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 Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 9:00 pm
AU-verse 4/10; Bloodborn Pathogen
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 11:13 pm
Harland leaned against an old stone wall, coughing violently. Blood spattered all across his shirt, not that it showed: it was already covered in crusted blood, dirt, and whatever ichor had been spreading across the island. It was changing people. They were tearing each other apart, drinking all the blood and leaving skins and teeth and hair.
Harland had lost count of how many desicated corpses he'd come across. At first, he'd tried to bury them. Then, he'd created pyres and burnt them. Lately, it was all he could do just staying alive and avoiding the creatures that lived in the shadows.
Above him, the graffiti bad wolf was accompanied by a half-eaten apple's image in spray paint. It had been the outside of the cafeteria. Harland was hungry, but as his stomach groaned and he coughed up more blood, he figured: he wasn't hungry for food.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 11:17 pm
Heat rolled across the empty ground. Harland watched someone lope towards him, one arm torn clean off. It wasn't blood that smeared behind the shambling creature, but rather a black and foul-smelling ichor. In the heat, everything on the island had started to smell like spoiled meat. Harland had his bandana pulled up over his mouth and nose again, but he doubted that would preserve him in the apocalypse.
He didn't even dare summon Coyote. Not this time. Harland aimed a flare right at the creature's head. There was no point confirming whether or not it was alive, but he did anyway. "Can ye hear me?" Harland called out.
That attracted several other somethings.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 11:19 pm
There were several more figures, and some were coming up from behind him. Harland cursed under his breath, tossed the flare in his bag and ran. He ran until his calves were burning, and his mouth was dry, and he couldn't expand his lungs normally any more. He collapsed against a nearby building covered in graffiti. He didn't recognize it any more: it was a skeleton of a structure, comparatively.
It had once been the cafeteria.
He tried to stay still, and yet somehow sheer exhaustion got him, and he was asleep.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 11:21 pm
When he woke up, it was minutes later. Someone was leaning over him, carving into him with a long, thin knife, and licking the blood up. It was too late: the pain seared through him, and he reached for his bag, only to find it was gone. He had no choice. He summoned coyote, and pounded his gauntletted fist into the woman.
He didn't know if she was infected, or healthy.
But she was clearly mentally instable.
Now he leaned against the wall, praying she hadn't been sick like the others.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 11:25 pm
The fever set in shortly after, letting him know his prayers had gone unanswered. Not surprising. He was sweating, pained, and could feel all of his nerves firing off warning signals as the toxin worked its way through him.
He started to remember faces, again, left with nothing else to do: Alistaire, Ian, Auberon, Lilac. He saw Deus, he saw grenades, titans, sand, machines. He pressed a hand to his cheek, weak, and couldn't remember if he was alive or dead.
Finally, Harland figured he was probably dead.
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