Feral Diaries Entry 7 - Vanilla #26 , Chocolate #7 , Strawberry #16

Aug 06, 2013 14:39

Author: Nicole_n
Title: Entry 7
Rating: 15 (due to gore and violence)
Challenge/Extras: Vanilla #26 (anniversary/memorial), Chocolate #7 (regret), Strawberry #16 (candle)
Word Count: 1,580
Story Arc: Feral Diaries
Summary: Things go from bad to worse as a memorial service turns into a bloodbath and Sergeant Twitchy reveals that he might not be as bad as Hannah thought. Things finally begin to hit home for her.
AN: This is the first, totally unedited version of my current Work In Progress. Book One is totally finished but I'm still in the process of editing it. I would very much appreciate constructive criticism on this piece and all pieces that are part of this series. I do plan to publish this eventually but it will be probably be very different to how it is now. The rating for this series will possibly get higher in later entries, simply due to violence and gore described.

Entry 7
The other day there was a memorial service for all the people hurt, killed or turned due to the vaccine. It was the most horrible night of my life so far.

It was held in the church and a lot of the town was there. We’ve been hit harder than we realised. Almost everyone there had lost a friend or family member to the Ferals or to the Vaccine. Many have lost more than one. We went because although Uncle Mark hadn’t turned yet, or dropped dead like so many of the others, there was still the worry that he would at any moment. The fact he’d lasted so long was a little reassuring that maybe his vaccine hadn’t been tainted like so many of the others. Oh how wrong we were.

It was towards the end of the ceremony, as the mayor stood up to say a few words that it happened.

“We ask that everyone take care when returning home and follow the instructions of the upstanding soldiers sent to aid us in this difficult time”

Mayor Nelson stopped speaking as a loud banging sound filled the church. It came from the back doors. We could hear banging and shouting. A bunch of growling came out too and people started screaming and murmuring, clinging tightly to each other. Everyone had questions.

“What’s going on?”
“Are the Ferals in the village?”
“Are we under attack?”
“What’s happening?”

Finally the doors flew open and one of the soldiers standing guard came staggering in. He was covered in blood and his uniform was torn. He took a few steps down the aisle, a grotesque parody of the bridal march, panting heavily, pain tinging his voice and twisting his features. With one last harsh wheezing breath he collapsed in a sprawling heap, his gun clattering to one side. His last breath whooshed out of him, his body went limp and a horrible stench filled the air as his muscles relaxed and his bowels released. Blood slowly leaked out of his body, forming a puddle across the floor of the church.

A scream came from the doorway and the people turned as one to see what had caused it, those at the very front of the church standing up to see. It was the other poor guard. He lay across the threshold of the doorway, hands flying out and his face contorted in pain. His face was splattered with blood. Blood was also leaking from the side of his mouth, like a baby drooling only so much more horrifying. His eyes flew open, locked with those of the mayor. They were so filled with pain and defeat, the kind of eyes that will haunt me for many years. He screamed one last time and the life bled out of his eyes.

That wasn’t the worst part though. My uncle was bent over the soldier’s body, clawing and ripping at him with his teeth and hands. It seems that he’d been hiding how far along he was because as I watched him tear at that poor man I realised he was fully turned. He’d been hiding it from us all. People turned away but they turned back as my aunt called out.

“Mark?!” she shouted. Everyone started muttering. Aunt Ellie sat down slowly, tears running down her face. “Oh Mark, why didn’t you say something?”

I’ve known Uncle Mark all of my life and he’s never been violent. I’ve barely ever heard him raise his voice. As I watched him tearing off that boy’s flesh I realised that I wasn’t looking at Mark anymore. Not the Mark that played imaginary tea parties with me or helped Dad teach me to ride a bike. No, that Mark was gone. In his place was a savage, bloody thirsty … creature. A being that was like a werewolf from the films whose only wish is to tear out the throats of all those he once held dear.

As my aunt’s voice reached Uncle Mark’s ears he looked up, blood running from his mouth and flesh sticking out from his teeth. His eyes widened and then narrowed as his sights settled on Aunt Ellie. With a vicious snarl he leapt to his feet and shot towards her, leaping over the two bodies in his way. I don’t know if there were some vestiges of memory in his mind that made him seek out the woman he once loved or it was simply because Ellie caught his attention but he ignored everyone else and sprinted towards her. People screamed and leapt out of the way as he pounced at Ellie and bit into the soft flesh of her throat. People screamed more as her blood spurted out, covering some of the people who hadn’t been able to move away quick enough. Tghere was a mad scrambling as people rushed to get away. Children were picked up by their parents. Teenagers were shoved against pews and the walls. I got a fist in the jaw as someone hit out in their panic to get away. Almost done with my Aunt Ellie, her body losing its appeal as her breath gurgled out of the gaping hole in her throat, Mark, or rather Feral Mark, looked around and pounced on old Mrs. Davison, dragging her to the ground. Her grandson tried to pull him off but was rewarded with only a pair of scratches across his cheek and nose, and blood spat in his face.

Suddenly shots rang out in the church and everyone dropped to the ground, the few weeks of panic and violence having honed their instincts already. People cried and whimpered as they tried to burrow in the floor. I peeked up, over the edge of a pew.

It was Sergeant Twitchy and a unit of soldiers. He seemed to be accompanied by his superior who was directing the soldier to surround Uncle Mark, weapons at the ready. It looked like they’d been through a fight just to reach the church, their clothes splattered with blood and gore already.

“Wait for my mark,” the officer said, quietly so that he didn’t attract Mark’s attention. The men raised their guns and set their barrel sights on Mark. “Ready… Aim… Fire!”

The guns fired out. Banging and roaring filled the air, the acrid stench of gun powder filled the air and my nose. Bullts bit into Mark’s body, sending him flying across the church and covering the walls and people in his blood.

“Good work men,” the officer called “Let’s clear this mess up,”

The soldiers moved quickly, summoning people in Hazmat suits who rapidly bundled Uncle Mark’s mutated body into a body bag and carried him away. The soldiers meanwhile were ushering people out, sending some to medics for their injuries. People were crying, wailing, making so much noise. I just sat there, staring at the spot where Uncle Mark had fallen, tears falling down my cheeks. Everyone must have been ushered out because when I felt a hand on my shoulder I saw no one else. I looked up into the face of Sergeant Twitchy, sorry, Sergeant James Dunworth’s face. He looked concerned and worried, his hand resting almost casually on his side arm.

“Were you bitten Ma’am? Hurt?” he asked, his voice lower so as not to attract the attention of the cleaning crew who were walking in.

“N…No.” I said quietly. He pulled me to my feet and kept his arm around my waist when my knees threatened to give out.

“Why are you still here? Everyone left,” James asked me. I shook my head again.

“He… he was my uncle,” I said quietly as he led me out of the church “We thought he was ok.”

“I’m sorry,” Sergeant James said quietly. He looked uncomfortably, shuffling awkwardly beside me after he sat me down in the back of a truck.

“We should have known he wasn’t ok,” I said, my voice cracking and tears starting again “We should have guessed. Oh God.”

I don’t remember much after that, breaking down in tears. I think he may have sat besides me. I remember warm arms around me, rough material on my face, cold metal against my side.

I wish we’d noticed sooner. It would have saved so many lives and so much heartache. Uncle Mark wouldn’t have had to become that monster, something could have been done to help him, to stop him giving into the rage and the vaccine. We’re all full of regret now days. Every single townsperson. The army have put a ban on large gatherings now. We have no way of getting together to remember those people struck down by Uncle Mark and the other Ferals, those struck down by the vaccine. We’re remembering now though, lighting candles in the windows to remember those we’ve lost. I have 3 burning in the window of my room. One for Mark, one for Ellie and one for Malcolm. He may not be dead but he’s not with me anymore.

He’s locked away in one of those Facilities. Forced there by his work and Lykoi Corporations. Those bastards who’ve caused all of this.
We still don’t know what happened to make Uncle Mark fully turn. We probably never will. If the military know they’re not saying anything. All we do know is that for tonight, Dungrove is lit up by the light of a thousand candles. One for every death.

What a waste.

[challenge] chocolate, [challenge] strawberry, [challenge] vanilla

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