Polin, Eraphalia
October 29th, 2016
A Family of Five
The streets were filled with the staggering figures of the undead, filled with the ruins of buildings, and of blood and bodies. It was a desolate place where one can only hear the shifting movements, of the crude brutal walking, of the dead and their crackling. The survivors run from place to place, creating safehouses and scavenging for parts. Military outposts were popular places as civilians loot for weaponry.
Polin is a far-cry of what it was weeks ago. Along the streets walked a single living soul. The glimmering symbol of the military still stitched proudly, even if battered, to the uniform. Watching every corner for activity, the soldier entered into a house slowly, minding the creaking floor. The tired eyes scanned the hallway as he entered into the household, his right hand gripping tighter on the pistol. It had been a while since he last slept. Sleeping right now is a treasure for anyone as it left them defenseless against what may be lurking. Not even civilians could be trusted.
Shifting slowly through the household, the soldier walked towards the kitchen room. Along the walls he noted of the pictures hanging. A father, a mother, two daughters, and a son. It was a typical family photo with smiling faces that would generally bring joy to people, but he could only grimace. Most likely, all five are dead right now, eaten or turned. The soldier lingered there longer than he should, taking in the picture before he realized the trails of blood.
Tracing the trail of blood, the soldier slowly crept around the corner, his pistol ready. There is something in the house, he could feel it. The surrounding area indicates some struggling, thus it could be assumed civilians were battling an undead. The soldier stopped to a halt as he stared at the door with the blood below leading towards it. Slowly, his hand moved towards the door handle and twisted it. It wasn't locked.
A large stream of light shot forward as the soldier turned on the flashlight attachment to his handgun and opened the door. Even if his mask was on, even if the filter was filtering out the smell, he could sense it. The stench that fills the air, that could bring a man down to his knees puking in disgust. With trembling movements, the soldier entered the room looking for anything. There, the soldier widened his eyes before glaring, his pistol raised and pointed forward.
The tearing of flesh stopped there as a small figure hunched over turned slowly. The soldier noted of the torn arm attached to the undead. Pieces of flesh hanging outwards with what appeared to be wood splinters scattered in the flesh. The crackling of the figure, the bruised face looking at him. He could still see the traces of the young daughter around seven years old. He could see the remaining lines of the face, the innocent smiling of the child.
The creature stood up roughly above its meal and started to shamble towards him. The soldier could only watch in horrified fascination before his eye turned to the remainders of the corpse. Around forty years old from what he could tell of the remainders. The size and physical structure indicated a man, most likely the father of the household. It was clear what happened in this room, especially considering the wreckage in the hallway. The remains of the man's arm indicated the father held onto his daughter... even if what was once his daughter was devouring him.
Ten feet, that was the distance between him and the young girl. In a swift motion, the soldier fired a precise shot and quickly left the room, not even caring to hear the thud of a body. He had to get out of the house. The door was busted open as the soldier stumbled outside. He felt sick and disgusted. Without even looking back or at the dead that began to form on the open street, the soldier ran.