Zombie/Post-Apocalypse

The plane had only been in the air for about an hour when an older man in an expensive looking suit collapsed in a coughing fit for a few minutes before he just stopped.Ryan was sitting a few rows behind the man and didn't pay much attention, the whiskey and coke and the sound of AC-DC was numbing him to everything around him. The Stewards and some of the other passengers crowded around the man, a pretty blond air stewardess was attempting CPR when there was an explosion of movement from the well dressed man. He raised himself up off the ground and threw up some blood before sinking his teeth into the air stewardesses neck, latching onto it until a few passengers managed to pull him off her. Ryan reverted to a plan that had worked most of his life. Run. In a burst of movement Ryan unbuckled his seat belt, grabbed his backpack and flung himself out of his chair, the last of his drink splashed onto the woman sitting next to him, Ignoring her outburst he ran towards the bathroom, opening the door he looked back to see more of the shambling people beginning to savage the passengers who hadn't been fast enough.

Sitting on the toilet Ryan rubbed his face trying to piece together what had just happened. "Zombies" Ryan said to himself "fucking zombies" he said to himself. The he had seen a few infected back in London, mostly homeless people or drug addicts that were living rough but he'd never seen one as close as he had today. laughing slightly at his misfortune "of course". Ryan pulled out a pouch of Golden Virginia from his pocket and calmly rolled a cigarette his moment of panic seemed to be over. Taking out his trusty zippo he sparked the flint and raised the flame to the cigarette, Ryan inhaled before exhaling a long trail of smoke. Suddenly the high pitched sequel of an alarm forced Ryan onto the floor of the bathroom clutching his ears the cigarette fell onto his heavily tattooed arm "FUCK!" Ryan yelled both cursing his own stupidity and in pain. The plane shuddered and the sound of metal grinding could be heard as the plane sharply fell. The next minute or so Ryan fell in and out of consciousness one second he was being throw to the other side of the bathroom the plane was dark, only the planes emergency lighting provided any light. After this Ryan blacked out, he woke up as the plane hit the ground, the force of the crash had enough force behind it to push Ryan into the toilet wall creating a large hole were his head had hit. Ryan bit his lip hard enough to draw blood to stop himself from screaming, he could fell a drip of warm blood run down his forehead and into his eye's temporarily blinding him. He recovered after a few minute and put some toilet paper on his forehead to stem the bleeding before opening the toilet door

Chaos. Chaos was the one word Ryan could use to sum up the situation. It reminded him of the first time he saw a full on bar brawl a few weeks into his first job working behind the bar at a run down pub in canning town. The emergency lighting was flickering in places, occasionally Ryan could see infected ripping at the flesh of other passengers. Blood was everywhere, on the seats, on the walls, on roof, pools of the stuff covered the floor, the iron tinged stink clung to everything. A few passengers were still alive most were huddled together at the back of the plane pushing back the infected with whatever they could find. Ryan spun on his heels hearing a growl behind him. It was one of the flight attendants, she was in her early 20's, long red hair,attractive, more cleavage on display then probably excepted and a large chunk of her pale flesh had been ripped off her leg. She stumbled towards Ryan biting at the air in between her growls, Ryan neatly dodged her when she lunged for him and ran towards one of the emergency doors that was still lit up. Slashing through pools of blood he made his way towards the door tripping over the lifeless body of the woman who had been sitting next to him, he stared into her lifeless blue eye's for what seemed like a few minutes before a scream brought him back to reality. he pulled himself up and sprinted towards the emergency exit, clambering over the a body that was still in a seat he fumbled with the door before flinging it open "Come on!" He yelled to the group of survivors at the back of the plane but they seemed too busy to notice. The man Ryan had climbed over coughed up blood and lunged at him, Ryan fell out of the door into the pile of mostly dry mud and grass that the plane had dug up when it had crashed. Ryan gasped for breath as he pulled himself up and looked around.

The Farm would have looked peaceful if it wasn't for the 747 in the middle of the field. It was midday and the sun was up high in a cloudless sky. The plane had taken out a silo and some sort of grain was spilling out into a nearby ditch, on the top of a small hill was a sort of compound, there was a large old fashion barn house, a thatch roofedstable and a few other small building surrounded by a chest high stone wall. Ryan looked for any other landmarks, then back at the plane before running towards the farm house.

Graham watched as someone left the crash site and started running towards the barn, he grabbed the pitchfork off the bale of hay and exit the barn. He aimed the pitchfork at the person. "Hey you! What the in the fuck do you think your doing?" He asked him. "First you crash a plane into my silo then you try running into my farmhouse?" He jabbed the guy with the shaft of his pitchfork. "You think you can just do these things? You thin-What the...?" He was looking at a thing that had left the crash site, blood covering it's body and an arm hanging from it's jaws. "What's that in his mouth?" He asked, his eyes widening as the thing neared, stumbling towards them. Moaning and biting at the air, it's crazed eyes scanning them. Graham gulped. "I'm guessing he's not one of you're friends?" He asked, almost hopefully, he tightened his grip on the pitchfork. The thing would reach them in about 15 seconds. He backed away as the thing followed him, blood dripping from the severed arm, on closer inspection it was easy to see it's neck was hacked open and one of it's own arms were gone..Graham gulped once again, seeing that the fabric on the one half of the arm matched the other half in it's mouth. "Back off..What are you? What the fuck are you? What do you want? Answer me you fuck!" He yelled at it as several more appeared from the crash site, staggering towards them, moaning and biting at the air too. One crawled as it's legs were no longer attached and one dragged a leg hung on by a few threads of bloody skin behind its self. Graham gagged, he had seen animals gouged open but this was different. A person ran out screaming, being cut down as he ran right into one of the things, a scream then a few chomps and strained pained cries were heard. Graham had to hold down the sick as he turned to the barn. "To the barn!" He said as he started running towards it.

A short teenager with dark purple shoulder-length hair sits against one of the windows, looking down at the farmland below. Everything was so different here. It might even be exciting under different circumstances, but right now she was just scared. Very, very scared. It was only a few days ago that her parents were declared "infected" and she was sent away to live with her grandmother in Ireland. She didn't get along with her parents very well -- she was 17, after all -- but it still sent a pang of guilt through her when she thought of how easily she left.

She was so lost in her thoughts and the book on tape she was listening to that she didn't even notice the commotion happening in the aisle next to her row of seats. It was only when the man next to her started screaming and blood spattered across her face that she woke from her waking dream and looked over, eyes wide and startled. The tall, successful-looking businessman who had been shooting her unusual hair strange looks the whole hour of the flight was being mauled by another, more heavy-set businessman with crazed, rabid eyes and loud growls. Jade frantically unbuckled herself and climbed over the seat behind her -- empty, now that everyone seemed to have noticed the zombies -- and dashed into the aisle, bolting back toward the rear of the plane and sliding underneath one of the serving tables. She hoped to whatever god might be up there that they wouldn't notice her. And that was her last thought, before she was thrown against the back wall and knocked unconscious.

She awoke to the sounds of terrified screams and loudly whirring exposed jet engines. Her vision was a bit fuzzy, as she had taken a fairly hard hit to the head. She also seemed to have a pounding, excruciatingly painful headache, which she hoped was temporary. She shakes her head to clear her vision and looks about. There are people gathered all around her, trying to push back the horde of rabid people with pocket knives, fire extinguishers, and multiple other assorted items that aren't meant to be weaponry. She stands up and staggers about for a moment, until the yell of another awoke her fully. "Come on!" it said. When she finally regains her composure, she dashes between two of the survivors and narrowly dodges a zombie's shambling dash to try and grab her. She scoops her satchel up from her seat and vaults over a piece of steel blocking her path, dashing out into the blinding sunlight, where there are even more of the things. She takes a survey of her surroundings and dashes toward the possible safe haven of the farm like a frightened squirrel, hopping over a few dead bodies as she goes.

"And the pathogenesis of bacteria results in . . ." Jonathan gave a yawn, not unusual when presented in situations of boredom. He could have sworn that he packed his copy of Mensa puzzles, but alas all he had was his various textbooks he had brought for study. "Gods" he thought as a man behind him was complaining to the flight attendant of a wheat sensitivity. How he wished he could just go and explain that unless he had an immunological response, the man had no problem with wheat. "Ugh", stupid people drove him mad.

He had joined the study abroad program to study medicine for a few quarters in the UK. Infectious diseases always fascinated him, and since the new scare of the new pathogen responsible for the zombie attacks, Woolf naively thought he would be the one to pioneer treatment for the malady. If it was bacterial, he knew he could do it, he had been working on the pathology lab in the states, but if it was a virus, well . . . Woolf was both discouraged and excited at the thought. Viruses where something else. Up till now, mankind has not come up with a cure for the common cold! "Baby steps" thought Woolf.

He overheard chatter, that chatter elevated onto what would be a woman screaming, finally the whole cabin was freaking out. Not one to miss on a a moment of curiosity, Woolf (as he was called by his colleagues, from his last name) rose to see quite a sight. Some large man in a suit had managed to break the skin of another woman. "Rabies? On a plane?" Woolf rolled his eyes at the irony. It was when he noticed the lack of spasms in the movement that he second thought his diagnosis. "No, not here, not now," for once in his life, he had a stroke of fear in him. He wasn't claustrophobic, but as a distance runner, he prided himself on his stamina. On a cramped plane however, he felt almost helpless. Grabbing his running pack (and a few textbooks for good measure) he slowly made his way away from the commotion when the seat-belt signal flashed. "What No–" was the last he remembered thinking before the plane made a dive and he lost his balance knocking out.

A hot pain came about from his outer thigh. Woolf freaked checking to see if he had been bitten! But rather it was his vape, firing all while he was knocked out. "Gods that's going to sting" Woolf thought. Screaming snapped him back to the situation at hand as he saw the aftermath. He was still in the cabin but the entire wall had ripped open as though someone had flown the plane through a blender. buried in his own luggage of books and running equipment, he counted himself lucky to have a small enough frame to be hidden from view. Outside was a rather beautiful countryside (if you ignored the wreckage) that reminded him of old postcard of the English countryside. People were screaming, running from various infected zombies. Some twitching, some crawling, one even dragged itself across the seats making its way towards him! looking about, Woolf quickly tosses his heavy textbooks at the thing, vainly trying to kill it. With no result, he grabbed his pack and bolted through the cabin running down the torn fuselage onto land.

Smiling once he reached the dirt, Woolf felt at easy as a zombie started making its way to him he ran at his familiar 7.3 mi. pace as the zombie struggled to maneuver around the debris. Nearby, he catches a group of men making their way into a barn. "I'd hate to be the one to bring one of lead one of these things into there," he thought. "Ugh, forget it!" As he sprinted towards the rest of the group. If he saw them, he'd be pretty sure another zombie did as well.

Ryan was taking the situation better then he thought he would have. He had although resorted to his normal panic mode, finding a warm corner, sitting down and chain smoking. He sat in the golden brown straw that rustled underneath every time he fidgeted "I fucking hate farms" He said under his breath rolling his 7th cigarette. He spat what was left of the 6th onto the floor, crushing it with the heel of his boot lighting up his freshly rolled one and exhaling.

He was on his own in the barn, Graham had wondered of a few minutes before leaving Ryan to look back at the last 20 or so minutes of chaos. The moans of the infected could be heard just over the sound of the planes still spluttering engines, "if the plane catches fire whatever's left of the fuel is gotta turn it into a bomb" Ryan said out loud with a small snort of laughter at his own bad luck not caring who heard him as he rested his head against the cold wooden paneling that made up the barn.

He took a long drag of the cigarette before throwing it against the wall on the other side of the barn in a sudden burst of anger causing a small shower of sparks to rain into a trough of dirty water. He quickly stood up roughly running his hands through his hair before cupping his face in his palms considering his options. After a few seconds of thinking he decided the best plan was to stick with Graham. The farm was probably well stocked, must have had a few things they could use as weapons and anyone who survived the plane crash would probably come here first "Strength in numbers's" He said thinking outloud as he swung open the heavy barn doors.

The morning sun hit him hard forcing him to squint and cover his eye's, walking around the side of the barn to see how to situation was going he spotted a medium sized axe. He picked it up weighing it in his hands before taking a trial swing at a fence post "better then nothing I guess" He said to himself with a grin pulling the axe out of the wood and walking over to the stone fence. Looking over he was still awestruck by the sight of the plane, the shear amount of damage it had caused was impressive considering it had only actually nicked the silo, still seemed to be enough to rip it out of it's foundations and put a gash the size of a man in it. Closer to him he spotted a small group of people walking towards the farm occasionally looking back at the infected who stumbled out of the planes wreckage.

Ryan waved his arm's in the air for them to see, not wanting to yell incase it attracted the infected even though they would probably follow the group, even if they didn't they would smell them or wonder over in there search for food. Ryan sprinted to the large steel gate that was the only easy way to access the farm and pulled it open for the survivors.

Jade continues to run, having to shove a zombie out of the way more than once. She's over the fence before Ryan can even get to the gate, bolting into the open barn and leaping up the ladder to the upper level. She sits as far in the corner as she can, looking down at her bloodstained hands and wondering if it's hers. She's quite traumatised and her head is still pounding like a bass drum, so she curls up into a ball upon a stack of hay, her breathing heavy and irregular. This was not her day, not at all.

(Sorry bout the short post. Couldn't think of much else to say. XP)