Hidingremember the darkness. Hiding in the basement with my family when the outbreak began on my home, Titan Station. No one told us what it was, just that it was an organic parasitic mass that was spreading across The Sprawl.
I also remember the fear. Even in our basement, hidden underground, sometimes the terrified screams of our neighbors would be heard. My sister was sobbing, my mom trying to comfort her, while my dad and I kept our shotguns pointed at the door. Anything that came in here would get a shotgun shell to the face. Whatever was out there, we were sure that a shotgun could stop it.
Sometimes we could hear them upstairs, moving through the house, looking for something. Or someone. A crash from dishes being thrown, the sound of heavy footsteps on the wooden floor, inhuman screams from whatever they were.
“It’s the Unitologists,” my dad said, as usual, “They’re behind this.” He was a Christian, an older religion, and so was opposed to the traditional Unitology religion of our time.
We stayed there, in the basement, for days. We slept in shifts, my dad and I. Whoever was awake was always facing the door, ready to blow anything that tried to get in away.
At around three in the morning, my dad awoke to relieve me from my shift. Thanking him, I walked to my corner and placed my head against the carpet. My eyes felt heavy the instant my skin touched the soft material.
As I fell asleep, I remembered. I remembered exactly what happened.
Because I was the only person in my family that had encountered a Necromorph.
I was walking home from school. We lived close, so there was no need to drive. Unfortunately, due to detention, it was almost five in the afternoon by the time I set out. I had been caught riding my hover-board on school property, and I had accidentally bent a pipe I had been using, granting me a month of detention and a fine.
My friend, who had been with me for the incident and detention, walked beside me. We chatted about random things, such as how unfair our punishment was, and the new game system that had been released.
My friend, whose name was James, reached into his bag and pulled out a grav-ball, roughly the shape of the arcane football. “Go long,” he said. I sprinted around thirty yards ahead. James signaled for me to go further. Forty yards, yet he still motioned for me to go further.
Now I was around seventy yards away. “You’ll never make it,” I yelled down to James. “We’ll see, Kyle,” he said, hurling the ball with a mighty throw. It soared through the air, whistling as flew towards me.
I jumped up and caught the grav-ball. Hitting the ground, I held up the ball for James to see. A gloating smirk developed on his face. I ran up to him. “I think that throw deserves a dollar,” he said. I reached into my pocket and fished out a dollar, slapping it into James’ open palm.
“Round two,” I said, “Go long.” “Longer than where you were?” James asked I nodded. “Go down to that alley there,” I said, pointing to an alley, around ninety yards away. “Five bucks says you won’t make it,” James said. “You’re on,” I countered.
James sprinted down fifty yards, then ran twenty, then walked the rest of the way I could see him panting from where I was standing, and I couldn’t help but laugh. It was comical. I hurled the ball with all the strength I could muster. It flew right at James, clearing the distance easily. James leapt up to grab it, yet the ball slid through his fingers and rolled into the alley.