{"id":306,"date":"2011-06-21T00:46:19","date_gmt":"2011-06-21T07:46:19","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/?p=306"},"modified":"2012-02-27T23:44:56","modified_gmt":"2012-02-28T07:44:56","slug":"zombies-white-noise","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/zombies-white-noise\/","title":{"rendered":"Zombies I – Chapter 4"},"content":{"rendered":"

This is the fourth chapter in my Vote Your Own Adventure series. Your vote will determine the next step and could end up winning you a prize. To read more about the series, click here<\/a>. To read the previous chapter, click here<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n

VOTING FOR THIS CHAPTER IS NOW CLOSED<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

White Noise<\/strong><\/p>\n

After all you’ve been through, you’re feeling distrustful of others. Your stomach knots as you think about braving the darkness unarmed. The house wasn’t far but it didn’t need to be. One wrong turn and you could be surrounded. You’ve avoided death enough for one day. You place your hand over your bandaged side and thoughts of your family rush into your head. Was that your fate? A mindless monster, wandering the streets in search of a way to satisfy your hunger? Or would you become more like the one you saw in the window? You don’t know much about him but you know he’s different. Just thinking of his smile makes your hands tremble.<\/p>\n

You shake your head as if to dislodge the negative thoughts. Other than the pain from the wound, you feel fine. If you were becoming one of them, you’re sure you would have felt something by now. You decide to search the store again. You may have overlooked something your first time through.<\/p>\n

You step around the body on the floor and back into the front of the store. You turn on your flashlight and shine it around the room, looking for a place to begin your search. It would be much easier to turn on the lights but the last thing you wanted to do was draw more attention to the store. You can’t really see the faces pressed against the windows but dozens of white eyes stare at you through the darkness. Their moans are constant in the background, like some kind of disgusting white noise. The sound is maddening but you try your best to ignore it by keeping your attention focused on the cluttered floor.<\/p>\n

In the centre of the room is a toppled clothing rack. Brightly coloured clothes lay under the thin piece of metal. You push the rack aside and search through the pile. You push through the bright orange hunting jackets and pause when you come across a beige messenger bag with a long shoulder strap. You wince as you throw it over your shoulder, resting the strap diagonally across your chest. The painkillers have eased a lot of the discomfort from your wound but the pain is a constant reminder of what you’ve been through. You find a plaid shirt and a thick pair of leather gloves. You place them both in the bag and search for a pair of pants to replace your torn jeans but find nothing.<\/p>\n

You walk slowly though the store, scanning the floor. Metal glistens in the corner of the room, catching your eye and drawing you closer to it. You bend over to pick it up as hands frantically slap against the window next to you. The glass shakes but holds strong. You take the small piece of metal between your thumb and forefinger and hold it in front of the light. It’s a small bullet with a bronze casing. You place it in an unzipped pouch attached to the front of your bag. You comb the floor for more and find nearly a dozen scattered throughout the room. You drop each one into the pouch before zipping it closed.<\/p>\n

A large bookshelf near the back of the room catches your eye. It’s been tipped and rests on angle against something that appears to be a doorknob. Hunting magazines and copies of Sports Illustrated litter the floor below it. You struggle to move the heavy shelf aside but it slips from your hands and hits the floor with a slam. The noise excites the zombies outside and they pound against the windows harder, rattling the glass. You slide the shelf across the dirty hardwood and away from the door in front of you.<\/p>\n

You point your flashlight at the metal handle as you wrap your fingers around it. The knob doesn’t turn. You jiggle it a little before slamming your shoulder into the door but it doesn’t budge. The only way through is with a key.<\/p>\n

You walk back into the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet. You grab the small, white box and empty the remaining supplies into your bag. There isn’t much left, just the painkillers and a small roll of bandages. You turn your attention to Daniel and hesitate a moment before bending over and searching through his pockets. Your fingers brush against something hard and you pull out a keyring holding silver and bronze keys. You slowly stand up, weary of your injured side, and find yourself staring through the window at the house next door.<\/p>\n

The lights on the top floor have turned off and you catch sight of dozens of swaying bodies on the front lawn. They move slowly towards the house as the front door opens. You watch as an over-weight man in his forties steps outside, armed with a pistol. He pulls the trigger and the bang echoes through the night as the bullet pierces the head of the zombie closest to him, spraying blood into the air. The zombie ceases to sway and drops to the ground. The others move towards him as he runs onto the lawn, drawing them away from the front door. He pulls the trigger three more times, and two figures collapse in front of him. He bellows something towards the house and a woman and two children run through the doorway and towards the car parked in the driveway.<\/p>\n

The man slowly moves backwards, shooting at anyone who attempts to pursue his family. You watch helplessly as he backs into an unnoticed mob behind him. Hands grasp at his clothes and he quickly spins around, squeezing the trigger rapidly \u2013 emptying his clip into the mob. He tries to break away but they close in and pull him to the ground. His cries are quickly muffled by the bodies that pile on top of him. One of the children, a young boy, screams for his father. He tries to run towards him but the woman grabs him by the arms a lifts him into the air. He kicks and screams as she shoves him into the backseat of the car with the other child. The engine starts and they speed away. You wipe the tears from your face as you turn your back to the window. You leave the bathroom and walk back to the locked door.<\/p>\n

After fumbling with a few different keys, the handle finally turns and you slowly push the door open. You scan the room with your flashlight before stepping inside and closing the door behind you. There are no windows so you flip the switch on the wall and the room fills with a dim, yellow light.<\/p>\n

The office is very small and most of the space is occupied by a wooden desk. The surface is littered with papers and an old radio sits near the edge. The walls are painted a dull white and covered in brown stains. They’re bare except for a poster. The poster shows a red, cloudy sky with silhouetted figures. \u201cBlood Skies\u201d is written along the bottom in deep red letters.<\/p>\n

You turn off your flashlight and walk around to the back of the desk. The old wooden chair groans in protest as you sit down. You begin searching through the drawers but only find rubber bands and post-it notes. The final drawer doesn’t budge when you pull on it. You see a small keyhole by the handle, too small to match any of the keys on your ring. You grab your heavy flashlight and bash the butt of it against the drawer until the lock breaks. You slide the drawer open and stare at its contents: a small bottle of scotch, a glass, a box of chocolate chip cookies, a porno magazine and a large, silver revolver.<\/p>\n

You lift the heavy gun from the drawer and slide open the chamber. All six slots are filled with small, bronze bullets. You spin the chamber before closing it again and placing the gun in your bag. You take out the package of cookies, the bottle of scotch and the glass and place them all on the desk in front of you. You leave the magazine in the drawer but flick through the pages briefly. Most are wrinkled and stuck together. You close the drawer.<\/p>\n

You stuff a cookie into your mouth as you turn on the small radio. You hear only static through the speakers. You press the \u201cseek\u201d button and watch the red LED numbers flicker across the screen as the radio searches for a station. You unscrew the cap on the bottle of scotch and fill the bottom of the glass. The familiar smell fills your nose and you sigh as you take a drink.<\/p>\n

Staring silently at the door in front of you, you almost feel at peace. You can barely hear the sounds of the monsters outside. You could almost pretend that nothing was happening. That everything was just how it was before.<\/p>\n

You have no idea how this whole thing started. You’ve heard many rumours about secret labs and government experiments. Some people called it the end of the world. Armageddon. Others accused it of being a terrorist attack or some kind of biological warfare. You don’t know what to believe. They just seemed to come out of nowhere, dozens of them pouring into the streets. They quickly became hundreds and then thousands. Before long, they were everywhere. The city was ordered to evacuate but you couldn’t leave without your family.<\/p>\n

Exhaustion finally sets in and your eyelids grow heavy. You can no longer keep them open and things go black as you drift off to sleep.<\/p>\n

—<\/p>\n

You awaken to a voice near your ear. You’re overcome with dizziness and your vision is blurry. Sweat dampens your clothes and you fight against the vomit pushing its way up your throat. The voice is coming from the radio and you struggle to listen over the ringing in your ears. You fiddle with the metal antenna until you get a decent reception.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe can provide you with food and medical attention if you require it.\u201d It’s a man’s voice. \u201cIf you are listening to this broadcast, please get to one o f the following safe zones as soon as possible.\u201d<\/p>\n

The broadcaster lists many different cities but only two are within walking distance. One of them is located seventy-five kilometers North and the other is one hundred kilometers South. According to the man on the radio, the broadcast is coming from the southern safe zone. Your stomach begins to settle and you fight back a grin as a glimmer of hope pushes its way to the surface. The recording starts over from the beginning.<\/p>\n

You take the bottle of painkillers out of your bag and pop four into your mouth, washing them down with scotch. You put the pills, scotch and cookies into your bag and hobble out of the office and into the main room. Sunlight pushes past the figures leaning against the window. They still moan heavily and the glass is smudged with mud and pink drool. You pause at the front door and ready your revolver.<\/p>\n

VOTING FOR THIS CHAPTER IS NOW CLOSED<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

Do You<\/strong><\/p>\n

A<\/strong>: Head North 75km towards the closest safe zone
\nB<\/strong>: Head South 100km towards the radio broadcast<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This is the fourth chapter in my Vote Your Own Adventure series. Your vote will determine the next step and could end up winning you a prize. To read more about the series, click here<\/a>. To read the previous chapter, click here<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n

∼ Continue Reading ∼<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[25,29],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-306","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-zombies","category-zombies-i"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/306","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=306"}],"version-history":[{"count":12,"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/306\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":635,"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/306\/revisions\/635"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=306"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=306"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=306"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}