#writetumblr

Day 5: Groton Horde Part I

The naval base had been fairly quiet for two days, too quiet. The installation had felt like a ghost town. But tonight, the silence shattered like glass.

It started as a distant murmur, a low hum of moans and shuffling feet. Then, like a tidal wave, they came, thousands of them pouring in from the city, their eyes locked onto the base.

I heard them from my yacht docked at the rear of the base, then the crackle of a frantic call over the radio: "All personnel to the walls! Immediate engagement!" I ran from my room across the yatch and hopped off the boat. Following a soldier across the tarmac, then through the maze of barricades, I reached the wall where he’d been summoned. What I saw made my blood run cold. The undead pressed forward in a writhing mass. They clawed and bit at anything in their path: metal, concrete, even the rusting cars that had been stacked end to end to reinforce the barriers.

The soldiers around me sprang into action, taking up positions on the scaffolding. Rifles cracked in rapid succession, each shot finding its mark, but for every corpse that dropped, another took its place. The horde never slowed, never hesitated. It was like they didn’t even register the others falling among them.

Beside me, a soldier suddenly turned, his eyes locking onto mine. "Make yourself useful and get that truck!" he barked, pointing to a black F-350 parked about thirty yards away. "Tell anyone in ASP, the big brown warehouse, that we need a LogPac for M27s and 17s, and we need it NOW!"

I didn’t even remember climbing onto the wall, but now my legs felt like lead. I froze.

"Go, motherfucker!" he roared, shoving me toward the edge. "M27 and 17 LogPac!"

I hit the ground running, my loafers hammering the pavement as I sprinted toward the truck. My heart pounded harder than the rifles firing behind me. I reached the door and yanked it open. No key.

Shit. No key. "Fuckin big ass diesel piece of shit. How do i start these things again?"

Before i could remember how to start it, another soldier appeared, vaulting up beside me. He grabbed the doorframe, his presence jolting me. He almost got clocked out. "Flip these," he instructed, rattling off a sequence of switches on the console. The engine roared to life, and he jumped down.

I didn’t wait for further instruction. Slamming the truck into gear, I gunned it toward the warehouse, the undead horde swelling in the rearview mirror.

Day 1: Groton Base

"If anyone is listening, this is Vega Styles. I'm broadcasting from inside the Groton Naval Base. We've been here for about fourteen hours now, and the entire area is a warzone. The base is surrounded by blast barricades, reinforced with hastily assembled Hesco barriers. The officers here believe we can hold, so long as the infected don’t come in overwhelming numbers.

Scattered gunfire echoes through the night. Some teams are using suppressed rifles, though they are trying to conserve ammunition, while others rely on makeshift weapons like long, sharpened rebar that they drive into their skulls. Every kill is deliberate, every effort to stay quiet is crucial. But the infected keep coming.

They're saying this outbreak is tied to the flu-like virus that’s been sweeping across the country, and the world, for the last two months. What little they do know is pretty grim: transmission happens through bites, exposure to infected blood, or bodily fluids entering the mouth or eyes.

I... I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry if I sound scattered. This isn’t just a story anymore.

Listen to me carefully: Do not come to the naval base. No one is being let in. You will be shot on sight. If you are still safe, stay where you are. Barricade every entrance. Block every window. If you believe you’ve been infected, don’t seek help, there is none. Lock yourself inside for the sake of everyone else. Do not spread this more than it already is.

This may be the last time you hear from me for a while. The military is requisitioning all available equipment, including the news chopters we arrived in. Jane, my co-anchor, and I are leaving with them on the next flight out. If we’re lucky, we’ll make it to stations yatch. If we do, we’ll broadcast from there.

Until then, stay inside, stay quiet, stay safe.

This is Vega Styles, signing off."

#connecticut #zombies #apocalypse #zombieapocalypse #writing #writeig #shortstories #ao3writer

Day 0: Broadcast

"I repeat, if you can't make it to a public service building or military installation; stay indoors. Do not open them for anyone or anything. Barricade your doors and windows with whatever you have. Clean and fill your sinks, tubs, and any containers you have with water. Military and Police are working to eradicate the infected but seem to be getting overrun fast. The only way to stop them is to destroy the brain. If a family member or friend is bitten, take matters into your own hands. Do not hesitate. It takes over as fast as it takes the infected blood to reach your brain. They will turn. They will kill you if...

...What? Outside? Well, that's shitty. I can say shitty now, Jane. It's the start of the God damn Apocalypse.

I've gotten news that there is a large crowd of the infected trying to get inside the building because TERRY can't stop PEAKING through the WINDOWS. We are going to take the news chopters and head to the old Groton Naval base the military has recommisioned. If we can't air on tv, we will do it on channel 1470 am radio and cb. Vega Styles for Channel 7, out. MALCOLM, JANE LETS GET THE FU..." *static*

#pandoradark #pandoradarkseries

Oh the strange irony in crawling back onto Tumblr after almost 10 years. To think that of all the communities I've explored on social media platforms here on the internet, that Tumblr is still the one I seek and find comfort in the most?