He felt his fear long before he had a name for it. He had always been nearly empty in the phobia department. A traumatic childhood was not the cause of this, like one may expect. Birth was all it took to drain him of that key emotion, though he had been left a near empty barrel with a steady drip. There was one prominent thing that never failed to make his mouth dry and his heart viciously attempting to destroy its bone cage.
A firm hand abruptly dragged him from his slumber. His heavy eyelids lifted, allowing his gaze to scan the dead room. A wave of nausea surged up his throat. All of his depleted strength was needed to keep from hurling on his own lap. His brain pulsated, guiding his ...view middle of the document...
They became zombie-like, in a sense. They appeared normal for some time after they were bitten. As time progressed, they turned into a disgusting mess that only thirsted for blood. Sometimes, they would group together and have families of sorts, living within abandoned buildings. They only time it was safe to enter the cities by that point was with a weapon and a sharp wit. If not, you would be brutally murdered and nothing could save you. So how exactly did his parents believe he was better off there?
Questions were not to be asked at that point. He shredded the paper and let the wind carry it away. He knew then that he never wanted to see the faces of those that had given him life ever again. His concern then was making it out of the city alive. Surely he would find something to aid him somewhere. He gnawed his lip and made his way down the dim stairwell, the boards groaning in protest beneath his feet. He peeked into each room he passed, hoping to find something of use to him. His stomach shouted, begging for sustenance, though his brain tried to remind it that there was no food in sight.
Jaxx hurried out into the vacant city streets, hoping for some form of life to appear around the corner, preferably not one of the diseased. Though at that point, he would have been more than willing to give up and hand himself over to the starved creatures. A distant cough traveled between the buildings, caressing his ear. The first sign on life aside from the squeaks of rats. Tossing his parents' warning, he bolted down the road toward the well-lit intersection. Before he could speak, he was whipped around and a blade rested against his throat.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” The voice was rough in his ear as the metal pressed a little harder to his windpipe.
Panic sparked in his brain as he fought for the words. There was no use in hiding his identity...