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Kenta stood over the corpse of the “zombie.” Breathing excitedly, he held a katana tightly in his right hand, its mate still sheathed over his right shoulder. The empty sheath for the one he held still laid across his left hip, slapped gently against him. His left hand quivered for a moment, a small flame sparking, floating a few inches apart from his palm. He took a deep breath, calming his nerves, reining in his power and examining his would-be attacker.
The creature, what had apparently once been human, was an emaciated, pathetic looking specimen. The thin, wispy hair was matted to its skull, its sockets prominent and milky eyes staring blankly up to the ceiling. The cleft he’d laid across its chest had sliced cleanly through the collarbone and top four ribs, and scored heavily through the three ribs underneath those. He hadn’t had the intent to strike so heavily, but the speed the thing had used charging him had thrown him off.
Kenta was astonished that something humanoid had such speed, but he knew now that nothing was to be taken for granted when dealing with these…creatures. It had screamed at him when it noticed him creeping through the abandoned supermarket, its bellow reminding him of a combination of text-talk and actual words. More shocked than scared, and he realized how foolish that had been, he’d drawn his hip-borne katana in an attempt to cow it, to menace it into stopping. He’d seen other zombies, vampires, and Zurg and their ilk roaming Gaia, but they’d been nominally intelligent when compared to the thing he’d encountered. The thing had shown no alarm at his bared weapon, continued its screaming charge, arms raised with claw-like fingers spread wide. Kenta, having no other option, swung his katana in an attempt to keep it at bay.
It apparently had no concern for the weapon. The creature had barreled into it, heedless of the damage it would be dealt, and died nearly instantly, its momentum carrying it another five feet forward into a heap on the floor. Moving on instinct, Kenta had raised his off-hand, a softball sized fireball bursting into existence, hovering in front of his palm, on the upward swing of his arm. He’d stood there for a full three minutes, the fireball crackling, his katana readied. He recalled the bead of cold sweat that trickled down his temple as he stood, tensed and waiting. He’d never come across a kamikaze creature such as that before, and the thing’s disregard for its own life unnerved him. He shuffled a few steps toward it, waiting for the moment he’d seen in the movies when the apparently-dead creature reared up, still disgustingly alive, and leveled one last swing at him.
None came; the thing remained still. Kenta relaxed only slightly and shuffled his feet until he was standing over it, looking down at it, the flame he’d summoned sputtering into nonexistence, his katana lowering to his side. He suddenly remembered the stories from the other travelers, the tales of these inhuman things attacking others, infecting the survivors of attacks and ripping those who couldn’t escape to shreds.
He would take all of these stories to heart now; keep them in the forefront of his mind as he traversed these wastes heading south to safety. Just as quickly he recalled the additions to the stories, the parts that made the travelers’ eyes flicker with hope…The Promised Land, the sanctuary from the onslaught, where the people retained their minds, their intellect, and their faculties.
“Cerria…” He whispered to himself, staring down at the milky white eyes staring back at him. Kenta felt the vaguest shudder course through him, and it was just as quickly gone.
”Yes, I will head south now.” He thought to himself, sheathing his katana in one fluid motion. ”And if luck is with me, I will find others talented in the ways of survival along my path…A small group would be ideal, hopefully no more than five or six of us…” Kenta turned away from the corpse, quickly and quietly made his way through the supermarket, its lights dim from months of neglect. He shuddered as he remembered how quickly the sickness had spread throughout the population, only a few pockets remaining, and even then they succumbed over time.
He thought they’d only been stories, the boogey men lurking in the shadows to scare children, as he traveled from region to region. How many of the Gaians he’d met had fallen prey to it? How many were gone now as a result? He couldn’t contain his shudder as he grabbed dried goods from shelves and cans of food from another, shoveling them into his knapsack as he crept throughout. He made sure to grab a can opener from the end-cap of the aisle as he passed by it. He looked up, only thinking at the last second to grab a jug of water from a cooler and tie it to his bag. He would have to train his mind to think of these things, now more than ever. If and when he met with others, would they have the same foresight as he? Kenta hoped so, shading his eyes as he slunk out of the side entrance to the supermarket, disappearing down an alley.