Nightly Log

[Vecilea]

Spoiler: Theme

Night 1:​

Howard stood on the edge of the rooftop, his body ached as pain pulsed from his fractured calf bone as well as the two bullet wounds still healing in his leg and chest. They struggled to catch their breath as they watched the city below them descend into chaos, fire and screams could be seen and heard in every direction. An exhausted sigh slipped from their lips while he reached into his coat for a familiar cancer producing product and pulling loose a single cigarette to bring to his lips and sparking it up a heartbeat later.

His good leg bounced as he thought to himself about the predicament unfolding before his eyes, his first plan of action was left by the wayside when he lost his truck. Yet he was lucky enough for Aria to grab his medical kit before escaping the QZ, at least not everything inside was lost. He reached for the Kevlar strap of the duffle bag that was slung across his chest, hooking the fabric under his thumbs fingernail as he traced it down his chest and stopping where his heart was. The fabric was let go of with a satisfying 'pop' as his hand moved underneath his jacket and rested on the cold steel grip of his pistol. His index finger absent mindedly ran along its length, feeling the cold steel turn into a lukewarm as it approached the barrels end.

His mind recalled several key moments this evening. Images flashed one after another, muzzle flashes, blood splattering, heads cracking open violently. Screaming of both the infected and non infected alike still echoed in his head, he wasn't to unfamiliar with the sight of blood and the sounds of death but something like this was new to this grizzled veteran. He let go of the pistol and instead hooked his fingers around the leather strap of his shotguns sling and tugging on it to feel the weight of the shotgun be toyed with on his back. Another memory, another deafening blast of the shotgun, another splatter of blood and bone across his face and hands.

His gaze drifted from the burning horizon to the rooftop behind him. Tired eyes moved from silhouette to silhouette, a few cops, a single national guardsmen, and about two dozen citizens in various physical and mental states. All of them armed in one way or another which made Howard feel slightly more optimistic about their chances. He cleared his throat before exhaling a large cloud of smoke from his lips and quietly walked across the rooftop of sleeping or resting souls. Twenty yards of quiet walking later he was on the opposite side of the warehouse, peering over the ledge to the ground below. Nothing waited at the bottom of the ladder for them, they moved to north side of the building and looked down at the small parking lot of the warehouse. Blocked off with a box truck they found inside, yet again, no signs of the infected. The process was repeated again and again for several hours as Howard remained vigilant. Resigning himself to getting next to no rest this evening he opted to find a nice little corner to sit try and rest in. Eyelids grew heavy rapidly as he sat down, he pulled tight the strap on his medical equipment, then his shotgun, then finally rested his hand on the pistol inside the shoulder holster. Only when he was sure his grip ironclad as he slowly fell asleep.

 

[Vecilea]

Spoiler: Theme

Night 2:​

The air was cold this late into the night, most of the fires in the city burned out hours ago leaving only a heavy and thick fog of poison that hung low to the ground. He looked down from his little perch, this time from the highway instead of the rooftop of the warehouse. A pile of mangled corpses visible below, revealing themselves to him between small little openings in the fog. He felt himself lost as he stared into them. His eyes pulled away as a sudden gargled groan danced into his ears. His neck craned back to the length of the highway, a lone freak shambled slowly towards him, twitching erratically as it hugged itself.

The freak still wore what it did in life, a casual looking T-shirt and some shin length khakis. Howard watched it shamble closer and closer, no more than twenty yards now. Its hair matted in blood and god knows what else, clashing with its natural shade of blonde. Slowly, his knife was drawn from its sheathe underneath his left wrist, spinning idly in his right hand as he let it get closer. He couldn't help but to think about the freak, who were they? Why were they here of all places? They looked to probably be in their late twenties, were they a college student? A career woman?

Fifteen yards, the freak finally seemed to notice him, she screamed at him as her fingers dug into her skin. Blood gushed out of her freshly inflicted wounds, black and thick. Howard took in a deep breath, raising his arms slightly as the knife stopped spinning, his grip tightened while the leather gloves he wore squeaked in protest. It wouldn't stop shrieking as it launched itself forwards, one arm after another thrashed wildly and blindly as fifteen yards became ten, then five, three, two...

It's arms hit Howards first, jagged and broken nail snapped and tried to sink into his arm, his thick leather jacket preventing any injuries from occurring. His arm buckled and twisted as the rest of the freaks weight slammed into him. Slobber and froth splattered against his cheeks and chest, its jaws snapping and grinding loudly while trying to find any purchase. He struggled more than he'd ever admit but what was once this small woman couldn't fully overpower him, doubly so given he had time to prepare. Its claws and hands beat and tore at anything in reach as Howards left hand grabbed her left shoulder to effectively pin its head in place to avoid being bit.

He watched the display of ferocity, anger, and unfiltered malice. What was her name? Did she have any family here? Did she get sick all alone or did she have the bitter sweet curse of dying with loved ones? What was her favorite color? Her favorite meal? Song? Book? Did she dance or play sports? Did she have a partner? Had she ever had one?

Howard growled back at the freak as she pushed him further and further towards the edge, his back meeting cold concrete as she tried to climb overtop of him to get just a single good bite in.

Did she travel? Did she see the world? How many fun things did she do in her life, what was she dreaming of? He couldn't stop thinking about what she could have accomplished with her life and how many people she would have touched in a meaningful way.

Her teeth cracked under the uncontrollable force she was exerting, fragments of her teeth fell to the ground. Eventually Howard stopped thinking and reacted. His blade shot up from underneath its left arm and effortlessly slid into her ear. Its body fell limp in a heart beat as it fell, blade leaving her head as effortlessly as it entered.

He looked at the corpse for a few seconds, sighing softly before slipping the blade back into its sheathe.

"Rest easy friend." he muttered in a mix sense of guilt and respect before walking further down the highway.

 

[Vecilea]

Spoiler: theme

Night 5:
​

Howard walked away from the grave he dug as the small crowd still hovered nearby. There wasn't any words he could say to lift their spirits or to take the pain away. His boots crunched dirt and dried leaves, the normally silent sound completely filling his ears until the heavy soles made contact with concrete. He entered the warehouse in a blur, walking over to Jack and Lily, taking their whiskey and leaning back as he let the amber liquid flow down his throat unmeasured and uncaring. The bottle was returned, he swears Lily tried to say something but her voice was muffled. Deafening footsteps filled his ears as he walked to the stairwell. Imaginary sounds mixed with the real as disembodied voices came screaming back to life.

The door to the stairwell was flung open, a single fading yellow bulb providing the promise of light but failing to deliver. Sixty eight steps would bring him to the roof which he craved. The disembodied voices screamed out in his head as his vision blurred, he felt trapped in the hallway. His breathing skyrocketed as the door shut behind him. The smell of blood still lingered in his nostrils, gunpowder, the chemical smell of powdered nitrile gloves. Explosions rocked the stairwell with each step, familiar but forgotten voices screamed in pain, screaming his name on loop. "CORPSMAN! GRAUSHOUSE!". He froze, turning back down the stairwell for a moment, someone was down there but he couldn't quite make out who but he could make out the familiar MARPAT camo scheme. The face was covered in shadow, a limb missing, blood splashed against the drab sand color.

He shook his head and turned back to the stairwell, finding another set of Marines blocking his path, the dim light back lighting them, again faces hidden. Their uniforms soaked in blood, dozens of bullet wounds tearing through their Kevlar, body parts missing. The smell of burning flesh grew to much for him to take. He stepped down a few steps, staring in a mix of guilt and panic. "GRAUSE! GRAUSE! HE'S GONE." a voice filled his head. Who...who was it? Why couldn't he remember who was screaming.

He shut his eyes, covering his ears as he opened his mouth to let out a silent scream as the buzz of the light consumed him. Fingernails digging into the side of his skull, he was trapped in his mind. He tried to swipe the marines out of his way on the stairs as he stomped upwards. His bag weighed a ton, he reached into it and tore free supplies, throwing them at the images he saw. His teeth ground together as he made it to the landing before the final turn to the roof. Something was stuck to his boots, he forced himself to look and saw the stairs covered in blood, no longer fresh and wet but old and sticky. It gripped his boots and refused to let go, each step harder than the last. His legs gave out beneath him as he fell onto the stairs. Hitting the concrete edges with enough impact to bruise his arms. Extra pain shooting through his left shin wrapped in a splint. The sticky feeling compounded on itself as his hands, his arms, his face was now covered in it. Losing control of his breathing he started to panic as shallow breaths overwhelmed him. The buzzing of the light continued to stab his ears. He balled his fists and lashed out against the concrete, each impact tearing the skin from his knuckles, painting his fresh blood into the adhesive blood. His jaw locked open as he choked down another scream only for everything to suddenly stabilize.

There was no blood on the stair well besides his own, there were no marines here with him, no one was screaming. The buzzing of the light died down into harmless background noise. He panted, rolling onto his back and looking at the supplies he'd discarded at his hallucinations. His body gone limp as he rested his head against the concrete edge, eyes shut as he took in a deep breath. A few seconds later, he was back on his feet.