit. Wheels broke out into a cold sweat, unnerving Gopher. Wheels swung his flashlight erratically, trying to scan everything at once.

“I’m afraid of the dark, I’m afraid of the dark, oh… I’m so afraid of the dark,” he said, his voice quivering.

“Gopher, try and keep him quiet.”

“Keep me quiet? I’m afraid!”

“Keep quiet or I’ll shoot you, I guess.”

Wheels shut up.

There was a cross draft through the tunnel ruffling their clothes. It wasn’t carrying sound for there was no sound to carry on the Jersey side. All the breeze did was send chills through the party. Eric quickened the pace, walking quickly, dodging cars and the occasional debris. He could see the other end of the tunnel, the light at the end of the dark when the Creeps came.

They were laughing and screeching, crying out and dragging their swords of the tile walls creating a hideous noise reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard. They were behind them and closing the gap.

“RUN!” Eric cried out.

Iggy screamed, his legs pumping, past Eric. He chucked a fireball behind him, casting shadows over the walls. The ball rolled down the tunnel, the Creeps shadows becoming more defined, dancing towards the source.

Gopher was carrying weight for two, and mis-stepped. He fell to the ground, the creatures almost on them. Eric fired blindly into the tunnel, hitting nothing, but scaring the group back a little. Gopher rose to his feet and began to run.

He could feel the hands on his back.

“RUN FASTER, GOPHER! OH GOD! RUN FASTER!” Wheels cried. “OH PLEASE RUN FASTER!”

He tried, but the things grabbed hold of Wheels.

“OH GOD!”

The tennis ball fire died out.

Wheels slipped out of the harness and into the arms of the Creeps.

“COME BACK! PLEASE!”

Gopher ran ahead, free of the weight.

“YOU SAID YOU WOULD NEVER LEAVE! PLEASE! NO!”

At the mouth of the tunnel, Eric and Iggy stood, watching Gophers flashlight bounce towards them, and watching Wheels’ bounce away. Wheels’ light bounced towards the back. They watched the light spin as it hit the ground in circles, and they watched the things drag him into a service door.

“We have to keep moving. We have to keep moving or they’ll be on us.”

They ran. They ran out of the tunnel and into the daylight, they ran onto the bridge and they kept running until they were on the New Jersey highway. But the things were still behind them. Ten or fifteen, the group motive restored, ready to kill anything.

Again the Creeps were closing the gap, when Eric stopped running and turned around. He pulled his gun up and fired into the group, scoring three hits. Twelve remained. Gopher turned and tried to fire his Glock, but to no avail. Iggy prepared a Fireball, which bounced into the group taking out two.

There were still ten. Eric’s clip ran dry, and he unloaded the gun.

The three stood in a row, across two lanes of highway, the mass of evil moving towards them.

“Gopher, hit the clip release on your gun. I have three shots left in there…”

“Where is it, Eric?”

Eric motioned on his own gun, and Gopher hit the release, dropping the clip to the ground. Iggy tossed another fireball, but this one flew wide. A Creep swung at it with its sword, knocking the ball back at Iggy, setting his shirt on fire.

He screamed, pulling it off and batting at the flames on his chest. The group closed the distance.

“What is that noise,” Eric asked. “It sounds so familiar…”

It grew louder and louder, until Eric recognized it.

The car plowed into the group of Creeps, slamming on the breaks and sending the car into a huge skid. It took almost all of them out. The man in the car leaned out, shooting the three remaining that were trying to crawl away. Smoke rose from Iggy’s chest and Eric stood with his mouth open. Gopher didn’t move.

“You guys need a ride anywhere?” The man in the car called.

“Uh… Yeah, we’re heading to a radio station.”

“LRPS, right? I’m from there. Hop in.”

The three made their way to the car, opening the back door and sitting down in the leather-clad interior. Eric rode shotgun.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all. My name is David Fichter, but my friends call me Fichter,” he said, hitting the gas, peeling out and driving into the heart of Jersey City.

[natetheffrer]

Nice product placement there, of course the creeps are at Lowes, thats the place to be!

[Tasselfoot]

Mal, would you mind confining future parts of your story into this or the original thread? Its starting to clutter the forum.

Thanks.

Other stories can of course have their own threads, but as this is all one story, and already has 6 threads... well, you get what I'm saying.

[MalReynolds]

I'm thinking about just stopping posting it here. No one really seems to be reading it either way.

Mal

[Tasselfoot]

Nate and I are reading it.... and the other ones seem to be read by 30-40 people... about the most you could expect here.

[Eyoshi]

Wow, two assumable deaths already, and this probably isn't even close to the half-point of the story. The feelings of fear and terror used make the characters seem a lot more realistic. Nice writing.

I guess I'm one of the other regulars who've read the story as it continued. And I think it's best if each installment got it's own thread, as the initial post will just look too long if each chapter was crammed into it, and the thought of having to rummage through different pages for one chapter doesn't seem like a way that would make someone inclined to read it. Just my thoughts, though.

[Varia]

haha, Wheels is a loser.

[nickadeemus]

I am reading them all, they're fun.

The story is reminding me of The Langoliers, and I loved that movie. Iggy seems to have something similiar to what the little girl did in that movie.

[Tps222]

Don't be silly Mal, we all love them.

Puns are fun.

Your attempt at an emotional death was some-what effective.

[Varia]

Speaking of Wheels again, why is it entitled "The New Wheels"?

[MalReynolds]

The car is the set of "New Wheels". It was meant to be... Misleading?! MUAHAHAHA!

And it is. Very.

Mal

[MalReynolds]

Doing the new chapter in here, today.

The Other Survivors and The New Threat

They rode in silence for a few minutes, Fichter continually shifting gears and dodging dead or stalled out cars. He had the radio on, but nothing was coming through but static. If there was any life in Jersey, it wasn’t making itself present as of yet.

Eric flipped down the sun-visor and three CD’s spilled out onto his lap. “The Best of Queen” fell face up. Eric scanned the dash for a CD player but found none. He stacked the CD’s again and put them back, snapping the visor back in place.

The sun broke through the buildings they drove past playing tricks on the eyes of the passengers.

“So… What’s your story?” Iggy asked from the back seat, the first to speak since the car ride began.

“What?” Fichter called, not turning around.

“I mean, we all ha-“

“Iggy, drop it. None of this story **** now. Let’s just go meet up with everyone else.”

Fichter began to laugh. It was more of a giggle, really. Eric began to get worried.

“You’re talking like there’s some kind of army there. There isn’t. Sorry to break the news like that, but since I left, there were three people there excluding myself.”

“That raises a question. What were you doing out? I mean, that was fairly lucky for us, all things considered. You saved our lives back there.”

“We gotta eat sometime, don’t we? I was on a food run. I’m the only one that does food runs. I’m the only one that knows how to drive stick in our group.” He paused. “Any of you fellows know how to drive stick?”

Iggy frowned, “No, sir, I just got my license a few months ago.”

Gopher didn’t move.

“What about you?”

“Nope. I can drive an automatic, though, if you have one of those at the station,” Eric said.

“Yeah, like I’d be willing to go on the food runs all the time if there was someone else just as capable. Actually, I would. It’s a rush, to be honest with you. Not anymore. I’m almost out of bullets,” he said, tapping the police issue berretta that lay across his lap.

“Same. I think I have three shots left in here. Is there a police department around here?”

“It’s where I got this. I had to break into a desk just to find a gun, so I don’t think we’re going to have any luck finding weapons. The station was picked clean.”

They rode in silence again, until Eric spoke.

“That bothers me. The station got picked clean and yet I haven’t seen anyone else out there like us. Where did they all go?”

“They probably got killed. These things, singularly aren’t that bad. I’ve killed a couple of em’ myself, but I’m a **** shot, so I don’t do it too often. It’s when they get into groups… They just rampage. It’s insane. You can take one down, but it just seems to renew their vigor. Deadly. I don’t like it one bit. Here we are,” Fichter said, pulling into the loop of the station.

The four walked to the front door and past the reception desk, into the back break room. There were three flashlights on the break table that created a makeshift lamp that haphazardly lit the small room. Sitting at the table was a woman.

She was older than all of them, but not by much. From the looks of it, she was twenty-five or twenty six, with blonde hair down to her shoulders. It was beautiful and matted, tangled yet statuesque. She smiled when Fichter walked in, and the room lit for Eric.

She stood up and flipped her hair behind her shoulder. Eric’s heart skipped a beat.

“Well, looks like we have some new comers to the fort! My name’s Angela. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, extending her hand towards Eric.

He shook her hand limply, unable to speak. Iggy took her hand next and brought it up to his lips, quickly kissing it.

“My name is Ignatious, but these lads call me ‘Iggy’ for short,” he beamed.

“My name is Tom. But you can call me Gopher, and this is Eric.”

Eric still stood rooted to the spot.

“Is he all right?”

“Sometimes he locks up,” Iggy smiled. “All you have to do is control-alt-delete to reboot, right?”

“What?” Angela asked.

“Uh… Nothing. It was a computer joke. I didn’t think…”

“Oh.”

“It wasn’t funny, so…”

“Alright,” she said, heading back to her seat.

Angela pulled a package of mini-muffins from the busted out window of the vending machine, opened it and passed them around. Iggy hungrily ate his, while Gopher just picked at it. Eric had finally taken a seat, and was staring across the table.

“What’s the damage?” Fichter questioned.

“Steven went to the storage closet outside to get batteries a minute ago, he should be back any second now.”

“What about Fred?”

There was a pause.

“Fred left.”

There was another pause.

“Did he say why?”

“He said he was tired of waiting for people to get here. Said they were never going to come. He took his shotgun and left, and I haven’t heard from him since. He could be back. You know how emotional he got,” Angela frowned.

Minutes later, the break room door swung open. A tall man in a dirty blazer stepped through, tossing his brimmed hat casually on the table with one hand while tossing battery packages on the counter with the other. There was dirt on his face, but his rosy cheeks still burned brightly through. He smiled and his eyes twinkled as he saw Eric, Iggy and Gopher.

Angela jumped from her seat and ran over to him, pressing her lips against his.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said.

“So am I,” he said, smiling, looking into her eyes.

“Steven, this is Iggy, Gopher and Eric,” she motioned to the three seated around the table. “Guys, this is my husband, Steven.”

Eric frowned as Iggy and Gopher stood to shake his hand. He took their hands and pulled them in for a tight bear hug.

“It’s just so goddamned good to see other people alive. This is great. I couldn’t be happier. “

Eric finally stood and coldly offered his hand from across the table, blocking the hug.

“It’s good to see some other people that are alive, as well,” Iggy said.

“So, do you all have any kind of plan? Or are you just going to wait here to die,” Eric said.

All eyes turned to him. No one spoke.

“You don’t have a plan? Good. I was better off in the Holland Tunnel,” he said, sitting down.

“Well, no, that’s not true. We have a plan,” Steven said. “We’re waiting for more people and then we’re going to head out to a deserted island. There are dozens of em’ just scattered around. We could head out there and wait it out. It’s a good plan, but we would have liked to have more people for it.”

Eric scowled, “Your plan is straight out of Dawn of the Dead. You really think that’s going to work? Do you even have a boat?”

Steven shook his head, “No. But other people did. It’s all a matter of finding one that runs off of a sail. It’s so hard to find anything that runs off of gas that still works now.”

Eric opened his mouth to retort when there was a bang at the front door. Steven made his way out of the break room and looked out down the hall. He saw the figure of a girl pressing herself against the locked glass doors and hollered back into the break room, “We got another live one out there!”

Eric, Gopher, Fichter and Angela all fled from the room towards the front door.

Iggy didn’t move from his seat.

“Don’t. Don’t open the door,” he whispered, before regaining composure and running down the hall to the others.

“Don’t open the door! Don’t do it! STOP!” He cried out as the door swung open. Iggy turned his flashlight on and ran the beam across the face of the stranger.

Gina’s eyes didn’t dilate and the light burned her retinas. She was wearing a twisted grin of pain across her face, her clothes bloody. Gina turned to Eric, who was now smiling.

“Iggy! It’s your sister!”

“No… It’s not. It’s not her. Something is wrong.”

But Eric didn’t listen. He was too busy giving her a hug. He pulled away from her just as she tried to bite him, and he shoved her against the door.

“What are you doing, Gina?”

Angela and Steven backed away. Fichter pulled Eric back.

Drool began to run from her mouth in thick rivulets, pooling on the floor. She cocked her head to one side and began to walk towards Eric.

“Gina, stay back. Iggy, say something to your sister.”

Iggy didn’t move. He had blacked out again against the reference desk.

She moved closer and stretched her arms out, trying to catch Eric between them. He held his gun up.

“Don’t. Don’t come any closer. Tell us what’s wrong.”

She hissed and stepped forward. Eric looked over his shoulder, “Sorry Iggy, I got to.”

He fired a shot into her leg. She took another step forward and blood shot out as she put her weight down on it.

“What the fu-“ Eric managed to get out before she got a hold of him. He threw her arms to either side and tried to push her back, but she was strong. Too strong. He kneed her in the stomach, but to no avail. She stretched her head down and snapped her teeth at him.

Gopher picked up a chair and swung it against her back, the force of the blow knocking both the Gina thing and Eric to the floor. Eric’s gun flew out of his hand. It didn’t faze her; she was inching closer to his neck.

“GOPHER, DO SOMETHING!” Eric cried out.

Steven charged forward and delivered a kick to her head, which sent her reeling backwards and off of Eric. She sat in the corner with her hand around her face trying to reorient herself.

“Someone kill her!”

The shot rang through the radio station, resounding through the walls of the building. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. Her head jerked backwards and the window cracked from the force.

“Thank you, Gopher,” Eric said, turning around.

Iggy held the gun in his hand from behind the reception desk, his face a mask of pain. He dropped the gun to the counter and slid into the receptionist chair. Tears fell down his face as he began to weep bitterly.

“Thank you, Iggy,” Eric said, correcting himself. “I’m sorry you had to do that. I don’t know what was going on. I’m sorry you had to kill… I’m sorry.”

Iggy sobbed and looked up, his glasses wet with tears. “It wasn’t her. It looked like her, but it wasn’t her. I don’t know what that was, but it wasn’t…”

“It acted like a zombie,” Gopher said.

“Yeah, well, zombies aren’t real, now are they,” Eric said angrily.

“Gee, neither are creatures three feet tall that like to stab things, are they?” Iggy growled.

“Unless you count little people with knives,” Eric nodded.

“What a time for jokes,” Angela called out from behind them. She took Iggy into the break room. Steven was still staring at the Gina thing that rested against the cracked glass. Gopher moved back into the break room.

Fichter was the first to speak to Eric.

“Well… I thought it was kind of funny. Need to work on your timing, though,” he said, patting Eric on the back.

Eric turned to Fichter.

“Maybe they broke her. I saw them carry her away. Maybe they just drove her crazy. There might be fun in that… For them, I mean. I don’t understand how… Why she would try to bite me. She didn’t even say anything.”

Steven walked back to the break room.

“Well, this is what I learned: Things don’t make much sense anymore. Let’s head back to the break room. And apologize to Iggy.”

Eric stood in the doorway.

“Iggy, I’m sorry.”

Iggy nodded, and Eric walked in.

“I’m sorry, but this is also a problem. I know this isn’t the best time to bring this up at all, but we have to leave here. We have to leave here now.”

All eyes turned to Eric.

“Eric, I think you should just calm down,” Angela said.

“No. Look at it this way: We know that wasn’t your sister out there, Iggy. But it found us. It found you. If something like that can find us, then the others must not be far behind it. What if it was sent to find us? To find people? The Creeps could just follow it in here, and here we are, under-armed and emotionally unstable. So I’m going to say it again. We have to leave here now.”

The group silently stood and followed Eric past the reception desk and into the parking lot. They stood by Fichter’s car when Iggy collapsed to the ground again, in pain, clutching his head.

“Too late,” he said, looking up at the group from the pavement.

[Eyoshi]

Does Iggy have a special trait unknown even to himself? Hmm...

Nice job, as usual. I like how the chapter was more of an emotional one, and it also raises some questions about the Creeps, such as if they're intelligent or not. After all, maybe sending in the "zombified" Gina maybe just for the purpose of reconnaissance...

[Varia]

The Gina thing was pretty random.

[MalReynolds]

Not random, but coincidental as you'll find out in a bit.

I'll just tell you; there are more zombie things. But their origins are a big deal, and the fact that the one to track our heroes down was Gina is pure coincidence on behalf of The Creeps.

Mal

[nickadeemus]

Perhaps when adding new parts to the story, update the title with the newest section?
I am also having an Iggy vision in which Steven dies at some point, and Eric tries to fill in but is rejected.

[Tps222]

Too soon Mal, you should have waited a little longer to re-introduce Gina. Too much is happening too fast character wise. I understand why you made her come out, but you could have changed her you know what location.

[MalReynolds]

“What are you talking about, Iggy? Too late?”

“Behind you,” he weakly motioned.

Eric spun around, pulling his gun up. He watched the tree lined entrance to the parking lot, but nothing came in. He waited.

“Iggy, are you sure you saw something?” Eric hunched down to ask him.

There was a distinct roar behind them.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Eric saw the shadow before he saw the actual creature. It had a thick, blocky body with two mechanical claws that protruded from the angular torso. It wasn’t walking, but floating into the parking lot at an alarming speed, sashaying back and forth as if trying to maintain some kind of balance. Its neck was at least a foot long, but it was hard to tell due to the position of the head. The head was jutted forward, making the neck arch up and back down again. It wore the face of a human, but there was no mistake about it. Whatever the hell this thing was, it was a monster.

“What the hell is that thing,” Steven asked, backing up towards the station.

The things eyes focused on Steven and he seemed to freeze, their eyes locked. Blood began to drip from his nose and tears began to fall from his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to cheat on you, Angela,” Steven said.

No, Steven didn’t say it… He mouthed it. The voice was coming from the creature.

“But your sister was a better cook. I’m sorry, but I have to go,” the creature said. Steven began to walk towards the creature.

“I know you cheated on me, we went to counseling for that!” She cried out, running to her husband. He swung his arm and backhanded her. She fell across the car and looked up.

“Something’s wrong, you guys.”

“Well no ****,” Eric said, aiming his last shot. He squeezed the trigger; the bullet flew across the parking lot, and past the monsters head.

Gopher and Iggy looked at Eric, puzzled.

“I just missed?”

Fichter backed up, trying to get into his car to retrieve a gun, when the creature met eyes with him and he blacked out.

Steven was already at the creature, which was resting one hand on his shoulder. It set its eyes on Angela, who froze.

“I’m married, but I want more.”

Gopher ran at the thing, which swung its head at him. He was clothes lined by its neck and he fell to the pavement.

“When Eric walked through those doors, I almost wanted Steven to stay out looking for batteries.”

Eric looked at Steven, who was still in a trance. Was he hearing any of this?

Blood began to drip from her nose, and she walked towards the thing slowly. They weren’t fighting to pull at all, being drawn like a dead fish.

“I have to go,” she mouthed, and the creature said absent-mindedly. A small hand rested across her shoulder, and she closed her eyes.

The thing swung its head towards Iggy, locking eyes. Iggy rose to his feet and began to walk towards the creature.

“I’m sorry I let you die, sis,” it said.

Iggy stopped. He shook his head, but soon began walking again.

“I wasn’t strong enough,” it continued.

Iggy froze in his tracks. Rage coursed through his veins. The tables had flipped. No longer was the creature looking into Iggy’s eyes, but Iggy was staring the creature down, his steely glare terrifying to Eric.

“I didn’t let her die,” he called out.

The creature shook its head, and stared back at Iggy, who took one forceful step forward.

“I DID NOT LET HER DIE!” He spit, screaming so loudly that his voice echoed back from the building through the silent parking lot.

The creature began to shake its head again, trying to stare back at Iggy. Iggy maintained his stance, one foot forward, one foot back, a look of pure hatred in his eyes towards the creature.

“If you didn’t let her die, then who did,” the creature hissed in its own voice, snakes and bursting pipes instead of a true voice, the words hard to make out.

“I didn’t!”

“THEN WHO!”

“ERIC!” Iggy screamed.

“Hey, wha-“ Eric said from behind Iggy.

“AHHHH!”

The creature’s head began to bow. The neck moved in irregular patterns, creating waves in the creatures gray flesh. Blood began to dole out of its eyes, and its body began to sink to the pavement. Its head fell to the pavement before its body, the neck fully stretched out. The body hit the ground and fell over, the claws raking across the back of Angela and Steven.

It turned and looked back at Eric remorsefully, before letting out one final hiss and succumbing to death.

Angela and Steven collapsed to the ground simultaneously, against each other.

“What the hell was that all about?” Eric cried out. “Am I the only one that was thoroughly upset by this?”

He turned and surveyed the area. Gopher was still out on the ground, Fichter almost beneath his car. Iggy too had blacked out.

“Well, ****, guess I was.” He slapped Iggy lightly, who came around.

“I remember most of that.”

“Oh, do you?”

Iggy nodded.

“Do you remember the part where you’re blaming me for your sister’s death?”

Iggy nodded again.

“We’re going to need to talk about that at some point. Clear some things up, alright?” He extended his hand to Iggy, who took it. Eric helped him to his feet.

“So, Mr. ‘I Just Killed That Thing By Staring It Down’, you wanna help me get everyone back in the station? Anything else coming this way?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“That’s something we’re going to have to talk about soon, too. Just what exactly you can tell. And what happened out here with that thing.”

It was a matter of fifteen minutes before everyone was back in the break room. All of them had exceptionally painful headaches, save for Eric, who was relaxing with a cupcake.

“Iggy’s got some things to say,” he said, taking a bite, getting cream on his upper lip. “So, without further ado, Iggy.”

“Alright. First of all, that thing wasn’t the conventional Creep.”

A murmur rose through the room.

“Yes, well, it seemed a great deal smarter. It got into your minds. Started to control you, although I don’t think anyone would remember that.”

“I do,” Eric said from the back.

“I don’t think anyone would remember that that was actually affected by the creature, smartass.”

He chuckled from the back.

“But you never spoke. The voice was coming out of the thing. It was like it was melding with your mind or something, controlling you that way. Got you all to say things. Secrets and the like.”

Steven looked up.

“Like what? What did it say?”

“That you were unfaithful to your wife at one point.”

He let out a sigh of relief.

“She already knew about that.”

Angela turned.

“Is there anything else I should know about?”

Steven shook his head.

“No.”

She turned to face Iggy.

“Did I say anything?”

There was a long pause as Iggy thought about the question.

“No. You didn’t. Eric killed it before you had a chance to speak.”

Fichter piped up from the table.

“I thought he was out of bullets?”

“I miss-counted. All it takes is one shot. They don’t call me ‘Bulls Eye’ for nothin’,” he said, finishing the cupcake.

“They don’t call you ‘Bulls-Eye’ at all,” Gopher said.

“Here’s the game plan, kids. We’re going to camp it here for the night. Our sources tell us that it should be safe, relatively speaking. Iggy, Gopher, we’re going to alternate front door shifts. Iggy and I will be first, then Iggy and Gopher, then Gopher and I. Rotate every four hours. Tomorrow, we get the hell out of Jersey.” Eric paused. “If only because it smells funny.”

Iggy had taken a seat as Eric dragged the body out of the lobby and into the conference room.

“Alright, you blame me for her death?”

“I never thought I did until just a minute ago.”

“What’s the deal with that? She wouldn’t let Gopher throw her. There was nothing we could do about it. I was already on the other side.”

“We were hiding out in our building. She had gone down the street to get canned food when she found one of your fliers. She wanted to meet up with someone else, I didn’t. She said it sounded safe, I said it didn’t. I said my vote should count for something, she said it didn’t.”

“So that’s it?”

“More or less.”

Neither of them spoke. Angela began coughing from the back room.

“Is there a reason we lied about who killed the thing, Iggy?”

He nodded.

“What do you reckon that reason is?”

“Because I don’t exactly know how I killed it.”

“I got some theories on that myself, but I’m going to keep them with me for a little while longer. I’m going to keep an eye on you, Iggy. I think you got something going on in your mind that you don’t know about yet. I’m curious as to what exactly that is.”

“So am I, Eric.”

There was another pause, the cloud shadows moving across the parking lot, streaming in through the glass double doors, blanketing the two in quasi-darkness.

“So, she likes me,” Eric finally said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, but you can’t know that around her. She might not even know that yet. That thing out in the parking lot-“

“The Mind-Melder?”

“Cool name. Yes, it made you say things it knew you didn’t want to. But I don’t think they even knew what they were saying. I mean, I know they didn’t know, but I don’t think that she even knows she has feelings for you.”

“I wouldn’t call them feelings. We just met. It’s more of a lusty type deal.”

“Whatever it is, it wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t know about them at all. I didn’t really blame you for Gina’s death until I really thought about it, tonight. Maybe that’s something it does. You think it could implant thoughts into your mind?”

“I have as much information as you do.”

“Actually,” he said, smirking, “I have a little more.”

“What?
”
“When the thing was dying, it was like it let go of its thoughts. I found out some things.”

“For instance…”

“It did use the zombie to track us. It had some kind of mental hold on it, telling it where the zombie went. That’s how it found us so quickly.”

“Is that all?”

“Nope. Found out some more about the zombie, too. Standard rules apply, apparantley.”

“What?”

“The Melder was worried that the infection would spread through other Creeps. They already have five or six under quarantine that were bitten or scratched, that turned. You get bitten, you get scratched, you turn. Standard zombie rules. Simple.”

“Huh.” Eric grunted.

They sat in silence for the rest of the shift, watching the moons light dance through the breaks in the clouds. When four hours turned up, Gopher walked from the break room, groggy, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. He nodded to Eric who was beginning to fall asleep.

“Iggy, I’m going to tell them about the standard rules tomorrow. In case we run into another. Can’t have them risking what they got when the danger ramps like that. But everything else is between us right now.”

Iggy yawned.

“See you in four, Eric,” he said, drawing in a large gulp of air.

Eric half saluted and turned, patting Gopher on the back and heading to the break room.

[Eyoshi]

The Mind-Melder was pretty cool, but I thought it should have been introduced later in the story. I think the impact on the characters would have been better if this happened after a longer period of time to develop firenships and other relationships.
I alos liked how this "infection" also applies to both humans and the Creeps. It gives the sense that there is a third side in the fight.

[MalReynolds]

Well, all in all you all have read about thirty five pages single spaced, which translates into around 105 pages in a novel. I felt it was time to step things up a tad. It's going to move pretty quickly from here, I think.

Hope it does. I've got some ground to cover. A lot of ground.

Mal

[Tasselfoot]

Mal... that is MAYBE 30 pages of book print, tops... less, IMO. I've felt that it has moved way too fast already, and jumps from one action sequence that is not well explained to another, with no time for character development in between.

[MalReynolds]

In an attempt to prove Tass wrong, I pulled out a hardback copy of Hannibal and typed a page.

That translated into a little under half of a page on word. Meaning that front, back and part of the next page would all fit into one Word page.

So, he's right. It's not 100. It's somewhere in the ball park of seventy. My bad.

I do find his points valid, though. It's very fast paced, and once I finish section 10 (this is 8), I'm going back and doing some rewrites on all of the parts. So as of Sunday, there won't be an update for a little while. Once I re-edit, the full text will go into a new thread with the next section. So, yeah.

Mal

[natetheffrer]

Awesome stuff mal, I should do a reader response on this for english class, its better than rereading the harry potter books.

[Tps222]

I have to agree with Tass somewhat. It would be nice to go into more detail when they switch scenes. Character-wise, do what you want. Mind Melder was pretty cool, can't wait to see the real action.

[MalReynolds]

The first tendrils of daylight entered into the station lobby through the glass doors and over the eyes of Eric, who was fast asleep. In the middle of his second shift, he had passed out mid-sentence, talking to Gopher.

”Which is where I learned to shoot like that, you se-“

Gopher had summarily nodded, then went back into the offices to find a blanket. Finding a quilt, he returned to the lobby and covered Eric, sitting back and keeping his own eyes open on the doors.

Nothing happened. There was no thumping against the glass doors; the metal handles were still attached as morning approached. The Mind-Melder’s body sat in the parking lot, unmoving. The wind shuffled the trees, knocking leaves down, but that was the most excitement that night. In a word, it was quite boring.

As the light crept over Eric’s eyes, they opened with a flash.

“I wasn’t sleeping. I was checking… My mind… For… ****, I was asleep, wasn’t I?”

Gopher nodded.

“Alright, Goph, what are we going to do? Where are we going to go?”

“I dunno. We’ve got a car. We could try and find a boat like Steven said. Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Eric paused. He didn’t quite know what to say. Steven, in Eric’s eyes, wasn’t much of a planner. He wanted to go to some island. Maybe that would work. Eric didn’t know. But Steven just seemed so happy about everything.

“I guess. Couldn’t hurt, could it?”

Gopher smiled. “I’m going to go to the back and get everyone up. I’ll be right back.”

The large man ambled to the back. Steven was holding Angela on the floor, and Iggy was stretched out over the counter. Fichter was slumped in the corner with one arm over his head, crooked against the cabinet, his other arm behind him.

“Hey everyone!” Gopher boomed. “Time go get up!”

Iggy rolled off of the counter, onto the ground.

“Ouch.” He said, seconds after impact.

“Come on, grab some stuff,” Gopher said, walking over to Fichter. “We’re gonna get out of here. Grab all the cupcakes you want, because we don’t want to come back. Wake up, dude.” Fichter stirred, and opened his eyes.

“Could you get me a cup of coffee, sugar?” He said, sleepily.

“Haven’t had a fresh cup myself in about three weeks,” Gopher said, helping Fichter to his feet.

The group slowly made their way down the dim hallway to the front door, where Eric was standing, his form silhouetted against the world outside. His forearm was against the door and he was resting his head against it.

“Alright,” he said to the glass. Everyone stopped. “We’re going to go find a boat, and try to find an island. As much as I think that’s a bad idea, it’s the only idea we have right now. So that’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to pile into the car. Gopher, Iggy and I will take to the back. Angela, you sit on Steven’s lap, and Fichter, you drive. We’re going to find a marina, and then we’re going to get the hell out of dodge.” He turned around. “Any questions?”

There was a long pause.

“Could we get bananas anywhere?” Steven asked.

There was another long pause as everyone contemplated the question.

“Not sure,” Eric finally said. “I think they’re all rotten, aren’t they?”

Steven frowned. “Alright, bad idea.”

Eric opened the door, stepping out into what was left of our world. He took the steps two at a time, hitting the sidewalk, turned around and motioned for the others to follow. They all stepped outside, drowsily, and walked to Fichter’s car. Eric opened the door for Angela and Steven, before climbing into the middle of the back. Gopher clambered in on his left side, Iggy on his right. There wasn’t much room to move around at all, and Eric tried unsuccessfully to situate himself in the back.

It reminded him of bus-rides through New York as a child. It was going to be bumpy, he thought to himself, reaching for a safety belt. There was no belt for the middle, he deduced as Gopher and Iggy strapped themselves in.

“So, Dad, the paramedics never have to remove people from safety belts in car accidents?”

“Nope, Eric. Because most people live if they wear seat belts.”

“So if they die, they leave them in there?”

It was one of the few times he had ever seen his father laugh. It turned from a laugh into a guffaw; his face beat red with a tear brimming in his left eye. It rolled down his face and past his moustache. Eric was embarrassed. He had been genuinely curious about the fate of those who died in seat belts, but now, retrospectively, the answer had been obvious.

Fichter started the car, and Eric started to laugh. He finally got it.

Angela turned around and looked at Eric. “Something funny? Tell me. I could use the laugh,” she smiled. Oh was her smile beautiful.

“It’s nothing.”

“Well… It wouldn’t take much to make me laugh, all things considered.”

“Alright, well… I asked my dad if anyone who died while wearing a seatbelt was left in the car they died in. Because he said… Uh… Paramedics never had to take people out of cars in body bags that had their seatbelts on.”

The car moved backwards.

“And?”

“Well, that was it. My dad laughed at that when I was a kid, but I didn’t understand why it was funny until now.”

“Oh,” she said, turning back around.

Steven turned his head, trying to look back at Eric, but unable to fully turn because of his wife.

“What made you think of that? Thinking about car accidents is morbid when we’re in a car.”

“Oh, I don’t have a seatbelt.”

“That’s even more morbid,” Steven said, facing forward again.

“That’s not morbid, is it, Iggy?”

“Yes. Yes it is very much so morbid, and now I’m uncomfortable sitting next to you, Mr. Morbid.” Iggy said, smiling.

From the front seat, they heard a laugh. It was Angela. Her laugh was even more beautiful than her smile. To try and describe it would be doing it a great injustice.

“Alright, that’s enough, Iggy.”

“What are you going to do? Wear MY seatbelt? Cause I don’t want to die, Eric. Don’t you go taking my seat belt. I mean, look out there! This is rush hour traffic! I’ll be surprised if we even make it to the corner without getting hit by some other vehicle.”

Angela’s laugh grew louder. Steven began to chuckle, and Fichter pulled out of the parking lot, carefully shifting gears.

“Okay, Iggy. I get it. I was bein-“

“Oh no, look out! There’s a speeding car heading right towards us! Whatever shall we do? Well, I know what you’re going do to, Eric. You’re going to get killed, cause you’re not wearing a seat belt.”

Gopher started laughing, and Angela began gasping for breath.

“Iggy, I get it. I was worried over noth-“

“This is the hay-day for drivers, Eric. I’m not sure you understand just how much danger you’re really in! Crazy drivers everywhere! Remember how many we saw on the way to the station? At least seven… MILLION!”

Iggy started laughing. Eric began to chuckle and Fichter tried to concentrate on the road. His eyes were beginning to water; trying to stifle the laughter he had growing inside of him. It blurred his vision, and soon enough, he had driven off of the road, clipping the side of a building. Eric had flown forward a tad, hitting his shoulder, but it was low impact. Fichter had been going at less than ten miles per hour when he clipped the building. He shifted down and stopped the car, to laugh.

Everyone in the car was laughing, even Eric who was nursing his bruised shoulder blade.

“Oh, well I’m glad I had a seatbelt on,” Iggy said through laughter.

“Me too!” Gopher said, clapping Eric on his shoulder. Eric winced.

When it finally died down, Fichter stepped out of his car to look at the damage. There wasn’t much. The paint on the front right hand side had been scraped; there was a tiny dent, but nothing to really worry about. Nothing that would shut his car down.

He stepped back inside of the car, slid the key into the ignition, and turned. The car didn’t start. He tried again. Nothing. He looked around at his gauges, and tried again.

“What’s wrong, Fichter?” Angela asked.

“It would appear that we’re out of gas.”

“So… We walking?” Eric said from the back.

“Hardly. You three are. I’m going to shift into neutral. There’s a station up the road for gas. A gas station. I think I might be able to get some fuel there,” he said, turning around. “You boys ready to push the car?”

It wasn’t right down the road. It wasn’t two blocks. It was fifteen blocks. They pushed the entire way, although Gopher was more than capable of doing it himself. They were sweaty and dirty again by the time they got to the gas station. Gopher ended up pushing the car to the pump when Iggy fell to his knees.

“Fifteen blocks I can handle, Eric. But up-hill? That’s just… It seems so unnecessary. Why didn’t we just get a gas tank to bring back?”

Eric helped Iggy up. “Hindsight is always 20/20 isn’t it, Iggs.”

Iggy half laughed, half coughed. Angela and Steven got out of the car and helped him to the bench outside of the convenience store. Fichter began to work on the pump, figuring out how to get fuel without electricity. Eric surveyed the scene.

The store was empty in that there were no people inside. There were chips and cases of soda. Big cases of water stacked by the front door, creating a half barricade the extended halfway to the ceiling. Low enough to see inside of the store. There was blood on the floor, but no visible body. There were also spent shotgun shells on the ground, which interested Eric.

“Guys, there’s a gun inside. I’m going to go take it.”

Before anyone could say anything, Eric had taken a flashlight and opened the double doors.

It was rank inside. The air was green with the stench of fetid and rotten flesh. Whoever had the gun was long gone. They wouldn’t mind Eric taking it at all. He made his way around the aisles, keeping his hand over his mouth to keep the air from getting in. It was a futile attempt, but the placebo effect was the only thing stopping him from dry heaving. He grabbed a pre-packaged item, stuffing it into his pocket, walking around to the counter.

The thing behind the counter still clutched the gun in his hand, but he wasn’t dead quite yet. He was breathing, with a paper towel pressed firmly against a wound in his neck.

Outside, Iggy was bashing the payphone box with the receiver, trying to get it to drop coins. Gopher was inside the car, trying to rest his eyes. Angela and Steven were standing at opposite ends of the lot, looking down the hill and up the hill. And Fichter was still trying to figure out how to operate the damn pump.

Fichter was a problem solver. He had done some extra study when he was in High School, for higher-level thinkers. He was sure he could get the pump to work: Physics was somewhat of his specialty from college as well. Fichter was growing impatient.

And inside, Eric was crouched over his man. He removed his hand from his mouth, and gagged. The smell was emanating from the wound in the man’s neck. Eric pulled the paper towel away and heaved. The flesh around the wound was rotting, ready to drop off. It would have already if the man had been lying at an angle where gravity would have been affecting the skin in a downward fashion.

He noticed behind the man a corpse that was missing the top of its head.

Eric lightly slapped the man. “Hey, hey.”

The man stirred.

“You’ve been bitten.”

His eyes opened. “No ****.”

Eric sat on his haunches trying to conceive the best way to tell the man that he was going to turn. He didn’t quite know how to phrase it. Luckily for Eric, while he was facing this moral dilemma, the man stood. Unluckily for Eric, the man was now but a shadow of his former self. The gun clattered to the ground as the thing lurched forwards. Eric used its weight against it and threw it over the counter.

In the parking lot, Iggy’s head began to hurt.

From behind the building, a Mind-Melder floated around the corner.

Eric dove to the ground, grabbing the shotgun. He stood as the man-thing began to try and climb back over the counter. Eric unloaded a shell into the things face and it flew backwards into the rack of potato chips, dead.

He searched under the counter for shells and found a box of fifty. The box said there were fifty inside, but it looked like there were only twenty or so left. Eric stuck the box into his pocket on top of the pre-packaged food and made his way to the front door. He swung it open.

“Don’t worry about that shot that was fired inside guys. Don’t rush to me all at once, it’s cool.”

He noticed Iggy passed out, face down on the ground. He noticed the Melder standing at the end of the parking lot, back to Eric. In its short stubby claws stood Angela and Fichter. Steven was being pulled towards it.

“Oh, ****.”

Eric walked up behind the Melder quietly, but still couldn’t get a bead on its head. He pulled the shotgun up to his shoulder and fired one round into the things back. It jerked forward, and began to turn around, throwing Angela and Fichter to the ground. Eric cocked the shotgun, the crisp sound cutting through the still air, and fired one more shell as the creature turned around to face him. Its head and sad eyes disappeared in a fine spray, and the thing collapsed to the ground in between Fichter and Angela.

Summarily, they began to snap out of it as Eric was walking back out of the store with warm bottles of water.

He tossed one to Steven, who was the first to break out of the mental lock. One flew at Fichter, bouncing off of his chest. One flew at Angela, bouncing off of her forehead.

Iggy was already to his feet, when Eric tossed the bottle to him.

“They’re not going to remember me throwing water bottles at them, are they?”

“Yes, we most certainly are,” Angela called from behind him, holding back a laugh.

Fichter walked back to his car, shaky, but finishing the fueling.

Eric turned to him. “How did you manage to fuel the car without electricity?”

Fichter smiled. “Long, complicated, you wouldn’t understand either way.”

Eric shook his head. “You’re probably right."

“Oh, I know I am.”

Eric, Angela and Steven began work their way back to the car, when Eric pulled Steven aside.

“They didn’t have bananas, but they did have this,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out the shotgun shells first.

“Not quite the same, Eric.”

“Oh, shut up. Those are for me. This is for you,” he said, reaching into the cargo pocket and crinkling the shrink-wrap. He pulled out the banana-nut muffin and handed it over. Steven smiled and began to walk back to the car.

Eric slid some shells into the shotgun, and set the gun down on the floor of the car. The shells went back into this pocket, as Fichter started the car and began to pull away.

“I didn’t say anything this time, did I?” Angela asked.

“Oh, I heard it all. You’re madly in love with me and we’re going to get married on a hilltop,” Eric said from the back.

“Did I really say that?”

Eric smiled. “No, I was in the store the entire time.”

Angela began to laugh. Soon the car was filled with laughter, cutting through the air and heading towards the coastline.

[natetheffrer]

In the beginning you spelling mid wrong, you put min. Also I think that is was odd that eric did nothing too the guy on they ground.

[Tasselfoot]

“I didn’t say anything this time, did I?” Angela asked.

Except... Angela wasn't told she said anything about Eric. Unless you went back and edited the story.

[MalReynolds]

In the other section, she's told that Eric killed the Melder before she had a chance to say anything. Both times, she didn't know what she said, but she's under the impression that it makes you speak. Lemme pull the quotes up.

Mal

The first encounter:


“She already knew about that.”

Angela turned.

“Is there anything else I should know about?”

Steven shook his head.

“No.”

She turned to face Iggy.

“Did I say anything?”

There was a long pause as Iggy thought about the question.

“No. You didn’t. Eric killed it before you had a chance to speak.”



At the Gas Station.



“I didn’t say anything this time, did I?” Angela asked.



Hope that clears things up.

[Eyoshi]

I thought the short transition from present-time to the past was a little unnoticable, as it just didn't seem that obvious when I looked through for the first time.
However, I thought that this part was a nice interlude between the "bigger" installments. The humor didn't seem to have been put there just for the sake of trying to make people laugh, which is good.

[MalReynolds]

They continued down the deserted roads, through the noonday sun, following the signs that would lead them to the Jersey Shore. Past signs advertising the fun escapism of Atlantic City; now was no time for fun escapism. They only followed the roads that had signs with the words “docking” or “marina”.

Several hours passed in the car with Iggy continuing to make seat-belt jokes. Gopher was trying desperately to sleep, but couldn’t sleep though Iggy’s almost continuous laughter. Angela and Steven were growing frustrated. Eric was resting his head in his hands, a bolt of pain shooting through his skull. All the while, Iggy kept on.

“Cause you NEED a seat-belt! Get it? It’s the law! Ha!”

Angela groaned, Steven sighed and Iggy started laughing again.

“Come on, guys, that one was classic! Classic! There is no law anymore! Get it?”

Eric turned and looked Iggy in the eye. “Yes, we get it Iggy. Some things just aren’t funny. Hey, Fichter? You want to take us to a farm so Iggy can beat a dead horse for real?”

Iggy’s face turned bright red. He shut up and quietly slid back into his seat, turning to face the window.

They rode in silence, Iggy embarrassed. Eric’s conscience began to gnaw on him as they approached their exit.

“Iggy, I didn’t mean it. It was kind of funny.”

“No, it wasn’t at all,” Gopher chimed from the other side of Eric. Eric shot him a look, and Gopher one again nestled and tried to fall asleep.

“Iggy, it was kind of funny. Right guys?”

No one answered, save for Fichter. He grunted, although that might have been a sneeze. Iggy turned to face Eric.

“Don’t try and make me feel better. I know it was stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

“Really, Iggy?”

“Yup.”

“Good man. You’re a better man than I am, Ig-“

“Don’t worry about it, cause if we get into a car accident I’m going to live.” He began laughing again. There was a simultaneous groan that rode throughout the car, not quite reaching Iggy’s ears through his own laughter.

The sign loomed in the distance, hard to see behind the sun. The glare made it look like a black rectangle. Fichter pulled down the sun-visor and squinted.

“CLARK’S LANDING; EXIT 218B.”

Below that, “POINT PLEASANT, EXIT 218A.”

“Look, Iggy. Point Pleasant. That sounds fun, doesn’t it?” Eric said in a futile attempt to raise the downtrodden spirits in the metal cage.

“Sounds fun. Won’t be,” he said, turning away from Eric and back to the window.

Fichter pulled the car onto the exit and rode into the once thriving beach-front community. Deserted hotels played guard to the beach as they drove through, trying to find any indicator of Clark’s Landing. Most of the signs in town had been taken down, scribbled over. Amateur graffiti artists had run rampant after hearing news that the military and police forces were summarily being decimated. Instead of helping others, they helped themselves by painting over any helpful indicators that would lead Eric and the others to Clark’s Landing.

Fichter pulled the car over.

“I think we need a map if we’re going to find Clark’s Landing,” he said, not directly to anyone.

“Well,” Eric started from the back, “Why don’t we just drive over the beach in one direction for an hour, and if we don’t run into it there, we can always double back. It’s not like we have any shortage of time, do we?”

“No, but I can’t take this car onto the beach. That’s running an enormous risk in and of itself. What if the car got stuck? We’d be waylaid here in this deserted tourist local. Not exactly the most safe or secret place to be stranded, either. Hotels, motels, beach houses. Inconspicuous, this place ain’t.”

Steven nodded. Angela turned to face the others.

“Fichter’s right,” she said, as he did a silent fist pump. “We need a map. There’s got to be some kind of tourist information center somewhere. Hell, maybe a hotel lobby would have a map or at least a phone book with an address.”

“I take it this means Iggy, Gopher and I are going to be doing some legwork while you all sit in the car and keep it running in case something happens?”

“Well… Yes,” she said.

Eric let out a heavy sigh. “Alright. Guys, let’s go. There’s a hotel right there,” he said, indicating to the dark monolith beside them. “Let’s get a map and get out. Won’t be more than a few minutes in there.” Eric leaned over to Iggy and whispered in his ear, “We going to run into any trouble in there?”

He nodded. “But nothing we can’t handle,” he opened the door and stepped out, leaning town and touching his toes.

“Fichter, pop the trunk.”

Iggy reached in and pulled out his bag of supplies. Eric took the shotgun from the floor and Gopher picked up a tire iron out of the trunk. Iggy handed a flashlight to Eric and Gopher, tossing a role of tape to Eric.

“Tape the light to the gun. Make things a little easier. Flash-light mod, anyone?”

Eric chuckled as he used the duct tape to make the flashlight a semi-permanent addition to his shotgun.

The doors to the hotel swung open quietly as Eric stepped through the door, light emanating from the barrel of his gun. The floor reflected the light poorly; what was once polished marble now sat covered in dust and blood. The wooden reception desk bathed in the eerie light from Eric’s gun as he approached.

Iggy scouted the ceiling for any sign that would point them in the direction of acquiring a map faster. Eric set his gun down on the counter and vaulted over.

“Showoff,” Iggy said, stepping through the employee entrance.

Eric grabbed his gun and began to look through the papers on the desk. There were some about safe-house locations that had been compromised, military installations that had been wiped out, guests in room 47 that were having sex too loudly and a band in the roof-top suite that had taken a penchant to throwing hotel property from the roof. Nothing useful. Eric stepped away from the counter, and Iggy approached shining his light. He closed his eyes and opened a drawer, pulling out a single sheet of paper.

“MEMO: To the information staff. Subject: New Map Shipment. We have to get these new maps distributed, and to the best of my knowledge, they’re still setting in a box in the back room. Could anyone care to explain why they haven’t been put in the tourist information stand yet? These maps need to be distributed today or else heads will roll.”

“Eric, I found something,” Iggy said, crumpling the memo and tossing it over the counter.

“Guys, there’s nothing here,” Gopher called from the kiosk. Eric turned his light to Gopher, who was standing the center. Eric saw a Creep climb up behind him.

“Gopher, behind you!”

Gopher swung around, bringing the tire iron across the creatures head. It fell the ground.

“Nice shot, Gopher,” Iggy said, coming out from behind the counter, catching a splinter in his finger. “Ow, Dammit.”

“I meant to do that, too,” Gopher beamed.

“Alright, according to this memo Iggy dug up, they should have some maps in the back room. Where the back room is, I have no idea. I think we should split up.”

Iggy and Gopher began to protest when Eric cut them off.

“Just kidding. Alright, let’s think about this logically. Down that hall,” he shined his light above the door on the placard, “are the elevators and stairs. Down that hall,” he turned his light behind him, “Is the gift shop. There’s a door at the end of the gift-shop hall, which I can only assume is the storage area? So, let’s get cracking.”

They made their way down the carpeted hallway, past the glass wall that separated them from the gift shop. Iggy stared through the glass, watching Creeps dance around, throwing books into the air.

“Just keep it quiet, guys. We got company on the other side of this wall.”

Eric nodded, reaching the door. The sign next to it claimed Eric was correct.

“Storage room.”

He tried the door, but no dice. Gopher stepped forward, and tried pulling the handle down harder. He only succeeded in breaking the handle off at the turn, leaving part of the knob.

Eric watched the things in the gift-shop climb to the top of a shelf, and three of them begin to push it down. He trained his shotgun on the door, and when the shelf hit the ground, he fired a shell into the handle.

The shelf hit the ground, and the Creeps jumped and began to laugh. One of them looked out the glass wall and saw the door to the back shutting. It thought nothing of it and began to rip the head off of a teddy bear, throwing the fluff into the air.

The room was dank and carried an air of wetness. There had been an AC leak in there a few days prior, and when the power shut down, the water fell out of the unit in torrents, soaking many of the card board boxes.

“Alright, guys. Start opening **** up. We’re bound to get a map sooner or later.”

It was later rather than sooner. There was much in the way of assorted crap in these boxes, mainly hotel amenities. One box had been filled with soft-core porn, ambiguously titled. More items for the gift shop, including a box of Scuba-Knives, which Gopher helped himself to. Iggy took one to get the splinter out of his finger when they had light. Eric continued to tear the room apart.

“Well, this sucks,” he said in defeat, sitting down. “Anything you can do, Iggy? You getting a feeling about where the maps are?”

Iggy closed his eyes and tried to clear his thoughts. He couldn’t with the splinter in his finger, but he could see something in the corner of his mind.

“Oh, yeah. You’re sitting on them.”

Eric stood and turned around quickly, pointing his light at the box. The top was clearly labeled “POINT PLEASANT MAPS”. Eric opened it with one of Gophers knives, and grabbed four maps.

The Creeps had grown disinterested with the gift shop. They had taken back to the hallway when one noticed the handle to the door of the room they couldn’t get in was missing. He hissed to his contemporaries and motioned at the door. They walked up, one of them pushing the door open.

“Iggy, get down!”

Iggy ducked as Eric fired at shot at the door, knocking it back shut.

“Gopher, start moving **** in front of the door. Iggy, let’s hold it shut.”

They pressed themselves against the door as Gopher began to slide boxes of books across the floor. Several books fell out as he slid it into position, and he hastily kicked them away as he slid another box. He lifted this one over and on top of the initial box, and went back to get another.

Iggy and Eric stopped holding the door and began to move boxes of lighter material with him. Iggy picked up one of the books, as the last box slid into place.

“Alright, we’re safe in here,” Eric said breathlessly. “Now, we just wait until they lose interest. Or we could go out and fight. You guys, it’s your call.”

“I got a better idea,” Iggy said. “Let’s go out of that fire escape, right over there.”

“We need to vote on the motion,” Gopher said.

“Shut up, Gopher,” Eric said walking to the escape. He slowly pushed it open and daylight poured into the room. A Creep stood squarely in the doorframe and Eric promptly shot it in the face.

The group made their way back from the alley and to the car, which was idling. Fichter had his window rolled down and was leaning out, swinging his arm back and forth with his gun.

“Fichter, what are you doing?”

“Keeping… The area secured?”

The three climbed back into the car and handed the stack of maps to Fichter.

“One would have sufficed, you know.”

“So would a ‘thanks’,” Iggy said.

“We were going the wrong way,” he indicated to the map. “It’s a couple miles back thattaway.”

Fichter threw the car into reverse and took off down the alley, backwards. He ran over the corpse of the Creep before putting it into first gear and gunning it, taking off out of the alley like a bat out of hell. He took a sharp left and began to drag down the strip.

“Is there any reason you’re going so fast? It’s not like we have a shortage of time, Fichter,” Eric called from the back.

“I hate it when people say that, Eric. Besides, this is our salvation we’re heading to. The sooner we get there, the better.”

It was a matter of a few hundred seconds before the sign for Clark’s Landing came into view. The sign itself was sky blue and was almost camouflaged against the clear sky. Fichter slowed the car, and took a left into the landing. He parked professionally in a handicapped spot before turning the car off.

“Let’s go find a boat, guys.”

They all filed out of the car, Iggy opening his new book, “The Quilt and Other Assorted Tales,” to the jacket, reading about the author. Something caught his eye.

They made their way down the pier to the boat landings. It was barren. There were no boats.

“There are no boats here,” Steven said.

“Yeah, thanks, I hadn’t noticed,” Eric retorted as he walked down one of the docks. He gazed down into the water and noticed the staff of one boat sticking above the surface.

“Correction, Steve-o. There are plenty of boats. Only problem here is, all of em’ are sunk.”

Steve collapsed to the wooden dock, crying.

“Good plan, good plan,” he kept whispering to himself.

Iggy stood at the back of the group, reading through the jacket and biting at the splinter before he finally spoke up.

“I have an idea.”

Steve stood up, furious.

“WHAT THE HELL IS WITH YOU AND ALL OF YOUR IDEAS? WHY DO ALL OF THEM WORK OUT? I DON’T GET IT! EVERY TIME IT WORKS!”

Iggy looked at Eric and then back at Steven.

“It’s strange, and even if I told you you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me,” Steven said.

“Alright… Well… I think I’m a psychic.”

Steven stood speechless. Fichter turned around.

“Like, you can see the future?”

Iggy bit at the splinter. “Somewhat. I didn’t know this idea was going to bust, though. It’s odd. I can’t see everything that’s going to happen. But when I was reading this book jacket, the author is from Virginia. I got a good vibe off of that. I think that’s where we’re supposed to be headed.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this earlier?” Steven said, beginning to calm down.

“Like I said, I can’t see everything. Something usually has to set it off. As much as this is like Final Fantasy, it’s not quite there yet. There has to be a trigger. Like seeing my sister again. I think that did something. But most of the future is blind to me until I find the trigger.” He started smiling.

“Alright, guys, let’s get back to the car,” Eric said.

Iggy’s lower lip overflowed with blood. His smile had changed very quickly into something else, a sick grin. A tear slid down his cheek as his tongue changed from red to silver, a blade being pushed through his mouth. His legs gave out, and he slid to the deck. Behind him, a Creep stood, pulling his sword out of Iggy’s head.

Without thinking, Eric ran at the thing and tackled it, pushing it to the dock. He blindly beat at the creature, breaking its neck with the first blow. He continued to beat its head until nothing was left but a body and a neck that gushed the blood of the Creeps. The body made a splash as Eric threw it into the ocean. He ran over to Iggy’s unmoving body.

From the far dock, the distinct cackle was heard. Fichter gazed down the pier to the end, where a dozen of the creatures had emerged from a sea-shed. They were quickly making their way down the dock towards everything good.

“Eric, we have to go now. We have to go NOW!” Fichter cried out, running. He pulled Angela, who was beginning to weep and Steven who was standing speechless. Fichter had to physically pull Eric away from the body, and they began to run. Eric turned around and ran to the dock, picking his gun up, double stepping back to the group. He looked down at Iggy’s body, picking up the book, and all he could think was, “I’m sorry.”

They piled into the car and set off towards the interstate silently. They were all sorry. Eric opened the book to the first page and began to read.

[natetheffrer]

Wow everybody is dieing, also why does the car not run out of gas?

[MalReynolds]

Fichter refuelled in the section before this.

And yeah, Iggy died. Poor poor Iggs.

Mal

[Eyoshi]

Wow, I thought Iggy was going to be one of the characters that will stay with Eric until the end. It was also pretty strange how you've eliminated one of the strongest characters even though the story has yet to reach the end.

[MalReynolds]

It was something I had planned from the beginning, to offer up a psychic character and then kill him off. I'm going to be re-editing the first 10 parts and posting them in a new thread once I finish, then keep adding. I'll also start doing character pieces called "Everyone Has A Story: 'character name here'" that details characters lives prior to the invasion up until the day of.

Mal

[talisman]

dunno if you've heard about http://www.nanowrimo.org but basically it's a site where they declare november national novel writing month and have a competition to see who can write the best 50 000 word novel starting in november and finishing in november. I figure you've probably got at least 10 - 15 thou here, you might as well start updating it there and see what happens. couldn't hurt anyway and might motivate you extra more.

[MalReynolds]

Well, you piqued my curiosity and I did a word count on my material.

20,000. 19,823 to be exact.

And that site looks interesting. I'd have to look over the copywrite information first. But it's definitley worth looking into. Thanks.

Mal

[MalReynolds]

I decided to do back-story sections for some of the characters. This one is going between chapter 5-6, and it's called "Everyone Has A Story: Wheels". The Everyone Has A Story things comes from Iggy asking people that. But yeah.

-

Ignatious Volter was born roughly twenty years ago and was an only child, records indicate. He wasn’t confined to a wheel chair his entire life; an accident when he was a small child stole away the use of his legs. His mother was driving and had installed the child-safety seat in the passenger area, negating its effectiveness. Within the span of ten seconds, his mother had been taken from him, as were his legs.

He had resided in an assisted living community for a while, his father unable to look after or take care of him due to the urgency of his job. Ignatious’ father was a marketing director for the radio station WXRP in New York, and with time, Ignatious’ father Ken forgot that he even had a son.

Ignatious was an unruly child, dissatisfied with life and what it had taken from him. He was bussed around from home to home, his father putting him up for adoption after two years. His life never changed dramatically, until one late December in 1995. The snow outside of the house was thick, the top layer ice. The wheelchair ramp had been cleared off the night prior so that he could go out and play in the yard with the other boys.

During the night, the ramp had become coated in ice. Ignatious was unable to maintain control of the vehicle as it went down the ramp; eventually, he crashed into the railing, being thrown over and into the snow. His chair stayed on the ramp, falling over.

He had cried out for help for hours. There was no one. Not even the other children were outside. Snow began to fall.

“I’m beginning to lose the feeling in my legs!”

No one was there to laugh.

Ignatious rolled over and began to claw his way to the ramp. He managed to pull himself to his chair using the hand railings. He grabbed onto one of the wheels, flipping the chair over. He sat down in it, but couldn’t make it up back the icy incline into the house; he kept rolling backwards.

He abandoned the chair and began to crawl up the ramp, finally reaching the front door. He rang the doorbell, but no one answered. Smoke began to pour out of the windows.

Ignatious was the only survivor. He was put into government care until he became of age. They helped him acquire and apartment in Manhattan, near the radio-station where his father worked. He had hoped one day to surprise him, coming into the building with a catcher’s glove. Clichéd, yes, but he was sure it would work.

It took nerve to go to the station. The rickety elevator was tough enough to brave. The tenants in the building always kept an eye out for him, lest he hurt himself or let himself be hurt.

Few had tried to talk him out of going to the station that day, but he wouldn’t have it. If Ignatious was one thing, it was determined. Once he had his mind set on something, you couldn’t deter him even for an instant. One of the qualities of being in a chair was his steely will.

He didn’t enter through the revolving doors; he entered through the side door that swung. The receptionist had been having an exceptionally bad day; Ken was sleeping with her, but refused to leave his wife. When Ignatious came through the doors, her smile brightened and she was reminded that there are other people in life that are worse off than she.

She loved helping the disabled as well; it gave her a feeling of superiority that rang in her voice.

“Hello, sir, how can I help you today?”

“I’m here to see Kenneth Volter.”

She blushed and nodded, flipping through the Rolodex of numbers on her desk. It was a façade, trying to find the number. She had it memorized; the one office the building she knew by heart.

She called up. “Hello, is Kenneth there? There is a young man here to see him.” She paused. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No. Tell him his son is here.”

She nodded. “Yes, he says his son is here.” She looked at Ignatious. “Yes, you’re son is here. All right, James, go on up. Floor 30”

He was unfazed by being called James. Could have been a mistake. She could have been reading some kind of label on his clothing or wheelchair. He rolled into the elevator, pressing the button for 30. The muzak over the loudspeaker was something familiar, sounded something like “Mr. Blue Sky” but with a heavy synthesizer and no lyrics.

The doors dinged open and he rolled down the hall, looking at the names on the doors, the carpet green save for the shadows that were constantly being cast over it. By the water cooler he spied his fathers name on the door, and knocked.

“That you, son? Come on in.”

Ignatious opened the door and rolled through. His father was slightly balding, blonde, sitting behind the desk. He wasn’t trying to hide the baldness; he was accepting the futility of the situation with an air of Bruce Willis.

“Who the hell are you?”

Ignatious was taken aback.

“I’m your son. Ignatious Volter.”

Ken didn’t move.

“You put me up for adoption a while ago.”

Ken still sat, unmoving.

“You’re my father. Martha was your wife. She was killed in a car accident.”

“Yes, yes. I know who you are.”

“Then why did you ask me who I was?”

The door opened behind him and a young child ran through, same blonde hair as his father. A woman stepped through the door.

“You might want to put in a word to have that receptionist removed. She was giving me quite a bit of sass,” the woman said, leaning over the desk, kissing her husband. “Who is this?”

“Oh, this is Ignatious. He’s Martha’s son.”

“I’m your son.”

“I’m sorry, not anymore. I’d forgotten about you a long time ago. Mary, could you take James into the hallway? I have to clear up some things in here.”

They left, standing by the water cooler. James played with the wax cups, crumpling them and tossing them aside.

“I’m your SON, Ken! You can’t just forget about me!”

“I didn’t want you. Didn’t you ever wonder how I could let you go so easily? I begged Martha to have you… Taken care of before you were born. But she wouldn’t have it. I’m sorry she died the way she did; I truly loved her… But I didn’t love the choices she made. You were one of them… I wasn’t ready for a child.”

Ignatious began to roll his chair backwards, towards the door.

“So that’s it? I have no father?”

“And I… I have no son. Except for James.”

“I expected you to get remarried, but I didn’t expect…” Ignatious’ voice caught in his throat. He turned the chair, opened the door and rolled down the hallway, tears falling down his face, onto his defunct legs.

People back at the apartment had tried to cheer him up, but he was inconsolable.

“I can’t believe I moved here… I moved here trying to get closer to him, thought we could start…” He couldn’t talk about it without bringing tears to his eyes.

Since that day, he surrounded himself with people in the building, creating relationships that were almost entirely false. He didn’t care for them; he just cared to be around them. He didn’t want to be abandoned, but had no problem abandoning.

The first day of the invasion, he was making soup.

The first time he heard of the things attacking was via his father’s radio station. It was advising people the flea the city, to try and escape. People in the building urged Ignatious to leave, his best bet was to head to Canada.

He sealed himself in the pantry while people, his protectors, tried to secure the building. They all perished. He felt almost nothing for them. Of course they would leave. Everyone did.

When the sounds died out, he took the elevator to the roof just in time to see the New York City skyline blink out, the power dieing save for a few offices that were running on generators. One by one, he watched them blink out. He turned the radio on his lap to his father’s station, but there was nothing but static.

The gunshots rang true from the adjacent building. He sat and watched the young man kill several creatures. Ignatious was filled with adrenaline. It was exciting watching someone able to fight back.

There was a click on the radio.

The door was locked. He moved his chair to a dark corner and began to listen intently for any signal coming out.

There was another click.

Someone was at the station.

[natetheffrer]

Gosh mal, you have all of the stuf tie together so well, I would have had wheels on the roof then him go down some ramp that was made for a rollercoaster. Then the story would end because I would give up.

[MalReynolds]

Bert Elman was born on Sesame Street. He did appreciate the irony but didn’t appreciate the horrible jokes that followed him for most of his life. One thing he wanted more than anything else was to have a new name, a proud name that people wouldn’t make fun of. When he turned 18, he planned on going down the courthouse, paying a nominal fee and changing his name to something that wasn’t Bert from Sesame Street.

His sister, Gina, had thought the notion of him changing his name was all together silly. Of course, she was Gina from Sesame street, a name that had an air about it of a prostitute, not a puppet.

Their father had gotten a job in Manhattan, supervising the construction of several buildings and parks near Wall Street. The Elman family relocated to New York in the following months, Bert losing interest in his name change now that he was away from Sesame Street.

He had moved to Manhattan when he was ten. His parents were happily married, having two children: Bert and Gina Elman, Gina being the senior of the two by four years. It was a large age gap between the children that made Bert often question whether or not his parents really intended to have him.

Gina wasn’t the best of siblings; she constantly would make fun of Bert, shooting down his ideas, but he didn’t mind. He looked up to her; in his eyes, Gina was the cat’s pajamas. Gina knew this and used his admiration to her advantage whenever she could.

Somewhere around his fourteenth birthday, Bert realized this as well. But he didn’t mind. It became a mutual idea that she would no longer use him, rather “get his help” wittingly or un.

Bert’s high school had several motivational speakers come and go, as well as Drug Awareness Resistance Education officers who would come and talk about the dangers of starting illegal substances.

Bert usually didn’t pay attention to the motivational speakers; he was happy enough as it was. But the DARE officer caught his attention when he came to speak to Bert’s class.

Officer Ned was dashing in his uniform, a moustache covering his upper lip. He seemed to be constantly blushing, friendly rather than frightening. He wasn’t portly, but built, his eyes almost shut from smiling all the time.

Gina had been dabbling in drugs ever since high school. Bert knew this, Gina knew this, but Gina didn’t know Bert knew this. As far as Gina was concerned, the only people that knew were the people she bought from and tripped with.

Officer Ned began his rhetoric at the front of the class, talking about how he joined the police department, how he had lived in Manhattan for most of his life and how he had at one point considered becoming an undercover agent, but the birth of his son changed his mind. “Too dangerous to have a family and be snitching on powerful families, you see.”

The class sighed. Everyone was bored, save for the wiry young diabetic looking kid in the back. Bert pushed his glasses up, rapt with attention, his pale skin glowing in the sunbeam that was pouring through the window.

“Which brings me to drugs and why you shouldn’t do them,” Officer Ned began. “The first thing to worry about is addiction. Getting addicted to any substance can off set your life, legal or not. I used to be addicted to caffeine, and when I didn’t have any for a long period of time, I would get a headache and my hand would start to shake. I shot a hostage one time because of than.”

There was an audible gasp from the mass of students.

“Just kidding, glad to see you’re all still alive.”

The students once again nestled in the chairs, trying to get comfortable. But as all students know, it’s impossible to truly relax in the hard plastic chairs.

Bert’s shrill laugh came from the back, alarming his classmates. Bert didn’t know why that was so funny; it just seemed like a good ploy to get the class to pay attention.

“Sorry, continue,” he said, regaining composure.

“Thank you, young man. There are several ways to get addicted to substances; physical and mental addiction being the primary two. The mental addiction is more of a craving than anything else; you can crave a chocolate bar and that would be considered part of a mental addiction. You can also crave marijuana mentally. Everyone in here know what marijuana is?”

Several students raised their hands.

“Anyone in here seen a picture of marijuana?”

The same students kept their hands up.

“Anyone in here know what it smells like?”

The hands went down.

“Anyone ever have some in brownies?”

Two hands went up.

Officer Ned laughed. “Alright, so we have some people in here more knowledgeable about the substance. It’s not my job in here today to bust your balls, so I’m going to forget your hands were up, but you know what it’s like.”

The hands went down and the students didn’t move.

“Physical addiction is pretty gross. Heroin, for example, has a huge physical addiction. You start to shake, much like caffeine, drool, and become unintelligible. This stuff can destroy your life if you’re not careful, and it will. Which is why,” he wrote on the board, “It’s good to stay away from the hard stuff.”

The bell rang, cutting the rhetoric short. The class grabbed their bags, fashionably swung one strap over one shoulder and began to file out of the class room quickly in Friday formation. Bert was the last one to leave, looking at Officer Ned on his way out the door.

“Glad you thought it was funny, son,” he said, smiling and waving.

Bert couldn’t get a ride home; no one really cared to be seen with him. It didn’t alarm him any, he knew he looked strange and gangly, especially for a teenager, so he didn’t mind riding the bus. That’s where he began to worry about Gina and what she might be doing to herself with the drugs.

When he got home, she had the familiar glare in her eyes, seated in front of the television with a bag of chips and a container of dip, a can of orange soda on the side table sans coaster.

Bert began to get genuinely worried about her.

“Any big plans tonight?”

“Going over to Erin’s. Spending the night. Can I borrow some money?”

Bert reached for his wallet. He knew in the back of his mind what she was going to spend it on. He gave her forty dollars anyway.

Gina spent the night in her room after her parents picked her up from the police station. Someone had tipped them off anonymously. When they walked through the door, she was in tears. They were angry but understanding.

As a first time offender, she was let off with a slap on the wrist and five hours of community service to be filled. She wasn’t allowed to leave the house, either; “grounded” is the term for it.

Bert was happy about it. He really felt he had helped her. As she was grounded, there was more forced interaction between the two. Mom and Dad noted how well they were getting along together, finally seeing eye to eye on things. Gina also stopped using him.

She would go on to die at the hand of her brother, never knowing he was the one who turned her in. Years passed and the bond between Bert and Gina grew.

The initial day of the invasion, Bert was at school. Gina was at home. Mom and Dad were at work, Mom a teller at Bank of America.

New reports swept in of the western coastal cities being attacked. The US army was mobilized and we sent word to other countries that we needed help. None came.

Bert and Gina hid in the basement of their building behind stacks of boxes, leaving a note for their parents should they return home. Bert doubted they would; he had a gut feeling… And his gut feelings were usually spot on.

They heard the things ransack the lobby and upper floors. Most of the people in the building had fled, but there were still screams. Maniacal laughter mixed with shrill glass shattering waves of terror. They waited for two days in the basement, making as little noise as possible, hearing the tiny patters of their feet finally leave the building.

At the next light, they went back to their apartment. It was torn apart, but there was no sign of Mom or Dad. Bert looked out the window towards the construction site where his dad worked. A plume of smoke rose from the framed skeleton of the building.

They stayed in their apartment for a few days, eating and mainly remaining quiet, hoping their parents would come walking through the door. The door remained closed.

Bert saw the flier from the window, three stories up. He actually saw a large grouping of them blowing down the street. He nudged Gina and pointed down. They carefully and quietly made their way to the ground level, stepping outside briefly, grabbing a flier.

“Big Apple Print Shop…”

“There’s a survivor there, Gina. He’s got candy, too,” Bert said, smiling. His voice had cracked, the first time he had used it in several days.

“There’s a survivor there, Gina. He’s got candy, too,” Bert said again, deepening his voice. A gut feeling again, telling him not to go.

“We’re not going. Alright, Gina?”

“Yes we are. What made you change your mind like that?”

“I just have a bad feeling about it is all. We shouldn’t go.”

“Well, I’m older. Your vote doesn’t really count now does it, little brother,” she said, ruffling his hair.

“Alright… Fine. But if we go, I’m changing my name.”

“To what?”

“I dunno. Something cooler than Bert. Lemme check the phone book.”

He opened the book to the middle, closed his eyes and dropped his finger on the page.

“Ignatious Volter.”

“That last name is retarded, Bert.”

“Fine. Just Ignatious.”

She sighed and shook her head, smiling.

“It does sound cool. Had a nice ring to it,” he said, as they began walking down the street.

“Ignatious.”

“Alright, Bert, keep it quiet. We don’t know if there are any of those things anywhere.”

He smiled and whispered, “Ignatious.”

-

Mal

[Fungishroom]

I've been reading them, just all my questions and comments on the stories are already answered by someone else.

[natetheffrer]

I hate countries that arent the USA, they never send help :/.

[MalReynolds]

That comes into play during the second half of the book.

Good news! Done editing the story! New chapters start going up tomorrow. PM me if you want the edited chapters.

Mal

[Varia]

No, screw you.

YOU should be PM'ing US.

harhar I am so a bad bully guy.

[MalReynolds]

Varia, your username is officially in the next section.

Ha. Jokes on you.

Ass.

Mal

[Varia]

http://www.peoplewithsigns.com/spics/mini/61175_tn.jpg

[MalReynolds]

No one dared to speak as the car moved onto 95 south. Angela sat between Eric and Gopher, contemplating what exactly it was that she just saw. Eric was pretending to read the book, absently turning the page every minute or so. Steven watched the sun break through the trees and tried to think of something happy, something not the death of Iggy.

“It was my fault.” Eric said, finally breaking the silence in the car. “He was with… It was my fault. We shouldn’t… Don’t feel bad. You all didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“And neither did you, Eric,” Angela said, putting her arm around him. “There was nothing any of us could have done, and you know that.”

“No, it’s my fault he was in Jersey. If he had been back in Manhattan, he would have been fine. I know it. I think he knew it too.”

“That’s bull****, Eric. Stop talking like that.”

“NO! He told me that he never wanted to come to my Copy Shop. He said that. And I can’t help but think that he knew something was wrong… I’ve killed their entire family line… That’s something tough to deal with, you know?” He said looking over at Angela with tears in his eyes.

“It’s alright, Eric. It’s all right. We’ll get through this. All of us will.”

He looked into her eyes and found comfort in her words, smiling for the first time since he left the dock.

Eric managed to fall asleep, his head on Angela’s shoulder. The sun was beginning to fall behind the horizon, Steven now reading the book that Eric had brought into the car. Fichter yawned, tiring out. They would have to stop somewhere for the night or risk him falling asleep at the wheel. While there were no other working cars on the road, falling asleep would still ram them into the guardrail… And Angela was the one not wearing a safety belt.

“Guys, we’re going to pull over somewhere, alright? We have to find a place to stay for the night. I’m going to take this exit, got some hotels. I’m sure they won’t mind if we stay one night, on the house,” he said grinning to the back, his smile cutting through the night.

The Holiday Inn express loomed in the distance, a monolith of safety; somewhat warming in the thought of it being a place to stay that wasn’t a car or outdoors. Eric awoke, grabbed his shotgun, and motioned for everyone in the car to come with him.

The lobby was empty. The standard blood trail graced the linoleum flooring, but there were no sounds coming from the back hallways. The lights were off, but everyone had a flashlight. The lobby wasn’t quite spooky either; perhaps they had been desensitized to the violence that had ensued after the invasion, or perhaps they had just grown more brazen with each passing day.

Fichter stepped behind the counter, grabbing a set of keys for the top floor. Eric stopped him, grabbing the keys for floor three instead.

“Closer to the exit, not too far to jump out of the things decide to pay us a midnight visit. Anyone have a digital watch with an alarm?”
“I got one,” Steven said, on finger extended and pointing to his watch.

“Alright, set it for 6. We’re going to get out of here early. Don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to. Fichter, will you be good to drive at six?”

He yawned and nodded, pulling his hat off.

“Alright, let’s get to our rooms.”

They transversed the hotel lobby to the stairs, drearily climbing up, stopping every time someone stumbled… Quite frequently in the unlit stairwell. The beams of light from their flashlights did almost nothing for illuminating the way up the stairs. At last, they reached floor 3, stepping into the hallway.

Eric expected to be ambushed, to have a Mind Melder come out of nowhere or to have a dozed Creeps charge, but there was nothing. The hallway was empty, silent, but not foreboding. He made his way down the hall, following the room numbers on the doors.

“Alright. Two people to a room. We have enough for that. Angela and Steven to a room, Gopher and Fichter to a room and Iggy and I-“ He stopped. “I’ll be staying with Gopher and Fichter,” he said, frowning. He dropped the extra key he had picked up onto the carpet and moved into the room.

It was a standard room. One would think that in these times of free hotel service and free everything else, they would have picked a larger room or some kind of executive suite. At least, that’s what Fichter was thinking.

“Why didn’t we get a kick ass room? It’s kind of cramped in here.”

“I’m sleeping on the sofa,” Eric said. “Besides, you have to take a series of elevators to the VIP floor. Their fire escape hooks up with the others… Would you really want to go through all the hassle to get up there?”

“Yes.”

“Also, the Creeps tend to like things that are nicer. And if they’re going to raze the building, they’re going to start at the top floor and work their way down.”

“I think you just made that up,” Fichter said, smiling.

“Oh yeah? You got a counterpoint to that?”

Fichter didn’t move. He began to laugh, clapping Eric on the back. He crawled into the bed, rolling to face the window.

“Is that really how it works in the hotel? The VIP floors being separate like that?”

“Yes sir,” Eric said.

“Well, how do you know that?”

“I used to work in a hotel.”

“Really?”

“No. Goodnight, Fichter.”

“Goodnight, Eric. Gopher, goodnight.”

Gopher didn’t say anything, already fast asleep on the other side of the bed.

Eric kept seeing it happen, over and over. Watching the blood run from his lower lip to the dock, watching his legs go out from under him. In some of the dreams, he was the one being stabbed… At least in those dreams he felt happy in the thought that he wasn’t responsible for killing of Iggy’s family.

He didn’t want to sleep anymore. The room was quiet, small and smothering. Eric grabbed his gun and turned the light on, walking carefully to the door. He noted Gopher’s pants on the floor and shuddered, feeling very sorry for Fichter.

He swung the door open and almost fired at the person in the hallway.

“Angela, what are you doing out of your room?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Steven started snoring again… He used to do that frequently, but he had surgery. Deviated septum or something… Not quite too sure. But lately, him snoring has just been happening a lot.”

“Well, it’s dangerous out here. You should get back to your room.”

“I should say the same to you.” She said, pushing his shoulder.

“I’ve also got a gun… Makes things slightly more advantageous for me. What are you going to do, sass the monsters to death?”

“What do you think happened to my first husband?”

Eric laughed. It felt good, each breath feeling sweet in the dank hallway.

They stood in the darkness, Eric’s light precariously dangling near his feet, in silence. Angela wanted to say something, not quite sure how to phrase it. Eric could sense that she was about to speak and thusly kept quiet. He stared in the general direction of her eyes, imagining that he was looking into them. The silence continued for a few minutes until Eric finally realized that she was at a loss for words.

“Well, is there anything I can do for you?”

“What? What does that… No. I just wanted to say something.”

“Yeah, I know, Angela. You’ve been trying for about five minutes.”

“Oh, now who is going to kill who with the sass?”

Eric smiled in the darkness.

“Good to see you smiling again, Eric.”

“How could you tell?”

“My eyes adjust to the dark very quickly…”

“Oh. Oh really?”

“Mmm. I know you’ve been looking into my eyes, too.”

“It’s dark. I wasn’t really. I was just looking in your general direction. That’s all. I didn’t want to… There wasn’t….” He sighed. “Alright, guilty as charged.”

She began to laugh. “Can’t be guilty if there’s no law anymore, can you?”

“No, I don’t suppose you can…” He stepped forward, slowly, the light bridging the gap between the two. He pulled her in for a hug, embracing her.

“Thank you for saying what you did in the car, Angela.”

“It’s the truth,” she said, caught slightly off guard by the hug. “Nothing you could have done about it.”

They stood awkwardly for near a minute until Eric pulled away. “I think I need to get some sleep. I think you should too… Just… I’ll see you in the morning?”

She smiled, stepping up and kissing him quickly on the cheek. “In the morning,” she said, turning around and walking back to her room.

Eric stretched back out on the ratty sofa, content. That next dream he had was of Angela, not Iggy. He slept until the morning.

-

Steven knocked on the door hard enough to jar Eric from his slumber. Gopher and Fichter were still asleep in the bed, Gopher facing the wall. Fichter’s arm was sling over Gopher in a very loving spoons position. Eric laughed out loud.

Another knock on the door stirred Fichter. Eric fell over and pretended to sleep as Fichter realized what he was doing.

“Oh, crap…” Fichter looked around the room. “Thank God no one saw that.”

“Saw what?” Eric said, casting off the façade of slumber.

“Nothing. I dropped my… Pens… On the ground and they… Broke?”

“Your pens broke?”

“Really tragic. Come on, let’s go.”

Gopher slid out of bed, dropping his legs into his pants and pulling them up in one quick motion. Fichter shuddered and made his way to the door where Steven stood, beaming. The muffin Eric had gotten him cut into five sections, each in their own segment of torn wax paper.

“Continental breakfast worthy of the heroes we are,” he said, beaming.

The car started on the first try and slid out of the parking lot. Up in the VIP suite, a group of Creeps danced around, throwing the sating pillows into the air and stabbing them repeatedly. As the car moved further from the hotel, the Creeps began to make their way down the stairs, systematically, floor by floor destroying every room they came into.

Fichter reached down to turn the radio on, scanning the stations, hopeful that music would come pouring in. None did; nothing but static across the airwaves. He was hoping for maybe a click or some other recognition that there were more people out there other than the hunch of a half psychic, all dead teen. There was none. Good enough, for everyone was getting tired of bouncing around from radio station to radio station.

Fichter had begun to daydream about ice cream and movies. He didn’t notice the four people making their way slowly across the street. By the time he had fully regained composure, he had barely enough time to slam on the brakes. He stopped a mere inch in front of the first man, who did not falter. The man had been standing in front of the car with his hand outstretched, calling something. Fichter swung his door open and caught the tail end of it.

“SHALL NOT PAAAASSSSS!”

Angela was rubbing her sore shoulder as Eric stepped out of the car.

“What are the odds of finding four survivors in the middle of nowhere?” He asked back into the car. No one had an answer. He leaned down and grabbed his shotgun, winking at Angela. She rolled her eyes and he shut the door.

Fichter was already trying to talk to them, to no avail. He turned to Eric. “Alright, you try and reach em’. I can’t. I’m going back into the car.”

The men were dressed strangely, and after scrutiny, Eric realized that they were no men. Boys Iggy’s age, yes… Not quite men yet. Two of the four had donned capes, looking cheap in quality as if found in a discount costume shop. One of them was wearing armor, stage armor from the looks of it. The third was in a bright purple robe. He still had his hand outstretched to the car, preparing to yell again.

“YOU SHALL NOT PASSSS!”

Eric sighed. “Alright, Gandalf. That’s quite enough of that.”

The young man turned to him. “How did thoust knoweth my name?”

“It’s from the… You’re kidding, right?”

“A wizard is never late nor early; he arrives precisely when he means to.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“No, Gandalf does not kid.”

“Alright… Gandalf, who else are you traveling with?”

The man in the purple robe motioned to the rest of the group. He pointed to the two wearing the gaudy capes. “These are the Strife twins; born under the blood red moon and unto this earth to cast spells. Igdo Strife casts spells of primary offense, and Agdo Strife only casts status afflicting spells.”

“Oh. That… makes sense,” Eric said, growing angry. He hated Final Fantasy… And this was just pissing him off.

“What about that guy? The one in the armor?”

The twins clicked their heels and moved their arms in a wide circle, before parting. The man in armor stepped through ceremoniously before collapsing to his knees.

“That is Varia the brave. He conquers all with his mighty sword, which has been anointed with a plus seventeen against groundling monsters. He is mighty! He is adventure incarnate! For he is our Lord Protec-“

“Gene, stop. I don’t want to anymore.”

Gandalf dropped his arms. “What was that? Did you just call me Gene?”

“Yes, Gene. Stop. I can’t wear this armor anymore. It’s suffocating me and it doesn’t even help against them. Just help me take if off.”

Gene the Gandalf began to wave his staff around in the air, chanting in a language the Eric could only assume was Elvish. The twins moved behind Varia the Brave and started to remove his armor. Gene the Gandalf said his final magic words, eyes closed, and the armor dropped to the ground.

“You cannot stand the might of Gandalf’s Magic!”

“Shut up, Gene. Taylor and Jamie helped me take it off. Could you stop being a moron for ten minutes?”

Gene the Gandalf turned back into Gene from Kentucky and frowned.

“My name isn’t really Varia. It’s Michael Gettings. These two over here are Jamie and Taylor, but they won’t give me their last name. And that MORON behind you is Gene Torvald.”

“Oh. It’s a pleasure. My name is Eric,” he said, extending his hand. “Are you sick or something? You don’t seem like you were going 100 there.”

“No, one of the things bit me. It was a little different from all the other one’s I’ve seen. It didn’t chase us or anything. I thought it was docile, and it reached out and bit my hand. I think it got me sick. It didn’t even look like the other ones.”

“Oh… ****,” Eric said.

“What?”

“We are just venturing to the next town to upgrade our weapons and armor! For when we find a potion shop, we shall purchase an antidote and cure our fried of whatever poison is plaguing him!” Gene turned Gandalf said sharply from behind them.

“No, I know what you have. There’s no cure for it… Not even in the next town over,” he glanced back at Gandalf the Gene.

“What are you talking about?” Michael said, gripping Eric. Eric couldn’t help but look into his eyes and see the white begin to overtake the pupils.

“Zombies. You got bitten by a zombie Creep.”

“Oh… What does that mean?”

“Do the words ‘standard zombie rules apply’ mean anything?”

Michael collapsed to the ground. “Yes.”

Eric stood over him, watching the twins and Gandalf, looking for any signs of reaction from the grouping. They all had fear in their eyes; clearly they knew what those words meant as well.

Eric looked down at the ground to Michael. “Sorry,” he said, pulling his shotgun up to his shoulder.

“Wait, don’t shoo-“

Angela, Fichter, Gopher and Steven all turned in the direction of the gunshot. They saw Eric standing with his weapon pointed at the ground, a frown on his face.

“Can’t he go for twenty minutes without shooting something!” Fichter crie