|Peter's Story A 28 Days Later Fanfic
Author: Jack Noshima PM
The story of Peter and his journey through the time of Infection. I plan this Fic to be like a proper story, so it will be long and a bit slow to start with, but I promise it will pick up. Please review so I know what you think of it. Chapter 5 is now up.Rated: Fiction T - English - Horror/Tragedy - Chapters: 5 - Words: 9,135 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 1 - Updated: 01-12-09 - Published: 01-09-09 - id: 4780837
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Chapter 1: Peter
That day started like any other for Peter Jackson. He woke up in his bed alone. He looked around the room he had woken up in. A warm yellow glow came in through the blinds. There was dust in the air which showed as the light caught it. There was a smell, a smell which Peter had gotten used to by now but a smell none the less. It was the smell of damp walls and rotting wood. Peter sat up in his bed. It wasn't a big bed, just a frame and a thin mattress. He slept underneath a thin sheet, he couldn't afford anything better. He turned around and sat on the edge of his bed. He put a bare foot onto the cold wooden floor. As he put his other foot down it brushed against something cold. He looked down and saw a bowl on the floor. He let out a groan and covered his eyes with his hands. He rubbed his eyes and looked towards the window. He stood up from his bed and went over to the window. He parted the blinds with his fingers and looked outside. There were three children outside riding around the street on bikes. There were two boys and a girl. They were so happy just to be riding aimlessly around the same place. Peter let out a small laugh, then walked away from the blinds. He peeled off his white shirt, it was soaked, at some point in the night he had been sweating. He opened a drawer and took out a dark blue t-shirt. He then took off his boxer shorts and replaced them with another pair. Then he picked up and put on the pair of jeans that was strewed across his floor. He didn't know how many times he'd worn them nor how long they had gone without being washed, but he didn't care.
A week ago Peter was fired from his job. This was just the latest event in a long chain of bad luck that had begun to plague his life. He was involved in a car crash just over two months ago, that is what started it all. Though he did not like to remember that far back. In the next two months his bungalow had fallen into disrepair, he had developed sleeping disorders. Then he lost his job and had just lazed about ever since. The only thing that hadn't changed in the last 2 months is he was managing to keep his body in shape. In the past two months his life had gone to hell.
Once he was fully dressed Peter made his way into his kitchen. He took the frying pan off the pile of dirty pots and pans and wiped it out with a dirty dishcloth. He kicked a small pile of cloths out of the way of the cooker and set the frying pan on top of a hob. He then poured a small amount of oil into the pan and lit the stove. He turned round to his fridge and opened it. The white light that came from inside was much brighter than the room in which it was shining in to. Peter had to shield his eyes because he wasn't used to the light. When he could see properly he looked inside the door. He was looking for some eggs, but there were none in the door. Then he looked inside the main part of the fridge, nothing there either. He closed the door with some force and cursed underneath his breath. He turned the stove off and walked towards the door. On his way he grabbed a beige coat and slipped it on. He crouched down beside the door and slipped on some old grey trainers. His trainers were supposed to be white, but time, dirt and decay had faded the colour. He sighed as he stood up. Then opened his door and walked out.
On the other side he did not bother to lock the door, as there was nothing of real value inside his house. He put his hands in his pockets and started walking. The three children playing on their bikes waved at Peter, and he smiled back. Then he headed for the shops. It wasn't a long journey so he was there in a few minutes. He had to walk down his street, past a back street and round a corner. Though this journey took a minute or two more than normal. As he was passing the back street he saw a man run across. Normally he wouldn't question this, but it looked as though the man blood on his face. Peter walked down the back street. As he got half way down he realised there were two streets that formed a cross. He looked down all four streets but saw no one. He had a bad feeling. He shook this off and carried on towards the shops. He got to the end of his street and turned the corner. He walked in, but no one was there. He knocked on the counter but no one appeared. He shrugged and headed towards the two large fridges at the back of the shop. He opened one and grabbed a box of 6 eggs. He went back to the counter to pay for them. There was still no one there. He knocked on the counter again, though this time louder. Still nothing happened.
"Hello!!" He shouted.
No answer. Peter was starting to become concerned. He lifted the section that can be opened to get to the back. That is when he became scared. On the floor was a small red puddle, and a red stain trailing off from it and under a door. Peter slowly opened the door. He opened it only a crack at first, to see if he could see anything. There was nothing. Then he opened it more. On the floor there was a head. Peter opened the door more. Then he saw the whole body. He moved back from the door and retched on the floor. He stopped for a moment. Then he ran out of the door and headed back to his house. Within in twenty seconds he was back on his street. The three kids had gone, but their bikes were still on the road. Peter was running past them when he realised something else was wrong. There was a splatter of blood on the handle bars of one of the bikes. Peter looked around the street. It was only now when he realised how quiet things were. He ran back into his own house.
He threw his door open and ran in. He immediately picked up the phone and dialled 999. It was busy.
"Busy??" Peter shouted. "How can it be busy?? It's the emergency services."
He tried again. Busy. And again. Busy. Peter threw the phone across the room and it collided with the wall. It smashed and the pieces fell to the floor. He grabbed his remote and turned on the television.
"Maybe there is something on the news as to why the police are busy." Peter said to himself.
The news was already on.
"... Has now spread from the small towns into the city. It has begun in the south of London, and is slowly spreading northward. We have had reports that the prime minister is on his way to a private plane, and also we have confirmed reports that the Queen is en-route to Paris. This in itself has caused panic amongst many people. Witnesses at the scene of the rioting are claiming that there is something wrong with the rioters. We have witness claims that the rioters are rabid and are attacking the police force with bites and scratches. The riot police have also been reported to then turn around and attack the other police several seconds later. We advise anyone who lives in the South of London to stay in their homes, lock all doors and windows, and wait out these riots. We will have more on the story when it develops. Back to you, Sarah, with the weather." The news reporter said.
Peter turned off the television. He stared at the blank television without moving. The remote fell out of his hand and crashed on the floor. Peter jumped at the sound. Then his mind snapped to the door. He realised it was open. He slowly turned his head. There was a man stood there. He was hunched over. His skin and clothes were covered in blood. His eyes were blood red. He had a blank expression on his face. He made a horrible sound. Peter gulped. The hunched man ran forwards.