Strain 13 : Dominant Species - Prologue

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Zombie Apocalypse type story of aftermath and trying to start a fight back. I have tried to address - maybe you may feel daftly - as to why Zombies just keep on going without starving to death in this - which has always irritated me in 'Real' authors works. This is still a work in progress and am still adding bits to old chapters. If you feel it needs something added then let me know and I'll try and add it.

Submitted: December 14, 2013

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Submitted: December 14, 2013



Strain 13 : Dominant Species

Nobody knew where the illness had come from – if that was what it could be called. Of course, they had all speculated – it was a Commie conspiracy, a terrorist dirty bomb, the Chinese and their poultry again, BSE mutation, or even The Reckoning – but no-one really knew for sure. 

And after the first few weeks or so it ceased to matter. 

In the initial few days, all the countries of the world activated their Centres For Disease Control or equivalent body procedures, isolating communities with lines of troops – both local law enforcement and military – blocking the roads with long coils of barbed wire and the barrels of guns waving about in the hands of nervous individuals swathed in hastily despatched NBC suits, that either didn’t fit or were missing the important parts to seal the suit up. 

They closed the airports and suspended all the flights until further notice, leaving frightened and confused passengers to wander aimlessly around nearby towns and cities where no-one would give them shelter or sustenance. The ports shut their harbours to new arrivals, and the sea lanes were guarded by armed sea patrols of Navy ships, Coast Guards and the few volunteer fishermen that would venture forth from the security of their homes. Train and coach hubs were locked down and became ghostlike museums of how far man had come in modes of wheeled conveyance, free newspaper pages sweeping across the platforms and bays like tumbleweeds in the gusting winds. 

But, it still failed to control the spreading contamination. The damage had already been done and the infected digital display numbers continued to rise without pause, whilst the hastily and hourly constructed pie charts continued to show the uncontaminated sectors diminishing. 

Containment changed to sterilisation, with great swathes of communities and townships levelled by the flick of a button, the untended fires burning night and day, pyres of both man and mortar reaching up in the sky and merging with the grey clouds that seemed to have come out is sympathy for the destruction of mankind. 

But, the public outcry was muted to the action being taken, for people viewed the unfolding situation as ‘it was better that it be them than us’, and turned away a frightened and blind eye.

At some point in the fourth week, the name of the game just became survival. The government collapsed. Law disintegrated, troops deserted and anarchy started to reign for the first time in a millennia. Armed and well organised gangs started roaming the roads and motorways, doing little to help the situation, other than giving out their own version of justice to the remaining people still striving to survive in the apocalyptic landscape.  Murder, rape and destruction became the brutal edicts of a new callous and ruthless society. 

Some pockets of survivors  – mostly military with a rag tag assortment of civilians – managed to retreat into a few secure locations, most of which were below ground or buried into the sides of mountains. 

They ventured out now and again for supplies into a world very different from the one they had known, and aware all the time that their numbers were slowly dwindling, 

However, in underground laboratories others also used their own skills and knowledge to try and find out a way to fight back. To retake what was theirs.



© Copyright 2018 Mason Black. All rights reserved.

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