Cassidhe

Heave. Swing.
Heave. Swing.
The sun was hot.
Heave. Swing.
It hung low in the sky, crimson and scorching. The heat felt like a pressure pushing down on Cassidhe's back.
Heave. Swing.
The heat and pressure travelled through her body, congealing and sharpening into a blade that lodged itself right behind her left eye.
Heave. Swing.
Cass spat, trying to rid her mouth of the all-pervasive red dust that clung to her sweat like a second skin, coarse and gritty. She could feel grains grind between her teeth when she closed her mouth, taste the endless wastelands from whence the dust came.
Heave. Swing.
The manacles bit into her wrists,opening up scars that never had a chance to truly heal. On her fingers she could feel the unpleasant slipperiness of a blister not yet popped, the top layer of skin separated from and sliding across the one below. The blisters on her palms had already burst, sending blood and fluid down her forearms with every
Heave. Swing.
Behind her somewhere in the shade were two whiteshirts, mouths covered to protect them from the dust. Disciplinary batons lounged at their waists, ready for use at a moment's notice. Cass didn't have to look back to know they were there.
Heave. Swing.
The rock in front of her split cleanly down the middle, revealing a metallic gleam. She kicked it behind herself, towards the whiteys, then moved on to a new rock.
Heave. Swing.
The pickaxe smelled of blood and sweat. Actually, everything did. Blood and sweat and dust.
Heave. Swing.
Heave. Swing.
Heave. Swing.



Nothing special this time, just an excerpt from the universe of The Fifth Citadel. What is The Fifth Citadel, you ask? Well, wouldn't you like to know.

Kayleigh Tanner 3

7/11, Thursday

Sorry about last night. There are still times when this all just feels so…

Anyway, where was I? Right, the car.

The other people in the car were talking, but I couldn’t make out anything they said. All I was aware of was a pounding pressure in my skull and the urge to vomit, so most of my attention was focused on not throwing up over everyone in the car.

Vaguely, I heard someone that that I didn’t look so good and I had the ridiculous urge to point out that well, yeah, my family just tore each other to pieces, I’m not exactly feeling on top of the world. Instead, I gasped that I needed some air. The car stopped, hard enough to hurt my neck from the whiplash. I fumbled around until I got the door open, practically felling onto the road and then violently retching. Midway through my heaving, someone in the car asked if I’d been bit or scratched by anything. I shook my head as best I could with bile burning up my throat, but my mind shot back over the past half hour and I realised I didn’t actually know. Everything had happened so fast, I couldn’t properly remember much of it at all.

When my stomach had settled as much as it was going to, I spat the remaining bile out and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Gentle hands helped me back into the car and I noticed for the first time the people who’d saved me. Beside me, in the middle of the car, was a girl about my age, maybe a bit older, with shoulder-length purple hair and eyes that seemed to be every colour at once. On the far left of the car was the guy who had so accurately observed that I wasn’t looking fantastic and asked if I was bit, wearing a basketball shirt and, ridiculously, a backwards cap, even inside the car. In the passenger seat was a blue-eyed man, but all I could see of the driver was their brown hair because they were right in front of me and had their eyes on the road.

Almost before my door had closed, the car was moving again. There were bodies littering the streets, and the only ones that were moving were the ones tearing strips off of the dead people. Some raised their heads as we flew past, but most seemed intent on their meal. I tried not to look at them, the sight not helping my already queasy stomach. The driver managed to avoid most of them, but at the speed we were going it was impossible to miss them all, and to be perfectly honest I don’t think he was trying that hard. My right shoulder was already bruised by my collision with the doorframe back in my house, and every time we turned left I was slammed into the door, sending bolts of pain spearing down my arm. The car was filled with an oppressive silence, no one seeming to want to talk. I was practically aching to ask just what the hell was going on, but reason told me that chances are no one here  would know anything more than I did. A tear ran down my cheek.

After a few minutes, the girl beside me broke the silence, leaning forward and asking, “Where are we going?”

The blue eyed man turned around, brushing his brown hair out of his eyes. His fringe was just long enough to get in his eyes, as if he were overdue for a trim. “We,” he motioned to himself and the driver, “are going to check on our parents and see if they’re okay. Whether you all come or not is up to you. If you want to see your own family, you can, but you’ll have to find your own way there.”

With the silence broken, backwards-cap spoke up. “How did this happen, man? How did things get so fucked up so fast?” He didn’t seem to be asking anyone in particular, just musing. “I was just chilling at home, you know, and I look outside and there’s those things just chewing up people in the street.” He shook his head, then leant forward. “I really appreciate you guys picking me up out there. Not everyone would’ve stopped, y’know? And if you hadn’t come along…” I made a noise of agreement.

“I’m Jodie.” The purple-haired girl said.

The guy leant back, or at least as far as he could with the beak of his cap hitting the seat. “Jackson.”

“I’m Rob,” the blue-eyed man introduced. “And this is Steve.” He motioned to the driver, who didn’t take his eyes from the road. Jodie, Rob and Jackson turned to look at me.

“Kayleigh.” I said. “My name’s Kayleigh.”

Chronia

Stop.
A hundred thousand rainbows of light reflecting off the shattered glass in front of you as it falls forever to the bitumen below. The road is cool beneath your bare feet despite the sun overhead, your toes crossing the labyrinthine maze of cracks and fissures in the tarmac. Overhead, the sky glows grey-green, deep clouds boiling over over the horizon and sweeping away the stars.
Go.
You take a step down the road, the stench of burning wood and burning rubber and burning flesh clogging your nose. You look down and see dark blood the colour of fear and war dripping from your stomach. An explosion rocks the world somewhere to your right, but you don't see it. The building ahead of you grows larger and larger until it fills your vision and you find yourself on the front steps, a trail of black wetness marking your path. The revolving glass door is blocked with blood and bodies so you have to use your shoulder to ram your way through, each shove making you cough up a bit more black ichor, the blood of machines and monsters. The room beyond is charred and scarred and occupied by people in body armour pointing their guns at you, fingers squeezing the-
Stop.
Your legs buckle, but you keep your feet. The figure in the middle has their finger firmly pressed down on the trigger, the muzzle of gun flaring brightly as the first of three rounds exits. You walk up to the team of gunners and incapacitate them one by one, saving the middle for last.
Go.
The bullet smashes through the revolving door you were standing in front of five minutes ago, a moment ago. The bodies slump as gravity claims them and you walk on, up the grand staircase. You let your instincts guide you. Your body knows where to go.
A man in a white coat babbles incoherently against a shattered statue, tears streaming down his face. You ignore him, taking the next left. The room is large, but cramped with equipment you don't understand. Harsh metal panels and precisely coloured wires and distorted lenses of glass sit on tables, squat in corners, lounge in any free space. You walk through the room. The instruments are not your concern. The back door opens to a courtyard where formally-dressed men and women scamper frantically around like disturbed ants. One sees you and cries out, raising a handgun and firing-
Stop.
The bullet tears through your hamstring and you fall to the ground, tasting dust and blood and corruption. You stagger to your feet and set to work incapacitating the scientists and engineers, black tears burning a path down your cheeks and into your mouth.
Go.
Sound returns, deafening after the silence. You walk to the enormous metal cube in the middle of the courtyard. As you key in the code (SENTINEL), your fingers slick with blood and death, you catch a glimpse of your reflection, craggy and distorted, a product, a child born of conflict and ingenuity. A panel swings open to your right and you fall to your knees when you try to walk over to it.
Blood leaks from your ears while you retch violently. After a moment, a minute, a lifetime, you regain your feet and stagger over to the panel. You can hear the machine inside the cube whirring as it gradually heats up. The panel is inscribed with symbols and letters you don't understand, but your body does and quickly aligns them. A door opens and the whirring becomes much louder, deepening into a thrum. The machine inside is a beautiful amalgam of sleek design and perfect destruction.
You try to Stop, to give yourself more time, but you feel your insides wrench and twist and something breaks. The machine begins the final stage of firing, the thrum deepening to just below audible, leaving an uncomfortable pressure on your ears. You fall before you can reach the machine and this time you don't think you can rise again. You roll onto your back, looking up at the steadily reddening sky, black blood trickling from your mouth, stomach, leg. Distantly, you can hear shouts, but they are fading, as is the light. For a single moment, the machine cycles back to a high-pitched squeal, and then you
Stop.

Kayleigh Tanner 2

6/11, Wednesday.

Chris and Sarah found another store with food left in it today and apparently it’s still close enough and calm enough to make regular day trips to. Yay for not starving, I guess.

I was looking over my small book collection today and I realised how much knowledge must’ve been lost since the outbreak. I can’t imagine most survivors see paperbacks as anything more useful than tinder now. Anyway, that got me thinking, and I feel like I should put my story in here, in case anyone finds this. I mean, if it’s going to be my diary and all, why not?

So… my story. I’m going to start at the start, by which I mean the day this all started. Who we were before doesn’t really matter anymore. I was at home when the outbreak hit my neighbourhood. I was watching TV with my Mum, Dad and my little brother, Luke. More accurately, I was watching a blank screen while Dad tried to figure out why it’d suddenly died on us. All of a sudden we heard a bang, loud and close, a small explosion really. We all looked at each other for a moment before going out to check if one of our neighbours had wrecked their car or something, but that wasn’t it. Down the end of the street, four houses were on fire. Someone’s gas had exploded, that was the sound. And they coming out of the houses, on fire, and screaming, and bloody… We ran over to them, obviously, yelling out for help from the other people who lived on our street, but they were already dead. They collapsed, blackened husks, but even then I could see the gouges in their clothes, their flesh. Scratches and bite marks, human bite marks, slowly bleeding out onto the pavement. I think at this point Dad had called the police, but I never found out. I was crying, trying to stop Luke from seeing, turning him away. Mum had gone up to the nearest body and was checking for a pulse when… they all started moving again, slowly, like they were just waking up. Mum went to lean in and talk to them or fucking check their pulse, I don’t know, and it bit her, tore a chunk out of her fucking neck. Mum shrieked and stumbled away. Luke was crying, but I don’t think he really knew what was going on. I don’t even think I was screaming anymore, just crying and babbling incoherently. The only way I could’ve been of less use is if I’d tripped Dad over as he grabbed Mum and started putting pressure on her neck. He tore a strip off a strip of his shirt to bind it but there was just so much blood and the cloth was instantly soaked and I looked back at the burnt people and… I think that’s the image that’s going to stay with me forever as how the outbreak started. The charred, shrivelled corpses had got up fully and were staggering towards us, some of them still smoking. Behind them, the fire was catching over houses, a storm of angry reds and oranges and black, great plumes of smoke leaping away into the sky.  Other neighbours were on the street now, but I don’t know when they got there. Someone took me by the shoulders and I let them take me away from there, away from the snapshot of horror and death.

We got back into the house and locked the doors. Dad carried Mum into the dining room and lay her on the table, telling me and Luke to go get the first aid supplies. Luke was bawling now and refused to move, so I did as Dad said, stumbling into the bathroom and getting everything I thought we might possibly need, thinking I was actually being useful for the first time that night. I came back into the dining room and… Mum was dead. Even without the blood dripping from the table, Dad’s posture told me. He had his head down, eyes closed and I could tell from the shaking of his shoulders that he was crying. I dropped the stuff and fell to the floor with it. I just didn’t have the energy or the motivation to do anything anymore.

And then Luke… poor, little Luke… he starts poking her. “Mama?” he goes, “Mama what’s wrong?” And he’s looking up at Dad, and Dad’s trying to move Luke away and I’m on the floor useless and Mum moves. Dad immediately lets go of Luke and leans over Mum, whispering her name and I see her lips part and I was sure, I was so sure I heard her breathe his name, but then she clamped down on his neck, just like what happened to her except she’s not letting go, and I think at this point Dad just stopped struggling and let her tear out his throat.

I actually pinched myself, convinced it had to be some kind of nightmare, and when that didn’t work I dug my fingernails into my palm, but I still didn’t wake up. I lay there, curled into a ball, sobbing helplessly as Luke stepped closer to Mum. I tried to call out to him, but nothing was coming out. What used to be my mother grabbed him and I just lay there crying while my Mum eviscerated my father and my brother, my baby brother.

Mum’s corpse fed on Luke for about a minute longer, before my impotent crying drew her attention. She looked at me and… there was nothing left of her. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused, and I knew right then that this wasn’t going to end. I wasn’t going to wake up. Mum slid off the table and started walking towards me. I managed to sit up and push myself backwards, begging her to stop. I don’t think I actually believed she would, but I didn’t know what else I could do. My back hit the door to the kitchen and pushed it open and I finally stood up, though by the shaking of my legs I knew I probably wouldn’t last long. I fell through the door and slammed it shut behind me, leaning against it to support myself. For a few seconds, the house was quiet enough to hear some sounds filtering in from outside, muffled screams and birdsong. Then my choking sobs were interrupted as Mum hit the door, groaning in that awful way they do. I screamed at the sudden noise and almost fell again, but managed to stay standing. Suddenly realising that my dizziness had a lot to do with my hyperventilating, I tried to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. After a few more shaky seconds, she hit the door again, but this time I was ready for it. As soon as I felt the pressure on my back recede, I pushed off and ran to the front door, colliding with a doorframe on the way. I fumbled with the lock, my hands shaking too much to manoeuvre the key. Eventually I managed to get it in the keyhole and unlocked the door, bursting out onto the street.

I’d been so focused on getting out of the house that I hadn’t even thought of what to do now. There were about twenty people along the road, and well over half were the lumbering corpses we’ve all come to know so well. I watched as one of my neighbours killed another with a knife and then get mauled from behind, the infected dragging him down into the dirt and tearing strips from his arm.

Headlights suddenly blinded me as a car came hurtling down the street, running over four or five infected as it came. I don’t know if it was because I’d lifted my arm to block the light or just sheer dumb luck but the car squealed to a halt next to me, the people inside throwing the door open and shouting for me to get in. I didn’t even think, I just jumped in, pulling the door shut behind me. Through the window I saw Luke stumble out of the house. He saw the car and stretched out a hand to me, the bone of his arm exposed but for what ragged flaps of skin remained. That was the last time I saw him, or any of my family. 

I don't think I can write any more of this tonight. I just... I gotta go.