Introduction: "Outbreak"

The introduction to my new novel "Outbreak, which is still in the works as of now. Tell me what you think? :D

It’s dark.


      This darkness is a product of Hell, wrapping itself around my soul and suffocating it like a hungry boa, hungry for the last shreds of my sanity. The light of my flashlight is slowly dying, and it’s hard to see what I’m writing, covering all but a sliver of light so as not to disturb Josie’s sleeping figure beside me. When she sleeps it’s the only remnant of serenity I can find anymore, even though I can’t imagine the visions that inhabit her dreams. If she dreams in the vivid blood red that spatters my mind, I can only hope for her. But I know her; hell, I love her. She’s strong, a “tough cookie” as she says. She keeps my going even when I can’t see through all the red.

      This is the diary of Blayne Robbins, and I am writing this memoir from within the reinforced steel-and-concrete walls of the Compound, one of the last human outposts nestled deep in the infected zone that has engulfed North Palm Beach, Florida. I am – was – just your normal, average American teenager. Of course, that’s before the Outbreak.

      We all thought it was a game. At least, I did. I didn’t want to believe it, but now there’s no denying the truth: I was wrong, and the human race is now all but extinct, the survivors a writhing, sniveling food source for the infected, the… zombies. Even now, after almost a year of fighting, that word still chills me. The very concept of their existence makes me sick to my stomach. The Solanum virus is without a doubt a plague, its victims a blight on nature, an evil fungus doomed to walk the Earth until they rot away. Sure, we fought back. Sure, we did everything the book told us to. Sure, it worked. It’s just too damn much. We’ve all seen too much, things no human being should ever have to see or hear. I still wake up in the middle of the night hearing their screams echoing off the high-domed, blood-spattered walls of my mind and I have to almost eat my fist to keep from screaming myself, keep from rolling off the shelf and falling 20 feet to the concrete floor.

      But I’m getting way ahead of myself. If this memoir reaches any non-infected out there, they need to know exactly how this all started. So I’ll start from the beginning; no, before the beginning. The world needs to know what we did, how it started, and how to prevent this… pandemic in the future.




      If we even have a future.

The End

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