Empty veins

Chapter 1

Walking. One foot in front of the other. Again, and again. Repeat. There was no need for sleep. That was completely unnecessary. Just keep walking.

She walked again and again. Through the day and night. Listening for the cries.

She felt the wind, felt what could've have been the chills of winter or the summery skies of August, but the wind only blew through her. It had no effect on her. Nothing could chill what was already cold to the very core.

So, she kept walking. Preying through the forest daily and haunting the crumbling villages nightly. Walking – always. Walking and stalking. Food was necessary.

Again, and again. The days all faded away into some sort of grey darker than the rotting flesh on a face that may well have once held beauty's grace. In her opinion, if she was not too tired or too hungry to have an opinion, it was a mercy she still had her, albeit matted, locks.

Funny thing was, hunger did something weird to her, maybe it was the same for all of them. It was like she couldn't think – she couldn't even remember who she was. All of her – everything faded away. And nothing could be done to stop the feeling of absolute cold that started in their empty chests, spreading like and icy current had been sent through their veins, like it had been commanded to freeze them alive. Well, maybe not alive. The ice would spread out in that cold pattern, distilling any rhythmic beat inside them, and stripping them of everything they knew. The body got weaker, until the ice had reached the very tips, and then that was it.

But it wasn't like anyone ever felt pity towards them.

No, pity was a word they weren't familiar with.

It wasn't like they had much use for words anyways, you'd be surprised how successful a few grunts and a pointed look could be. They tried, but no matter what, their conversation skills just weren't as good as they used to be.

It was like the words gotten frozen, held in place by the endless hunger. The hunger could be called endless. It was the only thing necessary to survive. To stop the cold. Because after the cold came the dark, and no – one wanted the dark.

That was if they still had the capacity to want. Or to dream. Or to hope.

She didn't have the capacity to do much - except feed and walk. Always walk.

So, she kept on walking.

....

Fighting. One bullet after another. Again, and again. Repeat. There was hardly any time for sleep. Just keep fighting.

He fought again and again. Through the day and the night. Listening for the groans.

He felt the wind blow through him. The wintry wind chilling him to the very bone, seeping into his soul where only the summery sun could warm him. It had too much effect on him.

So, he kept fighting. Hiding through the forest daily and protecting the small villages at night. Evacuating, all the time. He had to get the others to the capital. The only place safe. Fighting. Fighting and hiding.

Again, and again. The days all faded into some sort of grey darker then the rotting flesh of the creatures as their hand reached out, gripping and grasping, ripping and roaring. And, oh the blood.

Funny thing was, their hunger never ended. It was always there, always a threat. Like there was no other way, like they had to kill, to eat, all the damn time. There were so cold, frozen to their icy core and only got colder and darker, decomposing into a grey mess of foul smelling flesh as their hunger increased. And they ate again and again. Always walking towards. Another hilarious fact about them was that eating changed them, one second, they'd be a walking sack of bones, then they were bright and healthy – once again. It never lasted long anyways. They always became hungry again. That was why it was necessary to fight. At least, that was what he was told anyways.

They have no reason to have pity shown to them.

Pity wasn't a word that they should be familiar with.

It wasn't like they had much use for words anyways. At least, he'd never heard them say anything. It was just grunts and groans and a few pointed looks. Maybe they didn't ever speak. Maybe they just simply didn't have the capacity anymore.

Did they even have the capacity to do anything anymore? No – one knew what they had the capacity to do anymore. Well except the men with the tinted glasses and the white suits, but it wasn't like he or any other ordinary citizen was allowed into the dark building with their clean walls hidden inside the highest security are of the capital. There'd be horror stories of the unnatural, inhumane screams that echoed through the starless sky above the dark building – it was a fire time favourite.

So, he kept on fighting, blindly, again and again.

Fighting – all the time.

....

Again and – no. For once there was a difference, a small capacity that made her stop her walk. And then the repetitive cycle could not be kick started again.

And there was something more than the endless hunger.

Had it been the same for him?

....

Again and – no. Something had changed. Something small had made him look twice and pause before the bullet took over the brain.

And then he knew there was something more than the endless hunger. That 'they' weren't just a walking mess of grey. They were called 'they', 'them' or 'the others'. They weren't given a proper name, he was told that it gave them too much respect and power. But at least they were regarded enough to have a name reminiscent of before. Before, when it was all so much easier for all of them.

He often wondered if they wished they could have life they could never get back back again. Or if they could wish.

But still, he knew it had been the same for her.

-102 days left.