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willey.erd@oundleschool.org.uk

Morning (Fanfic goodness)

By willey.erd@oundleschool.org.uk, in DayZ Mod General Discussion

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willey.erd@oundleschool.org.uk    506

willey.erd@oundleschool.org.uk
Posted (edited)

I got a little bored. Here goes:

A mist hung thick in another dreary morning: the birds, or what remained of them, failed to chirp their songs as they used to. What heralded the dawn now was rather more horrific; a grey, dank dawn, drenched in misery, one that would never be escaped from. The World had ground to a halt.

Suddenly a noise pierced the ominous moan of this new world: too loud, much too loud. It was going to attract attention.

Feet pounded a worn-out pavement as a young man ran, away from his mistake with his rifle, and away from his newfound pursuers. They knew only to feed, these pitiful, feral creatures, victims of their own species' folly, but they had speed, determination and strength. Strength enough to tear their prey to pieces.

His stamina could not outlast his adversaries'. Soon enough, perhaps another mile down the road, he had to slow down. Turning, he did the last thing he could do: he began to fire the rifle again, and again, and again, all the while shaking with fatigue. His shots ricocheted off trees and gravel, flying off into the heavens or mud. The hunters kept coming.

One grabbed his arm, another, his neck. Soon, he was no longer visible beneath the horde.

The morning passed, and with it the fog turned to rain. Chernarus was peaceful once again.

Edited by Ingasmeeg
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willey.erd@oundleschool.org.uk    506

willey.erd@oundleschool.org.uk
Posted (edited)

Another one:

The light blinds me as I awake and, for a second, it seems like everything has returned to the way it used to be. I look over to my partner, who continues to snore peacefully in the shadow of the nearby pine forest; he murmurs things every now and again, trivial things, fragments of dying memories. He seems to be caressing his rifle as he sleeps, occasionally pulling it closer to his body as if it is a lost relation, or perhaps lover. The wound on his thigh seemed to be healing well, and although yesterday's wrappings were already soaked with blood, on inspection it appeared that there was no more oozing out as it had a few days ago. He continued to sleep as I changed the bandages, administering a shot of morphine we had found a couple of weeks ago to ease any pain: we had been shot at by some looters that same day, one of their bullets hitting my comrade and knocking him down. I was forced to carry him here, where we have been living off supplies we gathered before he was injured.

The prick of the injector wakes him. His eyes seem livid with fear for a moment, but seeing that it's only me he shuts them again and lies back. He doesn't enjoy the morphine shots, but without them the pain would be unbearable. I move away and look into one of our backpacks, where we have been keeping food and drink. Through strict rationing, we have managed to live off cans of food like beans and pasta for the last two weeks, and we have been drinking water from the nearby pond, boiled beforehand to avoid infections. I had realised before that sooner or later one or both of us would have to go and find more supplies, and today seemed to be our unlucky day: in the bag I find one more can of sardines. This can would probably last us the day, provided we kept activity to a minimum to avoid unnecessary energy waste. I put the can back and, glancing over at my near unconscious friend, head off into the forest with my axe to collect firewood.

It is now past midday, and the worst of the morphine seems to have worn off on my partner: he is sitting up with me, eating his ration of cooked fish. I have not told him yet that we are out of food. He is still too unwell to walk, and any attempt to scavenge for more food would have to be done by me. Alone. We were near enough to a small town, but the problem was that we had already had run-ins with more looters, who had passed by and sometimes tried to steal our supplies, although up to now I had managed to fend them off. If I left, and more people came to our camp, then my partner would likely not be able to do anything about it; I would be leaving him to potentially die. However, I had not seen any during the night before, so I decide that I will sneak off in the night, when he is asleep. After eating, my friend lays his head down once again and falls into another slumber. I play solitaire to pass the time.

Night falls. He has now been asleep for a few hours, and I decide to leave early. I write a short note, in case he wakes up, and leave the rest of the sardines next to a recently boiled canteen of water. The empty backpack sits loosely on my shoulders, and my rifle is slung to my body as I creep away from the camp. From the other side of the field we reside in, it is barely visible. I can only hope that for the next hour or so no-one passes through.

I immediately notice that something is wrong when I reach the outskirts of the town. A bright red light shines out near to a small, old church. I decide to avoid going near it, as I am near defenseless without someone to watch my back. A few cottages sit along a dirt lane to my right; on my left, there are more houses, and an abandoned medical outpost. It looked rushed, as if whoever had set up there was gone soon after. I jog down the ridge towards one of the cottages, hoping that inside I can find some food, although I am doubtful. Taking care not to attract any attention from the infected, who are shambling around the town, I duck into the first building. Blood covers the walls, and ceiling, and in crimson lettering the word 'RUN' is painted across a white door. I shudder, but continue my search, looking for anything we could eat.

I check the kitchen first, and to my absolute surprise the fridge is fully stocked with all kinds of food: meats, tin cans of fruit, pasta, even some soft drinks. I hurriedly begin stuffing the backpack with all the food and drink I can fit into it, managing to get enough in there for what should last us both around another two weeks. Hopefully, by then, my partner will be mobile again, and we will be able to move to a better spot for scavenging. I thank God for the find and sling the backpack onto my shoulders, heading for the door.

A shrieking siren catches me off my guard, and I fall back in fear. It sounds as if someone in the town has activated some kind of emergency alarm, meaning they're in trouble. I get up and rush outside, seeing that now the town is completely lit up with what seem to be flares. Not a second passes before I start hearing gunshots: I think I can hear some kind of assault rifle, and perhaps an old .303 firing away. I sprint away, the adrenaline building up in my body. I feel myself running faster than ever before, and I begin to pant with all the fear and exertion. Soon enough, I reach the forest near to where we're camped; I can still hear the shooting and know that by now my partner must have been awoken.

I sprint across the open field towards my campsite, and almost collapse with fatigue when I reach it. I immediately look over to my partner, who is lying still on the ground: I am surprised he is not awake. I turn him over, and retch as I see his face. It has been mutilated by numerous bullet wounds, and is almost unrecognisable; his features are nothing more than bloody flesh. There is nothing I can do but leave, as I realise I am no longer safe. Grabbing the bag again, I move as fast as my legs will carry me into the woods.

I keep running until my exhaustion takes hold, and I fall to the ground. I just lay there, staring up at the stars, and I contemplate what my life has become. It is growing cloudy, and I continue to lie still amongst the pine trees; drops of rain begin to trickle through their needles.

I notice that I am bleeding.

Edited by Ingasmeeg
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smore98    225

smore98
Posted

Well Fan-fic has been popping up recently now hasn't it!?

Anyway, fabulous story, friend.

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willey.erd@oundleschool.org.uk    506

willey.erd@oundleschool.org.uk
Posted

Whipped up a sample of a longer piece I'm thinking of writing. I'm not finished with the story of the first day but I hope it'll wet your appetite for more. Please do tell me if you think what I would potentially be spending a lot of hours working on would be a waste of time! :)

Foreword:

I write on these pages to imbue something of myself into immortality. I doubt that I have much time left anymore, and the thought of this will comfort me when I finally give in to the horrors of this tainted land.

If anyone finds this, please, learn from the mistakes that I will make, and if you find it on my corpse, use the equipment I hope to gather to continue the struggle for survival

G.

28th April 2014

Diary:

1st April 2014:

I found this book in a supermarket earlier today, and I plan to document my actions here. Right now, I'm far too tired to write anything of what has happened, but I am safe (as far as I can tell), fed and warm. I can't hear anything, apart from the occasional mosquito whizzing past or the rustle of a bird taking flight.

I'm exhausted. I will write more in the morning.

2nd April 2014:

I woke up about three hours ago with a terrible sense of dread, and coming to inside my newfound tent I noticed that I could hear something wandering around outside. Nothing had been taken from the tent, but I was still too frightened to move; I have already seen what the people of this place will do to one another, and I'm lucky thus far that nothing has happened to me. Quietly grabbing a pistol, I manoeuvred myself up to the tent flaps and peeked out. It was a boar, who seemed to be very interested in the contents of my nearby lavatory dugout. I smiled for the first time in weeks, but was careful not to make too much noise: there still might've been someone around.

I put my shoes on, which were still wet from yesterday, and headed off for a quick scout around my camp. Apart from my crap-eating pig friend, there didn't seem to be any signs of life for a good while. The forest around me stretched miles in every direction, and breathing in the fresh air I noticed how tranquil this place was. Far from what I saw yesterday. I'm not sure how to tell the story, but I will start with the plane.

The Army started to use aeroplanes to evacuate the uninfected populace soon after the virus hit. They said that we were being taken to Siberia, where there were very few people and up to now no signs of the infection. There would be plenty of space for the refugees of the pandemic to set up some kind of base, for the time being. I was put onto one of these flights, leaving everything behind for a second chance; although for me there wasn't much left to leave. I'm not going to go into it here, but perhaps later, when some of the emotion subsides, I will write the tale of that awful day.

The flight was a disaster: poorly organised, overcrowded, stinking of depression and guilt. The soldiers controlling the airport must have made a mistake, as just as soon as we had taken to the air, one of the passengers began to turn. It happened up towards the cockpit, and I could see the carnage unfolding from my aisle seat near the back: amidst the mayhem, some brave soul managed to wrestle the poor victim to the floor. He had been bitten, however. All I could do was watch as innocent lives were torn from these unfortunates in this horrendous bloodbath. The infected began roving up and down the aisles, feasting on the screaming people trapped in their seats; one or two managed to breach the cockpit. Needless to say, the plane plummeted from the sky within an instant. I remember nothing more than falling, floating almost, as if in slow motion. The plane collided with something soon after, although it must have knocked me out cold. How I survived is a mystery to me.

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