*Warning: This series contains profane language. Read at your own risk.*
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Fuckin' hell my foot hurts.... This thought rushes into my head as I limp through the snowy outskirts of Motor City. Not the best place in the world fer me to be, but I s'pose it could be worse. I glance over my shoulder at the fallen buildings that I somehow managed to escape from. Could be buried there. I turn back toward the ominous shadow that is Detroit, looking for anything that could serve as shelter for the night. Something to the left catches my eye. An old gas station. Perfect. I turn towards it and limp forward, readying my revolver as I do so. Might be outta ammo, but nobody needs t'know that 'cept me.
After a quick scan of the building's perimeter, I try the front door. To my surprise it opens with relative ease. I step inside the old building and immediately find something heavy to bar the door with. Don't want nothin' gettin' in here... I turn to survey the place and I feel a small knot form in my stomach. Someone's been here, and not too long ago. The shelves are all pushed up against the windows so nobody can look inside. A small bedroll sits in a corner with a rucksack next to it. I spot a door leading into the gas station's back room. Gotta keep an eye on that. With my eyes trained on the old metal door I start scuttling over to the rucksack. Got no ammo, lady luck be with me now. I kneel down beside it, pain shooting through my leg as I do so, and flip open the top. Food scraps. Not much, but enough to keep my alive for a few more days. Still, I don't find what I'm looking for. No ammo, shit.
I turn away from the rucksack and move toward the second door. I get ready to push on the handle, but stop myself at the last second. If there's somethin' back here, I got nothin' to fight it with. Fuck it. I turn away and look for something to bar the door with. I spot a broken chair nearby and wedge it snugly between the door's handles. Nothin' should get outta there now. I turn around, but I hear something move on the other side of the door. Relax, yer just tired. Get some rest. I move away from the door and kneel beside the bedroll. Be a shame not to use this. I take off my duster and hat and lay them both down. Another sound comes from behind the door. Sounds like someone squishin' a bug. I look back at the door, confident that nothing should be able to get through it any time soon. I need to sleep. I crawl into the bedroll and pull my duster overtop of me. Should keep me warm. I pick up my hat and lay it over my eyes. Sleep comes quickly.
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I shoot awake only what seems like seconds later. The fuck is that?! Screaming? No. Shrieking. Someone's shrieking in the back room. Fuck. I scramble out of the bedroll, my hat falling onto the floor as I do. I look around frantically trying to find something, anything, to fight with. I spot a cracked piece of metal hanging from one of the old shelves. I hurriedly limp over and pull it free. It takes a few bends, but I'm quickly able to fashion it into a makeshift knife. More shrieking. What the fuck is that. Don't sound human to me. I limp toward the door and ready my makeshift knife. Now or never. I pull the chair from the door and push it open. What the fuck?!
A woman....well, what used to be a woman, is standing about fifteen feet away from me. Somethin' ain't right. What the fuck is wrong with her, and what's on her fuckin' face? Her skin is a pallid grey color and some kind of brown liquid is covering the sides of her face. The same liquid covers her hands, but that's not what I'm focused on. There's a gun strapped to her waist. She turns toward me and breaks into a sprint. Motherfu... She dives towards me, tackling me to the ground. I stab her in the stomach, but she doesn't even flinch. She tries to bite me, but I'm able to push her away. She lunges for me again. I swing the knife at her face, aiming for her cheek. Fuck, she HAS NO cheek. What the fuck happened? She steps forward just as I slash at her throat, and she doesn't even seem to take notice when her throat is slashed. A sickly brown-colored liquid pumps out of the gaping hole in her throat, but she just keeps getting closer. She makes one final lunge towards me, but I evade it with a quick sidestep. She falls to the ground. Not gettin' up now I reckon.
I step backwards just in case she tries to get up, but I see no signs of movement. She....it....is dead, no doubt about it. I kneel down to examine her and an all-too-familiar pain shoots through my leg. Fuck, I need'ta find a stimpak. I push through the pain and flip the creature onto its back to give it a look. What the hell happened to her? The first thing I see is her face. Her cheeks are gone. Looks like she tore'em out herself. Shit.... Why? Her face is covered in a sickly brownish-red colored liquid that I assume is her blood. I glance down at her hands just to confirm my suspicion. I'm definitely right. Chunks of greyish flesh and whisps of hair hang from her hands. That explains the shriekin'.... Looks like she tore summuv her hair out too... Something else is wrong with her face, but I can't place it.
My eyes move to the gun at her waist. .44 Magn'm. Looks like it's in better shape than mine. I carefully reach down to pull it from its holster, but stop for a moment as my hand touches the corpse. Cold as ice, but only dead for a few minutes. Strange..... I shake off the thought and pull the gun free, then check the clip. Full. Six shots. Good, I needed these. I pocket the weapon, then look over the body one more time.
Somethin' still ain't right.... My eyes glance over her one more time. Her body is covered in old scars. Must've been a hell of a surviver... What remains of her clothes are bloodied and spattered with chunks of flesh, most likely from her cheeks. A circular tattoo peeks out from beneath the shredded shirt she has on, but it's too dark for me to make out. What am I missing... Ah hell, it doesn't matter now.... "She's dead." I mutter. I start to turn away, but then I realize what it is. It unnerves me, and I walk back out into the main part of the gas station. Her eyes were completely black. No color, no whites, just black.
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As I step out into the main room, I still feel the cold dead stare of those all-black eyes. I re-bar the door. I try to lie to myself and say that it's not out of fear, but I can't. My hands are shaking. Those eyes... they ain't human no more.... I limp over to the bedroll and sit down. Before I crawl inside of it I take a loot at my ankle. It looks bad, really bad. It's swollen and almost black in color. Like the eyes... I shake the thought out of my head. In the morning I'll dress this ankle, hopefully that helps.
I crawl into the bedroll and take the newer magnum out of my pocket. Better keep this close t'night... I lay the hat over my face in hopes that it'll help me sleep. So much happened here in such a short time, I really could use the rest. I take a deep breath to try to calm my nerves, and then I close my eyes. Gazing back at me from the insides of my eyelids are those cold, lifeless black eyes. I jolt upright.
"So much fer that..."
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