Enfermedade de los Cielos

[Archangel]

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is Laura Parks for the NBC Nightly News. Our top story today, the government is cutting funds for military research. How will this affect our lives? More on this later. First we turn to Morgan Albert….”

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“Come on Hilda, come on!” Juan giggled as he pulled her along. The girl giggled as well, and they both began to climb the brand new fence they had found through the woods. The fence was only about 10 days old, and they could see guards manning stations every 100 yards. But they didn’t care. Juan and Hilda both knew that there was something important behind the fence. Or else, why would the Dominican government build a 12-foot high barrier like this?

As they reached the other side of the fence, they heard a rustling in the shrubs and brushes 20 yards away. There was a snuffling sound too, like the sound of dogs. The teens, now a little bit worried, rushed forward, heading further inward until they came to another fence. This one was higher, and had barbed wire across the top. Angled in, though, instead of out….

“Juan, maybe this isn’t a good idea….” Whispered Hilda quietly, and he could feel her shaking. But Juan put on a bluff exterior, trying to impress his girlfriend, and said “Come on Hilda, it’s just a fence. And on the other side is La Enea and Cruce de Jóvina. You know this. You’ve been there a hundred times before, with me. So why don’t you come on, and let’s see why they’re so insistent on blocking this off!” They both spoke in perfect Dominican Spanish, and their dark skin showed them to be native to the country. Still worried, Hilda made her choice, and began to climb the fence. And so did Juan, working his way up and up and up….

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“In other news, the island of Hispaniola, otherwise known as the Dominican Republic and Haiti, has been closed to all visitors. It was said yesterday that the island was to be quarantined, but for unknown reasons. Our insiders hope to… Wait, we’ve just gotten news. It seems the quarantine is NOT in effect, this was simply a rumor spread by unknowns. We’re very sorry for the mistake, folks. Sometimes, we do get bad information, and we apologize for this. Moving on…”

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Juan vaulted over the fence as fast as he could, not caring that the barbed wire bit him hard in the hands and legs. He fell to the ground on the other side, sobbing and panting, and ran towards the outer fence, scrambling up again until he reached the top. He could hear dogs barking as they ran towards his position, but he was already over the fence and going down the other side. Looking off left, he saw lights coming at him from the guard tower some 50 yards away, and he could hear the barking of the dogs as if they were already there. But he didn’t care, he kept climbing, until he finally hit the ground on the other side. Getting up, holding his arm against his chest to staunch the bleeding from the gaping wound along his ribs, he sobbed loudly and ran off into the trees, heading for home. Hilda was nowhere in sight.

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“What do you mean, there’re no flights to Dominican Republic?”

“I’m sorry sir, all flights into and out of the country have been canceled temporarily. We’re sure that service will return soon. We’re very sorry.”

“Sorry? You better be sorry! I paid $500 for those tickets! Me and my family were supposed to be in La Romana in ten hours! What do you mean, canceled temporarily?”

“I’m sorry sir, there’s just no more information at this time. I don’t even know why they did it. They don’t tell things to poor desk clerks like me. So I’m sorry, ok?”

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The doctor and eight family members knelt around his body or stood beside him, some pacing, some just fretting. The doctor did what he could to stitch up the wounds, but they were prodigious, and Juan needed serious help. The doctor was just a local man, this teen needed a hospital, and the nearest one was 35 miles away. He closed up the wound to the chest, and began looking at the various abrasions and bruises along the boys hands and arms. Obviously defense wounds.

The doctor stood up, and took the boy’s mother aside. Looking her straight in the eye, he said quietly, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hernandez, but your son does not look good. He’s lost a lot of blood, and his wounds are…massive. How he made it back here, I don’t know. But…” At this, the doctor felt an itching in his eye, and scratched it briefly, unknowingly exposing the soft mucous membranes of his eye to the boy’s blood. “If you got him to a hospital, he might live. But the nearest one is too far away, and nobody here has a car. I’ve done all I can. Just watch over him, make sure he stays warm, and be careful. We’re not sure what did this to him, but it could still be out there.”

With that, he patted the poor woman on the shoulder, and went back to attending to the boy. The others were around him now, touching him, smearing his blood onto their hands as they tried to help him bear the pain of his many wounds. Of course, this did nothing but get blood onto their hands, but they couldn’t help it. They were poor Dominican workers, they didn’t know any better. As the doctor approached again, Juan kept murmuring softly in Spanish, his eyes closed and his face dotted with perspiration.

“They came…they came for us….They came…Hilda! HILDA! Where are you?…Oh god, the biting, the biting…they bit her, they bit her throat, they killed her! HILDA!….Hilda…hilda…”

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It took one day before it began. It started with Juan. The doctor went next, as did five of Juan’s family members. One by one, they died. Juan died of his wounds within a day. The doctor was hit with a serious case of the flu, which escalated until he was so far gone, dehydrated and flaming with fever, that he died the next day. Members of Juan’s family all got seemingly similar cases of the flu. Terrible cramps, high high fevers, vomiting, diarrhea…which then led to internal bleeding, fluid in the lungs, and dehydration, all resulting in death. These 7 died first. Some who touched the sick ones’ bodily fluids and forgot to clean properly, even excrement and vomit, began contracting flu-like symptoms. Most ran the course of sickness within two days, some longer, some shorter. All died. And also, after 12 hours of Juan’s death…his body disappeared. So did the doctor’s. So did the family members’. Reported attacks from vicious animals in the woods led to more flu-like symptoms, until there was a wide outbreak. It spread from village to village, people dying like flies and their bodies disappearing after 12 hours. More attacks from the woods. More flu. The entire island of Hispaniola felt it, this fever, this sickness.

The airports were all closed. Fishermen who tried to get away on their boats where shot dead in the water by battle cruisers, which seemed to have surrounded the island. They were American and British battle cruisers, and they patrolled endlessly. Not a single boat could get through without them knowing. The sky was full of airplanes and helicopters, but all of them bore the insignia of the American and British military, and none brought supplies. Or even touched down. They simply floated over the island, watching, waiting.

And then, after 14 days of madness, things started to happen. Bodies thought dead of the “Enfermedade de los Cielos”, the “Sickness from the Heavens”, began appearing again, but no longer infirm and still. They walked the Earth once again, their bodies twisted from attacks or wasted from dehydration, and they struck at innocents who had not yet been attacked or in contact with a dying person. People barricaded themselves into their little huts, but that didn’t stop the multitudes of the undead, shuffling along at their uneven pace. And their eyes were white as clouds.

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You are a person trapped on the island. The local media has been shut down. The entire island is under strict guard…nobody leaves. The “Enfermedade de los Cielos”, or just ELC, rages through the island. The undead walk the streets, clamoring for blood and gore, needing to feast. They eat the flesh and drink the blood of the fallen, but always leave enough so that another undead creature may come alive again from the dead body of the fallen one. You have no idea what caused this, what brought it about, or how to kill the undead. You only know one thing: you’ve got to get off this island.

Design a profile if you wish. Or just start RPing. You can start before the outbreak, and continue on from there. I would suggest you be tourists, or at least locals who know the language of the others, or else we could have some interesting language barrier issues in this RP. This is not in the future, this is now, and there are no futuristic weapons. In fact, there are no weapons at all, unless you’re lucky enough to find some or improvise your own. There are no powers in the game, so don’t start going psychic on us. You cannot be a zombie, unless you want to be completely mindless and only feast upon the flesh of the innocent. In other words, there are no “smart” zombies. You will learn more the farther you progress. And there is more to learn. Also, use a map from expedia.com if you need it. Just go to the Maps tab, click Find a Map, and then put in Dominican Republic (the link won't work, or else I'd give it to you). It's a nice map. Or you can find your own. I’ll be referring to it periodically. Consider any of the coastal towns to be resorts or near resorts, and considering everything else to be way below the poverty level.

I’ll start as soon as someone else joins.

[Anna Molly™]

(OOC: Weird how I go to a deceased RP but its cause of...umm...boredom I guess. And also, I likeded the idea. And also...something came to mind...and I had the sickest urge to kill somethin in a story. But I didnt get a map of Hispaniola....not yet *is on a sugar rush* Just until I crash *around 6 am again...an hour before school*, an intro sans a bio...)

She dipped the dirtied wash clothe in the small brown bowl of water. Scrubbing the rag inside the mixture of bleach and dial soap, she was determined to wash away the sweat and vomit sullying the material. Her deep brown eyes clearly expressed her exasperation from the work, the acidic smell of vomit and cleaning supplies in the area almost unbearable. Slowing down, she sighed, overly thankful for the pair of yellow gloves covering her dark tan hands.

A moan echoed out in the small dimly lit room. Maria lowered her gaze to the sickly pale teenager in the room. She rolled her eyes, squeezing out the rag. Quickly dipping it into the cup of ice water juxtaposed the bowl, she crawled over to the young man, wiping his boiling forehead free of moisture. Despite his sickness, she scolded him in near perfect Spanish. “I told you. I told you not to go out but you didn't listen. Had to go to the movies on your little date and now you have the flu...and since Mom is working overtime at the tourist's hospital, you're screwed until a doctor comes...” She gulped, growing nervous once her brother didn't immediately respond. Mierde...please let a doctor come...

“Germo..phobe...gimme...water...” Her brother hacked out. His curly dark hair was plastered to his forehead. A sly grin spread over his lips. Before he could begin fully teasing his sister, he widened his eyes. He coughed horribly, arching his back and finding just enough strength to cover his mouth. Glancing to his palms, he paled at a tinge of pink, a shiver approaching as his vision doubled. He turned his back on his sister. “..go away, Maria.”

Maria paused in crawling over the wooden floor. A hand had already been by the black handle of the silver pot of water. Shrugging, she poured the water inside a small glass cup, HIS small glass cup. She had a water bottle especially for herself in her room. For as long as she new, she had always been afraid of sharing anything, afraid of getting anything, a complete clean freak to some and a total nut to others.

Shuffling back to her brother, Maria gently squeezed his shoulder, slightly confused. “You want water or not?” He wouldn't respond, adding onto Maria's anxieties. She shook his shoulder severely, her brother shaking her off. “Victor...what's wrong? I'll help you drink it this tim-”

“Go away Maria...” Victor said with conviction. He shook her off with his little remaining strength. A sniffle left him to his shame, the eighteen year old curling away from his sister. “...don't catch it.”

“Wai..what?!” Maria shook her head, positive she wasn't hearing her brother right. She dropped the glass. “Victor, what's wro-”

“I have it...I think...it makes sense,” He shifted on the burgundy rug, throwing a light green eye on Maria. A tear streamed down his face, blood trickling down the side of his jaw. “...Enfermedade de los cielos...” Curling up into a fetal position, he muffled his voice. “...go...before you...get...”

Victor trailed off to Maria's complete and unadulterated horror. She held back a scream, scrambling over to her brother's body. Shaking him like a ragdoll, she stopped from her brother's quivering shoulders, the dying boy laughing himself to tears. She sucked her teeth, feeling like a complete idiot while her brother watched her. Narrowing her eyes at her brother's laughter, she gave him the finger. “Jackass...you are a jackass.”

“Maria..” Victor finished his round of laughter, a boyish smile on his face. He extended an arm out to his sister, grasping at air, she out of his reach, his hold. He exhaled, his very breath causing an ache in his drowning lungs. “I'm sorry...I tease you a lot..but you are...pretty some times. You're weird...but I'm glad you were my sister.”

“Yuh huh...sure...” Maria folded her arms over her chest skeptical, turning away to hide her disconcertion. There was something about his statement that had bothered her but it hadn't quiet registered in her pissed off state, not yet.

Victor smiled, a hazy darkness clouding his vision. “I love you...”

It was at his last three words Maria had realized what was wrong with his prior statement. He had uttered it in the past tense, as if Maria was no longer his sister. Or...he was unable to fulfill the position of being her brother. Tearing up, a morbid fear crept over her, the young woman terrified to let her eyes wander away from the porcelain lamp. Eventually finding the inner strength, she reluctantly swung her eyes on Victor, seeing his same beautiful smile, his lively green eyes dull, almost glowing in his death.

For the first time in thirteen tears, Maria shrieked. She screamed inhumanly loud, backing away from her brother’s body in dread. She forced back tears, Maria shaking her head in disbelief. “It's not happening, it can't happen, it's a lie...no!!” She jumped off the ground, forcing her eyes away from the sight. Stomping her barefoot, she smoothed out her boxer's, speaking to herself maniacally. “A lie...a lie...a lie...”

Feeling her hold on reality begin to slip, Maria dashed out of the living room and into the kitchen. She brushed aside the mail, searching her memory for where she put the phone. “Caramba, caramba, cõno, where is IT?!” She shouted in her fear and melancholy. Snapping her fingers, her eyes darted to the far side of the one floor home. “Bathroom!” Instantly, Maria dashed towards the small sparkling bathroom. From the corner of her eye, she caught a twitching movement. She stopped, cringing as she landed her soulful eyes on her brother. You're imagining things, Maria. Get out of it, get the PHONE! Her thoughts screamed.

Continuing her desperate pace, Maria slammed the door, twisting the lock afterwards. She washed her gloved hands in the faucet, an uncontrollable habit. Wiping off her gloves in her forest green boxers, she eyed herself in the mirror. Her wavy jet black hair was a mess, the only thing keeping it in order her scrunchie. She made sure she could control her voice before picking up the phone. Her hands quavered violently, Maria grateful their phone had speed dial. A few seconds passed, a gentlemanly voice soon picking up. Her composure broke. “Doctor, doctor, I called hours ago!! Why didn't you come...?” She gasped, choking on her breath. “Why in the hell aren't you here?!” Closing her eyes, she felt her eyes grow warm, salt water stinging deep brown.

“I can not be everywhere at once, my child.” was the Doctor's response, he calm as the day.

Fuck that, god damn liar! Feeling an anger overwhelm her, Maria hissed into the phone. “Then you should have called, you should have let me know you would not come, you could not help him, you could not-” She drifted off, wincing as the doctor coughed into the phone. A little frightened, she risked speaking. “Doctor...?”

“You do not understand, do you, child? It is everywhere, this sickness...this plague upon humanity. Even I have not been spared. I wanted to come...to help. But what can I do if I can not even help myself? It is hopeless...divine punishment. It is...a hell on earth.”

Her head beginning to pound in bewilderment, Maria drummed her fingers along the faucet. She breathed heavily. “Doctor...I do not understand. Hell on earth...I,” She swallowed hard at the words about to leave her lips. “People die every day; it's the way of life-” A brow quirked at a shuffling outside the door.

“But they do not come...back to life. Bodies do not vanish from morgues then reappear as animated corpses...soulless as the-”

“You're speaking gibberish!” Cut in Maria. She clutched the phone to her ear dearly, whispering critically. “The dead do not come back to life. It is fairy tale. American movies from six years past that just now reach us,” exaggerated Maria.

“Every piece of fiction is based on reality. Something is happening to the dead...the sickness from the heavens kill them...and then they return to the realm of the living. There is nothing I can do...”

“Then what can I do?!” Maria had been in heavy doubt over the doctor's words; a little relieved he had stayed away. All satisfaction faded from the heavy pounding to the weak wooden door of the bathroom. She backed away aghast, positive she'd locked the front door, the windows, knowing it could only be one person, as implausible, as IMPOSSIBLE as it seemed.

Maria backed up, stepping pass the plastic shower curtains and into the deep porcelain tub. Back brushing up against the window, she slapped her hand over the green tiles composing the bathtub. Her eyes stayed fixated on the rumbling door, Maria wondering if the doctor had hung up. “What can I do?!”

The man chuckled lightly into the phone, no humor in his tone. He sighed. “Say your prayers...”

The phone slipped from Maria's hold, the ominous words almost making tears spill forth. Watching the door rumble, she glanced around looking for something, anything. She tried to speak, only a gasp coming out. Feeling about the area, her fingers landed on the bronze window latch. There is a God...there is a god! Her eyes were glued to the door but her fingers worked nimbly, urging the glass window open.

Lifting it, a warm breeze ghosting her back, Maria turned around, squeezing through the small window. She stepped out onto the grass, morning dew still coating it despite it being mid-afternoon. Brings back memories... Maria closed the window stealthily behind her, tiptoeing away from her home. She wasn't even a yard away when a loud shattering of glass was heard. Her head whipped back, the young woman almost falling to her knees at the sight. “Victor...my Victor...dear God...”

Victor had successfully broken down the bathroom door but he seemed to have lost his coordination...and common sense. His head was currently jammed through the glass window, the boy too big to fit. He snapped his teeth, eyes an unholy white.

Maria fleed from the sight, bounding over hill and garden to the house of the only teenager she knew well on the island. Entire body in a sweat, she staggered over the last wooden fence, tripping into the garden. Face buried in the dirt, she sprang up, freaked out. Dirty...great...fucking great! She hurried back to her feet, taking a breather outside the front door of the two story house. Digging her hand into the metal mailbox on the door, she pulled out the spare key, stabbing it into the lock. Twisting frantically, she kicked the door open, bursting into the quaint little home.

Stepping into the house, Maria screamed, speaking impossibly fast. “Anne, Victor was sick then he faked his death and now he's in a violent insane mood, he stuck his head through the bathroom window, you have to go talk to him before he...” Maria stopped talking, her eyes widening. A wave of nausea washed over her, she biting on her arm to muffle a scream.

Anne was crouched down in the center of the room; the beautiful brunette's nails digging into her mother's face. Her mother didn't mind too terribly, she in a huge pool of crimson. The mother's throat was ripped out, bits and pieces of flesh missing from her face and arms. Anne dug her hand through her mother's stomach, ripping tissue and muscle to get to the prize. She lovingly bit into her mother's liver and intestines, fingers wrapping around her heart in an unearthly greed, in her insatiable hunger.

“Ay dios mio…” Maria stood fixed in place, the scene before her too shocking, too big for her to comprehend. All she could do was wrap her gloved hand over her the golden cross around her neck, praying frantically at the spectacle, unable to remove her appalled brown eyes, taken over by a morbid fascination. Wincing each time Anne pulled flesh from her mother’s bones, something in her eyes flickered once Anne stopped.

The young and lovely Anne finished her meal, blood and tiny bits of flesh glued to her chin. She stared up to Maria starved, a crazed dementia painting her glossed white eyes. Getting to her feet, almost surprised at how a victim, how prey, how meal had so easily strolled into her domain, she began on a course to Maria.

Maria’s sense came rushing in in full. She sprinted up the wooden stairs and onto the second floor. Flying to the last room in the hall ie Anne’s room she slammed the door behind her. Surveying the girlie pink room her thoughts ran wild over the last thing Anne had said. Ungrateful little…criticizing ME over my brother’s birthday gift… She rolled her eyes, inspecting the closet first for the incriminating object. Finding nothing, she checked beneath the bed. They both are paranoid…she did not like it…but she’d keep it close.. Finding nothing but darkness and dust beneath the bed, she threw the mattress from the bed in a fit of rage. A brow quirked at her first bit of luck, a long piece of metal resting on the support board. She picked up her brother’s gift.

“And he had the balls to call me weird…” Maria wielded the machete oddly, the weapon foreign in her hands. She scanned the area, finding a small broom in the corner of the room. Grabbing Anne’s jump rope, she tied the machete to the end of the broom, her makeshift final defense prepared. Maria finished the knot to the best of her abilities, just as the door swung open. She raised her bootleg spear shakily, aiming the weapon to her former friend. “Anne…I…God…” Maria felt a heavy wave of despair, knowing what she had seen would terrorize her dreams forever.

Anne moaned sickly, taking a step towards her. Maria raised the weapon, shaking her head as she backed up. “Please…stay back…please…” The young brunette couldn’t hear; Maria’s words utter nonsense. She stepped closer, Maria running out of space. She begged, fighting back tears, tensing her arms as she prepared to lunge the weapon forward. Anne, feet away, bared her teeth, pouncing to Maria. She met only the pointed tip of the machete, Maria closed her eyes as the weapon took the woman in the eye.

Yanking it free from Anne, Maria slid down the window. She held onto her chest, heart racing too fast for comfort. She closed her eyes, Anne seemingly dead. “Ay dios mio, dios mio, dios mio,” Maria leaned her head back, banging her forehead against the wall, wishing someone would take her away. As if to answer her prayers, the heavily bleeding mother of Anne hovered in the doorway. She charged to the resting Maria, she closing her eyes, raising the weapon.

The cut was clean. By a stroke of pure luck, most likely her last bit, the machete sliced the air on a diagonal, cutting through the already torn throat of Anne’s mother. Her head fell from her body, landing sickly to the floor. Maria convulsed, scrambling to her feet. She could no longer fight the urge, emptying her stomach of breakfast, the dinner from the night before, and anything else that might’ve been inside her stomach. The tears had yet to fall.

I’m a murderer…but they are not right. Its impossible…its… Maria didn’t understand, she couldn’t. She raced down the stairs and out into the backyard. Pulling free a white shirt from off the clothesline she put it on, covering up her sports bra. She slid on Anne’s slippers, her weapon….the murder weapon in hand. She’d head to the police station, wherever they were. She’d take her sentence, she’d take asylum time. Because I have to be crazy… What was starting to scare her more than anything was what happened…if she wasn’t crazy at all? “Ay dios mio…” She shook her head, beginning on her walk across town…

[fallen]

ooc: reminds me of res ev, also similar to dr franclins island. looks good, i hope i can get a good post in

ic: jonny was a bulky man, in the past he had been fat, but now he was just bulky, the fat replaced by solid muscle, giving him a figure not too dissimilar to a square, he had just turned eighteen, but looked to be in his mid twenties too anyone who didn't know him, at this moment in time his eyebrows were locked in a powerfully frown, he was trying to slow his heartbeat.

in his deep brown eyes there was alot of fear, the fear came with the knowledge that there was something out there, something killing, probably something to kill him, he hadn't seen it but he had heard the screams.

"The Chupacabra is coming, run for your lives, we are the goats, and he is hear to kill out. He will drink out blood and crunch out." Then there had been a cracking sound, then a great silence. minates later he head a feew screems and rushing footseps then a silence, that made him wish that the people were still screaming.

His lips pursed, trying to dispell the tought, he knew the chupacabra was an old wives tale, "come home early or the chupacabra will get you." But he was certan there was somthing out there.

he was sitting in a hut in near darkness. His fathers rifle lay across his lap, he prayed it was loaded, but he didn't want to risk letting the monster hear him check. so he just sat still praying that it was. By his side was a tree chopping axe, he put it in his pocket, wincing at the rustle it made as he pocketed it and it rubbed against the metirial

Jonny could hear a loud breathing, his face contorted with the effiort of cocking the rifle quietly. He was fairly happy that he hadn't been to loud. But seconds later a wild looking figure crashed through the door. without a thought he fired.

"Click." whent the rifle, and nothing shot out

"Shit." muttered jonny.

"peace" screamed the figure who had just ran through the door. Jonny inspected the man, it was Xzander Colter, and young youth who lived in the village, his small face was contorted, and he was shuddering from the shock of allmost being shot. but jonny could tell that was not all that was wrong, the boys face was mutilated and his clothes had been ripped, his breathing was ragged.

"What happened, is what they said is true is the Chupacabra coming." asked Jonny quietly, barly wispering for fear.

Xzander nodded then passed out.

jonny sighed. He knew that xzander would not survive, but he was too frightened for sadness.

he risked a peak out the door, and was shocked with what he saw. A man sized beased sat still gnawing at a bone with dead flesh dripping from in. He was twisted but looked farly human.

"he lookes twisted but i dobt he is the Chupacabra" thought Jonny.

for a second their eyes met, man and beast then the thing charged with inhuman strength towards Jonny, who quickly ducked into the hut.

The beast entered, scaning the room, and seeing jonny instantly it walked towards it, one eye scanning, looking for a trap, the other stationary, it looked quite badly wounded.

Jonny ripped a pipe of the wall, his face a mask of fear as he faced off the opponent, looking him thing the eye. The thing jumped towards jonny, but he sidesteped easly, the monster hit the wall on the light swich, flooding the room with a blinding white light.

It shreeked, clawing at its eyes."the light, its hurting his wounded eye" thought Jonny, coming up behind the thing, that turned towards him, a look of mercy on its face, but jonny brought the pipe down on the things head. it squelched, but by that time jonny was out the door runing , not bothering to check wether the beast was killed, leaving two dead bodys behind, and his old life, heading to another village, or just the bush, anywere would do.

He hit a thick forested area, and only then did he stop running, panting. he sat down and cryed for xzander, and for the life he had lost, in such a wuick time.

From the depths of his subconsious a voice said nothing is that easy. he pricked his ears, and heared a snuffling sound coming towards him.

"Oh crap." He screamed in anguish. "Why could you not of died." He turned slowly, and the beast was about ten meters away from him.

now he was weaponless, or was he, he remembered the axe, it stuck from his pocket, the head sticking out. he spun it once and then staired with lifless eyes at his opponent, he dobted he had much of a chance. Yet... The beast seemed alot slower now. it was closed now, and didn't seem to be much of a thret, slowly Jonny aproched him, till he was close, then the beast attacked. its fist span
towards jonny. he hit it with the blunt of the axe parrieing.

Now was jonnys chance, he hit out and his blow whent true, hiting the beast on he neck and beheading it, he then used the axe to totaly obliterate it, mashing it to a bloody pulp, befor plunging into a stream, clensing himself and letting the blood fall from him, and his clothes.

ooc: hah take that wrighters block, 7 months on and i wrote this, i think i may of shook it off.

[Archangel]

(OOC: YAY! Peoples joinded! LOL I'm happy, I figured this was dead! Ok, let me make a character)

IC: It was dark in the closet. Chris couldn't see a thing, not even the hand in front of his face. But he could hear things. Like the harsh sound of his breathing, even though he tried to hide it in the tiny little closet. And like the thump, thump, thump of his heart, a pounding in his ears that he couldn't drown out. It actually made the other sounds harder to hear, the scraping, the footsteps, the sounds of small things falling to the floor. The footsteps grew steadily louder as the person making the footsteps got closer and closer to the room where the closet was, moving their slow and cautious way towards the bedroom. Chris stood there, trying to hold his breath and stop his heart from beating, as the steps came closer and closer. He didn't want to be given away. God, he didn't want that! Closer and closer they walked, until finally, he could hear the person right outside the closet door. He held his breath, held it for longer and longer, until he couldn't take it anymore. Then, suddenly, he jumped out of the closet, springing full force forward.

"BOO!" he yelled, as loud as he could. His girlfriend, Karen, almost peed her pants, she was so scared. Guffawing with laughter, he tackled Karen to the ground and started tickling her sides, giggling and laughing.

"Stop it, Chris! Stop it! Oh god, you scared the shit out of me! God! Stop it!" she managed to choke out, between laughing hysterically and hitting her boyfriend on the arm. Then suddenly, he leaned in and kissed her, passionately, on the lips, and her protests were momentarily stopped.

When the kiss was done, he leaned over her, smiling down at her, and quirked an eyebrow over those gorgeous emerald eyes. His curly black hair fell down around his face as he looked down at her. And she looked absolutely radiant, her hair a corona around her head, laying and looking up at him with those beautiful eyes. Then suddenly, she hit his shoulder and struggled up from under him.

"Damn you Chris, I nearly pissed myself, you scared me so bad! God! Don't do that to me!" she said as she struggled up, but she wasn't mad at him. And he knew it too. Pulling a silly puppy dog face, he stood up and looked at her, pretending to be sad.

"Awwwwww, did I scawe po' wittle Kay? I's sowwy! Let me make it up to you!" And with that, he tackled her again, this time pushing her down onto the bed. Trapping her underneath him, he kissed her again, a little more urgently this time, and leaned over to close and lock the door. This would get interesting...

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Overall, Chris thought the vacation was going great. He and his mother and Karen had all come down from Massachusetts together for a week of fun and relaxation on the beaches of Punta Cana. His mom was a very famous lawyer in the state, and so they were never without money. And so, being a widow, she had invited her son and his girlfriend to enjoy the week in the Dominican Republic with her on a much-needed vacation. His mom was so totally cool with him and his girlfriend that she had arranged for them to have their own separate suite together, connected to her suite via a single usually closed door. The suites were lavish and expensive in a place like Punta Cana, but Sharon felt that it was worth every penny, and Chris loved her for that. She was really a sweet mother.

And so, 24 year old Chris and his 18 year old girlfriend spent their days relaxing in the sun, swimming in the crystal clear water, and enjoying the life at the very extravagant resort.

Until one day, one of the waiters at the resort restaurant came to work with a bad case of the flu. It all went downhill from there.

***************************************************

It was 2 am. Chris sat in his mother's room, holding her hand as she vomited violently into a bucket placed at the side of her bed. The resort doctor was supposed to have been to the room by now. Sharon was rapidly losing control of her symptoms. Chris could see that she was burning with fever, her vomit came out specked with splashes of blood, and every breath was ragged and filled with fluid. He held her hand tightly, and then spoke.

"Hold on Mom, I'll be right back."

He walked back into his suite, and went to the bedroom. Karen lay on her bed, a pile of used medicine containers by her head, her body looking pale and dehydrated.

"Karen? How you doing, babe?" he said as he took her hand too.

"I'm fine, baby. Just...feeling a little sickish, that's all. It's probably just what your mom has. Don't worry, I'll get over it." She tried to smile at him, but it was weak, and more like a grimace than anything.

Suddenly, as he bent over the girl, he heard something from his mother's room. A crash, a horrible, wet-sounding cough, and a small cry, and then silence. Letting go of Karen's hand, he turned and raced back to his mother's bedroom. What he found there shocked him very, very badly.

"Hey! What are you doing in here? Are you the doctor? Who let you in?" he gasped, staring at the figure as it leaned over his mother's bedside. Her figure was mostly covered in shadow by the newcomer's body, but Chris heard strange sounds coming from the bed. Wet, popping sounds, and tearing...and there was a coppery smell on the air that overlaid the smell of vomit.

He ran up to the stooping figure, and put his hand on its shoulder. Suddenly, the person, the creature turned around violently, throwing Chris backwards a step or two. Shock hit him like a freight train. It was a resort employee, but his shirt was torn and bloody, his pants ripped and dirty. He had a huge gouge missing from the left side of his chest, of a size that wasn't possible on a living man. And his eyes...they were a cloudy, misty white, staring straight at Chris with malevolence and hunger. The thing was dripping blood down its chin, and Chris looked quickly down to see his mother, her eyes closed, her intestines spilled out onto the bed and her body ripped open, mauled. Eaten. Suddenly, with a sickening, unholy scream that scared Chris half to death, the thing in front of him lurched forward, trying to grab his shirt.

Chris screamed loud and long, stumbling backwards, almost falling. He lurched back towards his room, and the thing with the white eyes followed him, its steps stumbling and shuffling because it had a severely mangled left foot. Chris ran, ran for his very life, and finally reached his suite. Jumping inside, he quickly closed the door on his side and locked it, as securely as he could. He could hear the thing shuffling closer and closer, moving towards the door, and it screamed another inhuman scream as it came.

Chris ran into the other room, where Karen lay in bed, head up, asking him what was wrong, why was he running? Without saying a word, Chris ran to the girl, picked her up, and began to carry her. He ran out into the hall, running by his mother's room and hoping, praying, that the thing in there wasn't smart enough to come back through the door it had crashed through to get in. Holding Karen in his arms, disregarding her increasingly strident cries of why he was doing this and what was wrong, he ran down the hallway, down the stairs, and out the front door without seeing another soul.

Running out the door, he moved as fast as he could to the rental car, praying that he had his keys in his pocket. He did. Pushing the sick girl into the passenger seat, then hopping into the driver's side, he started the car, slammed it in reverse, and backed out as fast as he could into the main road. It took him 3 minutes to get to the gate to outside of the resort, the gate that led into the formal Dominican Republic, and he didn't see anything else as he drove. Explaining what he could in gasping, frightened breaths to Karen, who looked at him with shock and disbelief, he neared the gate and, instead of slowing down, he accelerated. Slamming into the gate at 40 miles an hour, he crashed through it, denting the car and causing a small crack to run down the windshield as he drove. The guard at the gate, who was manning his post even though he was starting to feel a bit of a head cold coming on, stumbled out of the gatepost and yelled at them. But the two of them drove on, into the night, hoping and praying that this wasn't a widespread thing, but knowing that it couldn't be anything but widespread.

OOC: Eh, could have been better, but I have to get to bed. Anyone else wants to join, go right ahead!

[Anna Molly™]

(OOC: I jus couldn’t keep my ‘effin self away ^_^!!!! Yah, decided though my writin isn’t exactly…umm…up to par nowadays, I wanted to get something out <.<’’ Plus I miss teh zombies and the killin >.>…what?!)

Maria ambled over the crisp cut country side, body drenched in sweat from fear and anxiety. Her hair was partially slicked back, the remaining loose strands sticking to her neck and back. The white shirt she’d borrowed from Anne’s backyard clung to her back, slippers close to easing off her feet. Maria always looked forward, never glancing back, heart racing constantly from the overwhelming stench in the air, the acidic smell of vomit and death drenching the once clean air.

What is going on…? The young woman shook her head, forcing away her bemusement and fright. The hilly setting started to clear, hints of countless trees visible; a wooden area of Hispaniola. Tightening her grip over the argentine machete, Maria dashed into the gloomy setting of the forest. The blood stained bark of innumerable trees became a blur as she sped up her pace, something contemptuous about the forest, an ill augury about the atmosphere. Her chest tightened, head beginning to pound, breathing becoming an arduous effort. The muscles in her legs aflame, Maria closed her eyes, fighting the pain as she pushed onwards to the police station. Get to cops, receive asylum time, get to cops, receive asylum time, get to-

Her thoughts of shockingly enough, encouragement, were cut off by a shrill shriek in the air. Maria skidded to a stop, the abrupt halt in her speed run making her lose momentum. She tumbled onto her knees, tempted to exhale from the relief of the damp forest floor on her burning skin. The only thing keeping in her pleasured sigh was the realization that another person occupied the forest. Maria scrutinized the area, eyes eventually landing on an isolated hut in the distance. It may as well be a million miles away… Maria held an extreme amount of doubt she could move, let alone run over to the hut to investigate. Letting down her guard, she rested her hands in the grass, a warm breeze petting her sweaty forehead. Her sense of paranoia rising, Maria raised her head, startled by the sight before her.

A woman had burst forth from the hut, clothes covered in blood, face sullied in dirt and tears. She appeared extremely hysterical, head whipping about desperately in all directions. Suddenly, two figures jumped through the windows, completely unconscious of the fact they’d leapt through glass. The two creatures dashed to the helpless woman, attacking her from both sides. She fought viciously, scratching, screaming, the sickening aroma of sticky crimson decorating the proximity, the infected men beginning to overpower her. The men beginning to maul her, the woman stumbled to the ground, searching desperately for a savior. Her tear filled eyes caught Maria’s; the two women sharing a momentous stare. The victim shattered the chilling moment, shouting. “HELP ME, PLEASE, PLEASE!!!!”

Maria instantly pressed her back against the tree, hiding herself from the two creatures and the powerless woman. She winced hearing the woman’s cries grow persistent, tears stinging Maria’s eyes, her hold increasing over the machete. Maria got to her feet, legs wobbling violently beneath her. Clutching her cross for support, she closed her eyes tightly. Forgive me, forgive me… Maria fought back a sob, running aimlessly away from the scene, determined to escape, determined to survive. If she had dashed to aid the woman, her nerves and fatigue would’ve worked against her, giving way to two dead women instead of one. Forgive me, forgive me! She wrapped her arm over her mouth to muffle her sobs, vision a foggy mess in her sorrowful tears.

Out of the forest, Maria started up a hill, tripping over a depression in the earth. She fell to the ground exhausted, face twisting up in her profound melancholy. Tears slid down her cheeks from the loss of her brother, the loss of her friend, the life she couldn’t save and the very harsh reality, the terrifying conclusion she’d reached. It wasn’t Maria that had gone insane but instead, the small island of Hispaniola. Its fucked…it’s all fucked…I’M fucked… She buried her forehead into the soil, disregarding the fact she was dirtying herself, unsure of what to do, whether to continue on or wait for death.

Three silent minutes passed her by, Maria questioning her gall and options. Sniffling, she found the energy to stand, tears trailing down her cheeks. She wiped away the pristine droplets in her shirt, refusing to cry past that point. You’re better than that…I’m better than that dammit! Willing away her emotions, Maria nibbled on her lower lip, dragging her feet towards the police precinct. At this point in time, all she could do was pray for the best.

…And expect the worst.

(OOC:…to be continued o.O)

[Archangel]

(And so it begins. Again. For the third time. >.>)

The car ripped through the little roads that wound between villages, going 50 on roads that were meant for 15, flying past trees and houses and other cars. There were no people on the roads, not yet, but that wouldn't have stopped Chris anyways. He needed to find a police station, or whatever passed for a police station on this primitive little island. If he couldn't find that, he needed to find some place public, like a shopping mall or a town hall, where he would find people. His mind obviously wasn't working right; there were no shopping malls in the Dominican Republic, at least, not on the poor side of the resort fences. No, there were only shacks, and jungle, and more shacks, and ruddy little streets that flew by.

"Kay? Baby? How you doing, hon?" He asked tremulously of his passenger, who seemed to be asleep. She tossed and turned in her "sleep", her body becoming feverish, her skin becoming pale. He didn't know what was wrong with her. Maybe it was shock, running away from his mother like that. Hell, HE should be in shock! He'd just seen his mother's corpse eaten by a...by a...he didn't know, but whatever it was, it had looked like a dead corpse. But how could dead corpses walk? This wasn't a horror movie or a Resident Evil game. This was real life, damn it! Shit like this didn't happen in real life!

He roared around another corner, skidding slightly to the side, and noticed that the tank was almost empty. His mother must have forgotten to fill it since before she got sick. Great. Just...fucking...great. He stayed on the main roads, hoping to find a place where he could stop and ask directions, but had found nothing and nobody. He just didn't know what to do... Maybe, at the next little town, he could....

Without finishing his thought, Chris was violently thrown forward, his chest crashing against the seat belt. He saw Kay go flying out of the corner of his eye, because her body had been limp and yielding. The car crumpled as it made contact with a truck, sitting abandoned on the road. He had hit the back of the truck going at least 45, and now there was almost nothing left of his car. Thankfully, he was still alive. He groaned, looking around, trying to get his bearings. And Kay! Where was Kay? Oh god, oh god!

He managed to unbuckle his seat belt, then turned, and looked. But there Kay was... bent over her own knees, her head under the dashboard, her hands touching the floor. Kicking out his door, he stumbled up, and almost fell as he felt his knee give way under his weight. But, he pushed hard, reached the other side of the car, and managed to pull open Kay's door.

"Kay! Baby! Are you alright? Come on, hon, come on....we gotta....get out of here...." As he spoke, he pulled Kay from the wreckage of the rental car, her body limp as a wet noodle. He picked her up, but she did not seem to respond. There was a cut on her forehead, not deep, but bleeding well. He gasped, in terror, and laid her down on the ground.

"KAY!? KAY!?!" He leaned in, and touched her nose, trying to establish that she was breathing....

And she was.

Heaving a sigh of relief, the droplets of sweat on his forehead dripping down and stinging his eyes, he suddenly burst into tears. Crying, bawling like a baby, he cradled Kay in his arms as she shallowly breathed, and he felt how hot and feverish she was. He cried and cried, cried in relief, cried in fear, cried in regret. How could this vacation have gone so wrong? Where was his mother? Why did this have to happen? He cried and cried, his tears mingling with Kay's blood on his t-shirt, and didn't stop for a long long time.

Finally, though, he was all cried-out. He groaned, his breath hitching in his chest, and stood up, cradling Kay. He lifted her off the ground and held her limp form in his arms. He had to find a hospital. Or something. Something had to be nearby, somebody who could help, somebody who could tell him what was wrong with Kay. There had to be somebody. He stumbled off down the road, heading forward instead of backwards, hoping and praying there was something there......

(OOC: Blech! Yucky. But hey, it's late. Goodnight!)