They never seem to stop coming.  The outsiders, I mean.  They roll in like waves on the shores that keep us, at least mostly safe.  It's infection free, they say, it's safe.  I don't think I'd go that far, I know the bigger cities got it worse, but Arklay was a little slice of hell for a while.  By the looks of some of these people, it might get worse.  I watch my island, the island that has been my home for ten long years changing again, and I don't know if I like it.

Maybe, I'm getting too far ahead of myself, and since no one is going to find my hiding spot in this old van I might as well be frank. If there was ever a time to be honest, now would be the time.  I started out my life as a rough neck, runny nosed kid.  There is no other way to put it, I was poor white trash.  My momma cooked meth in the kitchen of our shit box trailer house in the middle of nowhere Fucktown, Nevada.  okay, Fucktown wasn't the name of my hometown, but it might as well have been.  My dad was a biker, and he ran the cops.  I mean his gang ran the cops.  They were like hell on wheels those guys.  I remember standing in the backyard watching them drink and carry on during parties.  Momma and the "ol'Ladies" would take care of their men, but I didn't like the idea of that.  I liked the guys.  Well, lets say I liked the way they acted.  Some of them were strong and quiet, and others were loud and brash.  I thought they were all awesome.  The kind of person I wanted to be when I grew up.

That changed when momma blew up the house cooking for them.  Well, not totally changed, but it was the road.  I was cut up pretty bad by the broken glass, momma, well, she didn't do so well.  I remember laying there, on the hard tile of the burning trailer house, watching my momma's body singe.  She wasn't alive, no way she could have survived the blast.  I barely did.

Dad took care of me the best he could, but what the fuck did he know about raising a teenage girl? Not a hell of a lot, but he let me do things.  I rode his Harley when I was 14, and I was bare knuckle fighting for the club by the time I was 15.  The guys thought he had lost his mind.  The Ol'Ladies tried to talk me out of it, but when I was in that ring, fuck.... I was a redheaded godesss.  I could shit thunder of whoever I wanted.  I got into trouble in school, and the teachers threatened to kick me out, but it didn't fucking matter.  I had dad, and I had my bike, and most importantly, I had fighting.

It was great.. Shit until I was 17 I was unstoppable.  I fucked up men, I fucked up women, I fucked them all up, big or small, it didn't matter.. If they were in the ring with me, their asses were mine.  Things were going good, dad had found a new person to cook for him, and with my fight winnings it seemed like we were ahead for the first time.  I really did love my old man, which is why when he was killed by someone.. Well, it was my fault.. I was supposed to take a dive in a fight, and my stubborn pride wouldn't let me do it, as punishment.. The bookies killed my old man.  I guess he owed them money that I didnt know about, until it was too late.  He kept it from me, I just didnt know.  I would have taken the fall.  I really would have.

I guess, it doesnt matter, because that was when I realized that a life of crime was for anyone but me. Drugs, gambling, all of that it's what ruined my life.  So, when I found the chance I had someone from the gang make me a new set of IDs, everything was changed, outside of my first name.  Shade McAllen was dead, Shade Manx was alive, and she was a cop.  I know Greg, the guy I had make the IDs was confused, but I had to explain to him that no one would look for a biker's kid pretending to be a cop.  He agreed, and he wished me well.

I had to go someplace.  Someplace that was out of the way and small enough to not really check my background too closely.  Enter Arklay Island. I went there hoping that I would be able to pull it off.  The Capt was more interested in my tits than my resume, granted there were comments about the scars, and I made up a story about a horrible car accident.  I never even thought about it before that, but luckily I managed to bullshit my way out of it.  He hired me on the spot. I may have had to do some things to get the spot, but I guess it was worth it overall.

For the next ten years, I watched as the island changed, first as a ride along, then I had my own shift and my own beat.  I became known, and respected in the small town, as the tourist trade dried up and the Epsilon group took over, the town became boring, but it was my home.  For the first time in my entire life, I lived in a house that wasn't pulled in by some truck.  It was kind of boring, but it was home.

Then, shit changed.  Well, that's a fucking understatement.  I was off duty, and I was working out in my basement, when the music stopped and the alerts started to play.  I remember standing there in my basement looking at the radio like it was fucking insane, a joke maybe?

When my phone rang, I realized that it wasn't a joke... The Capt was in a panic screaming at me to get my gear and get to the hospital, Ned Travers was attacking people.  Which, I thought was weird because old Ned died last night.  The news was true, the dead were walking.  I was at a loss as I geared up, my uniform spotless when i started.  I remember the fights that happened after that.  The city burning in places, the hospital a total loss. There was no control, there was nothing.

The Capt and the leads for the fire department decided that it was a total loss, people exited town like rats leaving a sinking ship, some of us stayed and fought.  I went to get more ammo and that was how I knew that the island was deserted.  I manged to fight my way back to my house, getting what few rounds I had left and a change of clothes.  The uniform that was so spotless the day before, was nothing but a tattered mess of blood and mud.  I fought hard, And for some reason I thought that meant I had time for a shower.  I dont know why I thought that, but I was set, I was going to use my cop car and leave, just like the rest of them.  I feel ashamed now to say it, even as the corp guys were fighting their asses off, I was ready to leave.

That plan changed in a flash. as I finished getting dressed, and started to pack my stuff I heard something.  It was the most terrible animal like scream and the backdoor of my house busting open.  It was one of them, the undead, or whatever you want to call them..  and the fucker was on fire! Panic made my heart run cold as I spun and run out of my own house, there were others following the walker.  I rushed towards the front door firing my service pistol at the flaming dead.

I didn't have time to look back.  I didn't have time to watch my hopes and dreams go up in smoke. I was going to have to run.  My dad's Harley was in the garage, and the cop car that I drove for the last 4 years of my duty with the APD, was left behind.  The only thing that was left was the woods and me, running.  I don't remember a time in my life that I had been so scared.  Even as I lay dying on the floor of a burning trailer house, I wasnt that scared.  Or, at least I don't think I was.

The last thing I remember hearing was the gunshots from the company men, mowing down the walkers that my shots had brought in.  I should be more grateful to the corp, but really.. I have a hard time with that.  It was most likely assholes like that who made the world the shit pot it is now.

I ran hard until I came to a farm house, I actually knew the place, it was Ned's.. I knew that Ned was indeed very dead, so I made my way into the old farm stead.  I hoped that there was food and shelter, and I was lucky enough to find both.  Well, the food was fucking spam.. I guess Ned had gone a bit funny in the head since his wife passed on, and he bought a lot of spam.

The only way to stay alive in zombie land, is to keep quiet, I figured that out as I watched two of the local high schoolers who were always in trouble shuffle past while I was in the house.  The windows were open, they could have came, but they didn't.  So, it wasnt scent. It had to be sound, or at least mostly sound.  I thought about this for the next few days as I feasted on... Spam.. I really fucking hate Spam.

I thought there was news, when I seen a Sheriff's Department truck pulling into the driveway.  I knew the Sheriff, he was a good man, I worked with him many times, and the man who got out of that car was not the Sheriff.  He was not even a cop that I had ever seen, but he was wearing a department issue uniform.  A cold fear ran over me as I started to wonder if there was a possibility that he had killed the Sheriff? Or worse, what if he was killing all cops.  I was down to very little ammo, and I didn't know what I was going to do.. So, I ran.. Yes, I ran yet again.  I was sick of killing, I had killed.. Them.. Day and night for two days straight trying to save the island, and the support I was expecting from my brothers and sisters was pulled out from under me like a cheap party trick.

I hid until I found this van, I won't be staying here for long, I don't know what the fuck is out there, and I am almost out of smokes.  I am going to have to go to town, and see what there is to see.  Hiding is only going to get me so far, and I need to know what happened to the town I have spent the last 10 years protecting.  I'll be back,and I will be looking for other places to hide out, laying low is good, but if town holds anything worth having.. I need to get there.

 

I guess that brings me round to the front of the story.  It seems that the corp guys, and whatever was left of the PD laid down the dead.. Bodies have been burnt, for the most part, and life.. Well life is something.. But, anyway, that is where I came from,and this is where I cut off.. If you do find this.. Whoever you are.. Remember... Dont be afraid to use extra ammo.. double tap that shit.

 

• This topic was modified 9 years, 11 months ago by  shade-manx.