Prologue

 

Dark Memories

 

Creak… creak… creak… creak. John woke up at the sound of footsteps in the abandoned apartment in New York City.

 

     “Jenkins, wake up! Wake up Jenkins!” hissed John at his last member of their squad. “

 

     “What do you want? Go back to sleep…” Jenkins muttered groggily, and started to fall back to sleep. He delivered a swift kick at Jenkins’ thigh. Jenkins quickly sat up in his sleeping bag and was about to punch John in the shin when suddenly, they heard more footsteps downstairs.

 

     “See? C’mon we need to investigate this, it could be either a few survivors, or some Infects,” he said to Jenkins quietly, “c’mon we don’t have all night, suit up in your armor and grab your rifle… this might get a little ugly.”

     They rapidly got into their battle suits, grabbed their grenades, Car17 rifles, flashbangs, pistols, back packs, and their helmets. John flipped on his night vision goggles, but he forgot that they were broken. Stealthily, they walked to the old door and opened it, but all they saw was an old, filthy hallway in the dark night. Abruptly, they heard even more footsteps creeping from downstairs. Jenkins quietly, but bravely said, “lets do this Boss. Let’s find those baddies… or comrades.”

 

     They gingerly sneaked down the hallway, down the right side where the stairs are. Slowly, they went down the long steps onto the second floor. John checked the end of the stairs with his rifle. Nothing…

 

         “Clear.”

   

         “Are your sure it’s clear Boss?”

 

     “Affermiti-“ He was cut off by the sound of a china vase crashing to the floor in the apartment room in front of them. He signaled Jenkins to hold position while he went in to see what made the vase drop, and break. He walked towards room 192 cautiously with his rifle pointed at the closed door. Quietly, he opened the door, and saw nothing, just a room with an old big-screen TV, a ripped up couch, and two lounge chairs, a dusty game system, and three old lamps. His heart beat faster against his chest; his breathing rate started to pick up, and cold sweat was dripping down his face behind his helmet. Slowly, he nervously walked into the musty room. John checked the kitchen, but just found an old refrigerator with rotting food in it, a stained stove, and a set of kitchen knives. He looked at a picture a five year old child drew of two stick people holding hands; one was tall with a mustache, while the other was small and was wearing a dress. John missed his wife and five young children back at Safe Base # 003 in New Zealand, up at the North island very much. A single tear trickled down his left cheek as he thought of his family, when he suddenly heard something bump into the wall. He turned quickly towards the door he came through, but it was closed and glued shut with a grayish substance… he was alone in this dark creepy room. He turned around towards the kitchen, but then discovered that one of the kitchen knives was missing… and it was a huge cleaver.

 

     “Jenkins… come in Jenkins… c’mon answer me…” John said into his comm link in a nervous, wavery voice.

 

        “Hey John, you stuck in the room?”

 

        “Jenkins! Where were you when I needed you?”

 

        “Sorry, I crept one fifth of the way up the stairs when I saw the door shut. Do you want me to blow down the door, sir?”

 

        “Not yet Jenkins… I’ll tell you when to blow the door down, alri-” He suddenly spotted a deformed, mutated, lumpy looking dark figure sprint with inhuman speed down a small, dirty hallway towards the bathroom while it knocked down a few pictures and shelves…

        “Hang on, I saw something run down the hallway in here. I’m going to investigate this,” John said hastily into his comm link. He readied his extra clips and silently went into a slow jog down the hallway, towards the bathroom.

 

He kicked open the door, and rushed in. John flipped on the light switch, and started checking the bathroom tub, the closet, and the bathroom cupboards. John was confused, because he swore he had seen a figure run in here. He looked in the dusty mirror to check his armor’s shape, when unexpectedly, a silvery, camouflaged figure slammed the door shut, and the lights flipped off like a candle. John’s heart was starting to pound against his chest like a hammer striking an anvil. He tried to bolt for the door, but he was slammed against the sink. John heard loud, scratching noises all around him. The lights suddenly flickered back on again, and he saw that all over the walls, ceiling, and floor, were deep scratch marks, and oozing black blood. He looked back in the cracked, blood smeared mirror and saw a wounded six foot tall Infect creeping behind him with the missing cleaver in it’s scarred, veiny, right hand.

 

     John dived to his right as the hideous Infect vaulted towards him. He immediately started to open fire on the monster with his rifle, sending chunks of flesh and blood showering on himself and the door behind the Infect. The bulky beast roared in pain and tackled him into the bathtub. He let loose five rounds into creature’s right side in mid fall, then slammed heavily inside the tub, knocking the spout off with his head. The Infects severed left arm came down on his right chest armor piece with incredible force, while it knocked the wind out of him. He threw a crushing uppercut to the zombie-like beast’s head, near it’s heavily muscled and lumpy right shoulder. He kneed the Infect’s groin area; it ignored the sharp pain and slashed at his left shoulder, leaving deep scratches on his shoulder pad. Quickly, he shifted his head to the left as the cleaver slammed down where his head used to be. The hideous monster roared in anger and raised the cleaver, preparing it for the death blow. With all the force he could muster, John kicked it in the stomach, grabbed his gun, and dived out of the bathtub. The winded Infect hurled itself at him, but he side stepped to the left and judo flipped the hulking brute onto the cracked floor.

 

     John swiftly got it in a choke hold, and squeezed as hard as he could. All of a sudden, the Infect clutched his shoulders and threw him near the toilet like a ragdoll. His gun sailed through the air, and landed near the bathtub.

 

            “I need backup Jenkins! I’m in the bathroom fighting an In-“ He was interrupted when he was grabbed by his left ankle, and hurled against the cracked, blood smeared mirror above the sink. Glass rained everywhere like silver rain in a storm.

 

        “Could you repeat that John? I didn’t catch what you were saying.”

 

        “I need backup Jenkins! Blow the down the doo-“ He was cut off by the mutated beast as it threw the cleaver at him. John rolled off the sink and onto the now cracked floor. The blade missed him by an inch. He wielded the cleaver in his right hand, while he wielded a pistol in his left. He raced towards his big opponent, and opened fired at it.

He then tackled it, and started hacking at it’s thickly muscled chest with the knife. John was sent flying towards the bathroom door, and slammed hard against the floor. He felt his right shoulder pop out of its socket; he grimaced in pain.

 

    He suddenly heard a loud explosion, and heard heavy footsteps race down the hallway towards him. The bathroom door flew open as Jenkins rushed to John’s aid. Jenkins fired at the Infect’s forehead with deadly accuracy. “Bulls eye.” Jenkins said in a calm voice as the vicious beast collapsed onto the floor, sending glass and broken tiles flying a short distance away from it.

 

     John popped his shoulder back into its socket, strapped his pistol to his left thigh, strode towards his Car17 rifle, and picked it up.  Jenkins looked over at him, and said in a sad voice, “Hey John, take a look what I found around this Infect’s neck.” He limped over towards his squad member, and took an old, rusty, dented pair of dog tags away from Jenkins. The dog tag read, Name: Peter James Patterson, Age: 24, Rank: Private, Birth date: Oct. 6, 2021. John found a small golden locket in it’s ragged pocket; he gently opened it and saw a family photo of Peter, his wife, and his two twin girls. Peter had fine dark brown hair, hazel eyes, tan skin, and had a lean tone of muscle, and a warm smile. Peter’s wife had flowing, long brown hair, nice brown eyes, and olive skin. Peter’s children looked around three years old, and they both had brown hair, hazel eyes, and tan skin. John the studied the mutated Peter with sad eyes. His skin was now pale, rough, and scarred, his upper body was sickly lumpy and overly muscled in places, his back had alien growths of boney claw like spikes all over, his legs were heavily muscled, and his face was incredibly changed. Peter’s face was scarred, his rotting teeth formed into points, his eyes were bloodshot and pale gray, his hair was almost gone, and he had cauliflower ears.

 

     John put the dog tags and golden locket safely around the mutated Peter’s neck, and slowly, respectfully backed away.

     They both heard footsteps rapidly thumping down the hallway. John ordered Jenkins to stay close behind him, and the two of them immediately raced out of the ruined bathroom. He winced a little as he felt a shock of pain jolt up his right thigh.

 

     Suddenly, they heard loud roars and growls getting closer towards their current position. John ordered his comrade to hold position in the kitchen. Jenkins immediately sprinted towards the kitchen, pulled the refrigerator onto its side, and knelt down into prone position.

 

     John retreated for cover behind the old couch. He felt a wave of fear oozing over him like a dark lake engulfing a panicking person. He felt hopeless against this voracious, feral horde of infected humans. They were both outnumbered like two campers up against a few swarms of livid hornets.

 

     He reminisced all the horrors he saw in this city. He saw hundreds of homeless survivors, people getting separated from loved ones, and people killing each other over vehicles, gas, food, water, clothes and supplies. But the biggest horror he saw was the Infect hordes… always running loose like wild animals; and leaving chaos, destruction, fear, and most of all… death.

 

     But when he thought of God… he felt comforted and warm like a big, soft, warm blanket covering up a cold, frightened child. He had a feeling in his heart that he should say a prayer. He quickly stumbled into a kneeling position, took off his helmet, and began to say a quick prayer.

 

     “Dear God, please watch over Jenkins and I, that we may both survive this night, please watch over those survivors somewhere in this city, and can thee please be with Jenkins and I. I ask these things humbly in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.” He then felt his fear melt away, and replaced with a warm feeling.

 

     “Get ready to party like you have never even partied before Jenkins.” He calmly told his teammate. Jenkins nodded nervously at him.

 

     The bloodthirsty mutants sprinted through the doorway like a swarm of ants raiding another colony. For a moment, John had a flashback to what happen at the very beginning of this living nightmare…