Noir
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This story is part of the Malton Chronicles. This story is fan-made, and is not officially part of any background history for Urban Dead. |
Burdekin was in total darkness. The generator had finally given in. The darkness scared Clarke, yet it wasn't as terrifiying as the day time. In the light of day you could see what they were doing. The feasting on the flesh of the living, the twisted agonised faces of those unfortunate few to be seized by the monsters. Despite not being able to see, in the darkness you could still hear. The sound of teeth tearing into somebodies skin or the last exclaimation of a survivor being devoured.
Clarke leaned back on his chair and put his feet up on his desk. He was hidden in black except for his face, which was illuminated by the flame from his lighter. His face was filthy from weeks of not washing and his hair knotted and tangled.
Burdekin had amassed a growing number of survivors since the outbreak. So may so that the generator could no longer provide power for all of them. Tonight was the first night it had run dry. Everyone was a little wary of what was lurking in the pitch blackness.
Clarke rocked his chair back and forth, he was tense, there was another nine hours till day light. He flicked his zippo open and shut. A flash of orange followed by the lid clinking shut. Somebody yelled in pain, somewhere in the dark. It was a different scream than one of somebody being bitten for the first time. It was the scream of somebody succumbing to the virus. But nobody had managed to get through the security checks with a mark on them. He was sure. How was it possible that a survivor who had had contact with the zeds had gotten through the safety precautions that were so heavily in place at Burdekin. But now wasn't the time for asking questions. He flicked his lighter open and set off down the halls grabbing his shotgun off his desk. He managed to cock it whilst running along the lightless corridor. He followed the sounds of the screaming, there were now more people screaming. Hysterical people panicking as the unlucky bastard to be bitten writhed and spasmed on the floor becoming one of them.... Clarke squeezed the trigger and the sound of the shell firing through the man's gut then the hard solid floor of the police station echoed off the walls.
The zombie kicked out knocking a few survivors over and got to it's feet. It swung for Clarke who fell back. The zombie stood before the survivors with a gaping hole in it's torso. Clarke cocked his shotgun again, not before a barrage of fire was laid down upon the zombie. Those men who had managed to take hold and preserve what ammo they could found use for it. Single bullets traveled through one side of the zombie to the other. Penetrating through it's back then leaving via its ribcage. Empty shells hit the floor at a steady rate and the smell of infected blood and gun smoke filled the police station. The creature collapsed to the ground in a pool of it's own blood.
