Fortress of the Damned [Part IV]
He shouldered his assault rifle, expecting the worst. He had seen way too many movies with zombies to know that whatever was going on could not be good. The night sky loomed overhead, casting down a full moon, eerie. He walked up the block, to the large intersection, a five road intersection that was large enough to play baseball in and still have a small outfield. He looked around at the scene. A cold wind gust rustled through and flung some papers into the air, howling as it went by him. Maybe up on the main road. He said to himself as he slowly walked towards the main road, Castle Avenue, a large, busy road. If something was going on that was where he would at least be able to see signs of life, if there were any.
The wind blew the traffic lights back and fourth, many ominously changing from green to yellow to red to green to yellow to red, on their normal cycles. It appeared almost as if, suddenly, everything changed in a split second and the entire world uprooted itself and turned into a scene from hell. Isn't this the pits? He thought as he moved towards a CVS across the street. There wasn't a car for miles, except those lying, burned out, smoking, sizzling, bloodied.
The doors were open, the lights on, the same scene of gore, horror, and mutilation inside. Bodies were turned almost inside out. The flesh had been burned off others. Bones were exposed only through muscle, tendons, and charred flesh. I'm glad I'm not hungry. He attempted to joke to himself, to keep his stomach at ease. He was strong willed and this was grotesque but he wasn't about to lose his guts over it.
"I better get supplies," he muttered into the thin air. He looked for a bag, the largest one he could find, a Jansport backpack, the kind he went to high school with, the kind that never let him down. He filled it with junk food, unfortunately all that there was. Filling up a decent sized water bottle with Gatoraide he figured that would last him a while. Just to be safe though, he took several bottles of water and Gatoraide. Money was plentiful and by the time he was done looting the store he had almost $7,000 on him, money that was stashed away in his pack and his pockets. There wasn't much else of use in the CVS except medical supplies, some aspirin, bandaides, peroxide, the essentials. He grabbed a notebook too, a college-ruled, marble notebook. With a package of ten of the nicest pens and another package of Bics, he departed the CVS, back to Castle Avenue. He knew which way to go, the only way that made sense, towards the police station, if it was left.
It wasn't far away, 3/10 of a mile, if that, a quick walk would get him there fast. Though he had to be cautious, he put his rifle back around his back and drew his pistol. If he needed to pull his rifle it would come easy. He walked down the street, the scene only repeating itself, past the tattoo parlors, car dealership, gas stations, cemetery, past the bars, across the bridge, past more stores, and finally to the police station. Apocalypse Now! was written on the front of the building and he realized that there was no hope anymore, he couldn't go back nor could he go forward, it was too ominous. Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here! was written underneath. The writing was done in red spraypaint or was it blood? He couldn't tell. It dripped like blood but, no, could it be, was it really blood?
"Here goes nothing." He pushed open the doors.