Anyone! If anyone can hear this then I will have done some good in these horrible days. My name is Doctor Tinker. I'm at the CDC building in upper Henderson. We have food, shelter, and are searching for a cure. If anyone is out there, please come. I will open the doors every day at three o' clock. After ten minutes I will close them, and you'll have to wait another day. Please. We have food, shelter, and are searching for a cure.
April 2, 2010
"Get that bastard!" Yelled a small voice. The voice belonged to a young boy. By his height, he was probably around ten. He had short blond hair and his clothes were tattered. It was two weeks or so into the infection. Two weeks since the first outbreak. The boy was yelling to his older brother, a tall red-headed boy around nineteen. "Duck Alan!" He yelled, turning his head, his shoulder-length red hair flipping quickly as the young man turned his head towards his younger brother. Since the outbreak hygiene became practically a thing of the past. His hair had grown out and was dirty now.
Alan ducked as his brother shot, hitting one of those things in the head. It dropped to the floor. "Nice shot Michael!" Alan said, smiling. Michael let his gun go, the strap catching it and holding it at his waist. "No problem little brother. I have to keep you safe." Michael said, feeling the pain in his stomach after remembering his parents getting eaten by those things. "Ever since mom and dad." Alan's smile turned into a frown as he looked towards the ground. "I don't know what I would do if anything ha-" Michael's words were cut short as his brother screamed, an undead hand on his shoulder, and teeth in his head. "ALAN!"
April 16, 2010
"Please. We have food, shelter, and are searching for a cure."
Michael's eyes shot open at the final words of the broadcast. "Six already?" He whispered to himself. Six every morning the message would play, and then later again at twelve. "Got thirty minutes of sleep this time." Michael rubbed the side of his hand on his eyes, attempting to wake himself up. It had been an entire month since the outbreak. A month and two days to be exact. "A month and two days since I had to murder my parents. Two weeks since I had to murder my own brother." It seemed like an eternity since all of these events, but Michael would constantly remind himself. "I gotta stop that." He whispered, picking up the M16 on his chest.
He sat up, looking out of the window of the two story house he now stayed. He had no choice but to take refuge somewhere after his brother died. With only one person, it's not too smart to head out on your own unless it were for supplies every once in a while. "Damn." Michael whispered. "I haven't been able to build up the courage to leave this damn house and head to that building." Michael stood up and began walking around. "He's been playing that message for three weeks now. Including today. He's gotta still be there."
Michael looked outside the window. "Damn walkers." That's what he called them. "Walkers." There were probably many more names, but all they did was walk and bit. He felt it only appropriate to call them that. It had been about a week and a half since he saw another live human. On the outskirts of the strip, this house didn't attract many live humans. "That man said upper Henderson. I have to try and leave this place before it's too late. It'll take forever to get there." Michael looked at the sky through the window.
"Been pretty gloomy the past few weeks. Looks like it might rain." Michael checked the magazine on his gun, noticing the amount of bullets. "I'll have no choice but to leave out of here tomorrow. I'll grab some supplies at that Walmart over there, then leave. If there is any supplies." He said, looking at the Walmart in the neighborhood. It was a good five minute walk, which is what he'd have to be careful about. The more noise he made, the more walkers he attracted. "The last thing I need is some idiot running through here blasting off rounds. If I ever want to get out of here I have to do it soon."
April 2, 2010
"Get that bastard!" Yelled a small voice. The voice belonged to a young boy. By his height, he was probably around ten. He had short blond hair and his clothes were tattered. It was two weeks or so into the infection. Two weeks since the first outbreak. The boy was yelling to his older brother, a tall red-headed boy around nineteen. "Duck Alan!" He yelled, turning his head, his shoulder-length red hair flipping quickly as the young man turned his head towards his younger brother. Since the outbreak hygiene became practically a thing of the past. His hair had grown out and was dirty now.
Alan ducked as his brother shot, hitting one of those things in the head. It dropped to the floor. "Nice shot Michael!" Alan said, smiling. Michael let his gun go, the strap catching it and holding it at his waist. "No problem little brother. I have to keep you safe." Michael said, feeling the pain in his stomach after remembering his parents getting eaten by those things. "Ever since mom and dad." Alan's smile turned into a frown as he looked towards the ground. "I don't know what I would do if anything ha-" Michael's words were cut short as his brother screamed, an undead hand on his shoulder, and teeth in his head. "ALAN!"
April 16, 2010
"Please. We have food, shelter, and are searching for a cure."
Michael's eyes shot open at the final words of the broadcast. "Six already?" He whispered to himself. Six every morning the message would play, and then later again at twelve. "Got thirty minutes of sleep this time." Michael rubbed the side of his hand on his eyes, attempting to wake himself up. It had been an entire month since the outbreak. A month and two days to be exact. "A month and two days since I had to murder my parents. Two weeks since I had to murder my own brother." It seemed like an eternity since all of these events, but Michael would constantly remind himself. "I gotta stop that." He whispered, picking up the M16 on his chest.
He sat up, looking out of the window of the two story house he now stayed. He had no choice but to take refuge somewhere after his brother died. With only one person, it's not too smart to head out on your own unless it were for supplies every once in a while. "Damn." Michael whispered. "I haven't been able to build up the courage to leave this damn house and head to that building." Michael stood up and began walking around. "He's been playing that message for three weeks now. Including today. He's gotta still be there."
Michael looked outside the window. "Damn walkers." That's what he called them. "Walkers." There were probably many more names, but all they did was walk and bit. He felt it only appropriate to call them that. It had been about a week and a half since he saw another live human. On the outskirts of the strip, this house didn't attract many live humans. "That man said upper Henderson. I have to try and leave this place before it's too late. It'll take forever to get there." Michael looked at the sky through the window.
"Been pretty gloomy the past few weeks. Looks like it might rain." Michael checked the magazine on his gun, noticing the amount of bullets. "I'll have no choice but to leave out of here tomorrow. I'll grab some supplies at that Walmart over there, then leave. If there is any supplies." He said, looking at the Walmart in the neighborhood. It was a good five minute walk, which is what he'd have to be careful about. The more noise he made, the more walkers he attracted. "The last thing I need is some idiot running through here blasting off rounds. If I ever want to get out of here I have to do it soon."