666 - The Devil's Mark (ON HOLD)

On Watch

The smell of rotting flesh permeates the air around me. In the beginning it wasn't so bad; it could be passed off as the stench of a decomposing animal wafting by with the wind. Now it's everywhere, the nauseatingly stomach churning smell lingers in the air, worse when one of the Corpses happens to be close by. As they are right now. The small group of thirteen long dead beings, shuffle aimlessly around the cluttered, run down street. Strips of flesh peeling from their ghostly, pale bodies, any blood from the brutal murder they suffered long dried, leaving the scattered bullet holes and axe wounds pale and bare, nothing to indicate that life was ever present. 

As the sun starts to sink lower on the distant horizon, I steadily make my way towards the drifting crowd, of icy flesh. Stepping quietly over the twisted metal and crumbling concrete littering the narrow street, chest tight from lack of oxygen, I fix my gaze on the tall building at the far end of the street. Avoiding their gaze is unnecessary in the half light, where their vision is significantly impaired, but the habit can't be stopped after almost 10 years of avoiding the haunting white orbs that fill those lifeless sockets. For years they terrified me, but I long ago discovered the human mind has a way of coping with almost anything when it comes to survival.

The subtle light slowly fades, and my pace rightly quickens, being out at night only increases the risk of being killed; darkness brings the Marked out of their hiding places in the depths of Hell and into the open streets. Being caught by a Corpse would be bad enough, the Marked are on a whole other level. 

The metallic clang of steal clattering along the cracked and crumbling bitumen, sets my heart hammering, sweat beading over my forehead as those icy gazes all turn to focus on me. Reigning in the urge to bolt; to get away from here as fast as humanly possible and into the safety of my hideout, I force my body back into the hunched, stiff form of the Corpses and slow my pace slightly, knowing the brand on my left wrist marks me as one of their leaders, even if I haven't turned into the vampiric night hunter I should be. Slowly, the movement around me resumes, the stares unfocused in the darkening light, and the crumbling brick façade of my hideout finally looms reassuringly over my head. 

Glancing, around briefly, for any lurking eyes, I move a few metres to the right of the boarded up door. Sliding my hands easily over the rough brick, I find the slim metal bar protruding ever so slightly from between two hefty, unmovable bricks. Gripping it tightly between my hands, I slide my feet silently over the ground, towards the wall, and down the small hole between the paved side walk and the bottom of the building, that I had spent weeks carving out, after it all began. I slide feet first into the basement of the old building and land gently on the soft mattress carefully positioned beneath the hidden entrance, so practised in the art of entering my secret abode that my feet remain planted firmly beneath me, despite the easily, four metre fall. 

From the outside the entrance is almost invisible, due to the dark interior and the rubble surrounding it. No one would find it unless they specifically saw me entering; not the Marked with their impeccable vision, nor any human still alive in this area; everyone already has their own hide outs and most would avoid this area due to the high infestation of Corpses. One of the main reasons I chose it; people only get in my way.

Old gym equipment crowds the otherwise empty basement, a single narrow path winding endlessly between each piece. The urge to start my normal exercise routine early lingers in my mind as I move between the machines that saved my life on my few interactions with other Survivors, but survival takes more than just strength and fitness. 

Climbing the endless staircase to the top of the twelve story building, my movements almost silent after over ten years of practice, of always listening for movement and disturbances. I've been caught out too many times not to know that every sound warrants investigation.