Hello watchlings. Yes, this is another 9 story. Humanized! If any of you have read my other story "Meeting 10" Or "The first life" Then you're familiar with 10 and (Probably) 11. They will appear in this story.
I go the idea for this story after reading a book called "The Enemy" By Charles Higston (or something like that) This story is gonna follow the 9 plot, but with alot of changes.
The first thing he felt when he woke up was a peircing pain in his arm. He opened his eyes groggily and looked around. He was on his back, out of the corner of his eye, he could see a window. The walls were brown wood. He was in somebody's house. He sat up, wincing as the pain increased. Looking down, he saw the source of the pain: A large syringe sticking out of his arm.
He pulled out the and dropped it on the floor. Now without the syringe in his arm, he could get a better look at the room; it looked like a small workshop. He found that he wasn't lying on a bed, it was a desk. There was paper shattered everywhere, as if a child had come in and threw them everywhere. There was a doorframe with it's door barely hanging by its hinges in front of him, in the door frame was a body. His heart skipped a beat. The body was on its side, it was gripping a handgun.
'Why would he need a gun here?' He thought to himself.
Slowly, he got out off the desk. His legs were slightly wobbily as he rose up, but he advanced toward the body. It looked fresh, Save for the gaping, bloody hole that was in its chest.
"No need for him to have this" He murmured as he bent down and pried the gun from the corpses hand. A few bullets fell out, he picked them up and put them back in the cavity. Three bullets.
He heard a groan.
His eyes flashed back to the corpse. Was it still alive?
"Sir?" He said "Are you alright?"
He didn't get an answer, just another groan.
The corpses eyes shot open, revealing an ugly white film over its eyes. It lunged at him, dragging its body and growling at him like an animal. He shouted in terror and scooted his body back until he hit the one of the leg's of the desk. The zombie snarled at him and dug its hands into the floor, what was left of its body left a trail of clotted blood, a mixture of saliva, blood and puss spilled out of his mouth in a red and white foam.
His heart was about to pound of his chest. He looked around frantically for the gun, which he had dropped when the zombie lunged at him.
He saw it right next to the zombies hand. He'd have to act quick if he wanted to keep his own hand.
He kicked the zombie in the arm, it screeched and collapsed, which gave him enough time to reach the gun.
The first shot, he missed completely. His hands were too shaky and he pulled the trigger too early. The second one it him in the shoulder, causing the zombie to shriek in pain again. It advanced closer to him, snarling and hissing with rage. It threw its body on to him, about to take a bite of his face when he shot the final bullet.
It went clean through its eye. The zombie froze then collapsed in front of him. His breathing went back to normal. He was about to examine the corpse when a large gust of wind blew the window partially open. He stood up but hesitated, as if he were expecting another zombie to attack. But he still limped to the window.
Outside was a wasteland of barren roads and bodies. The air smelled faintly of rotting meat and feces. Looking a bit in the distance, he saw someone walking, carrying something on its back. He was about to call out but stopped himself. It might be another zombie, wouldn't want to draw attention to himself.
He stepped over the body and walked into the hall. He was in someones house. All the blinds were drawn and most of the lights were dimmed. Every single door was closed.
He turned the doorknob and walked outside , careful not to run into any zombie . The town was eerily still, everything was so abandoned. Where did everyone go?
There was the sound of footsteps nearby. He froze and listened. Nothing. Turning around, he saw who made the footsteps.
In front of him was a man in his late teens, early twenties. He had dark brown hair, pale skin and red, bloodshot eyes. He wore gloves that reminded him of Freddie Kruger. He was covered in several scars, parts of his skin was bruised and infected. There was no film over his eyes.
"You..." The stranger said "You're pure...thought we wiped you guys out..."
"Pure?" He asked.
"Yeah, pure" The stranger repeated, walking closer towards him. Quick and agelic, like a cat.
"Name" He demanded.
"E-Elijah" He said.
"Well, Elijah. Boss don't like Pures walking around here, this is our territory now. Can't you tell?" He gestured to a few zombies who had been walking by, completely ignoring them.
"So" The stranger continued "You got two choices: You leave, or you become one of them"
Elijah's eyes darted from the stranger to the zombies. He would leave if he just knew where to go...or if he at least knew where he was...
"Suit yourself" The stranger said when he took too long to answer. He sunk his teeth in to Elijah's shoulder. He screamed, but the stranger suddenly let go, howling in pain. Elijah's Shoulder burned like fire. He saw that the stranger had been shot with an arrow, it was lodged in leg. The stranger fell to its knees, looked in the direction of where the arrow had come, growled a little, and bolted off. Limping.
Elijah let out a shaky sigh. He felt his shoulder, it stung to even touch it. looking at it was just as bad: the stranger had bit through his flesh like it was butter. He could see the raw muscle underneath; it was bleeding ferociously.
The pain was unbearable. His head started swimming, he lost all sense of direction.
The next thing he knew, the floor was rushing up to meet him.
A/N: So yeah, this is just a preview, so don't expect another chapter any time soon. I wanna start this story after I finish Meting 10.