UFSW Hunger Games/Issue 12

This is a preview of Issue 12 of the UFSW Hunger Games, written by KnowledgeProspector.

Issue 12 (Preview)
Amelia continues to run through the street, never thinking once to look back. Her thoughts were spiraling into panic, and it tore at her mind; face Mark, or flee? Flee, prepare, and maybe let him get away? Give up, and just run for dear life, hoping for this to blow over? Though her ideas were loaded, she sped through them in a few seconds. It empowered her pace, as she sprinted past the ruined cars, lone infected, and abandoned buildings, passing by them as blurs. She closes her eyes tightly, letting the tears flow to her cheeks, its direction blown by the wind.

She takes the nearest left turn she could, vanishing from the block in almost an instant.

It was unfortunate. The girl was running too fast, and Mark found it hard to keep up with her. He notes where the girl vanishes and sets his eyes on the walkers of this street, measuring on how many they are, if he ever needed to fight them. There were only about three, or five, at most. He slips the strap of his rifle on his shoulder, and slows to a jog.

He hasn’t found this much time for himself for a while now. He does a quick count of how many he’s taken down; that boy he had just killed, then that other boy, the girl in the store, the girl with the bag, James… James. What was he doing in the mix?

He shakes his head to snap his thoughts out of it. Why the hell did James have to die? Why did Barbara have to die? Why did Ridley, Geary…

The list goes on, and it made Mark even bitterer by the count. All these people were probably looking at him right now, counting on him. He doesn’t know who is and who isn’t in hell. But what he does know is that he might find out soon.

He somehow finds himself at an empty street. There were more trees and less buildings here than usual. He looks around and decides that he should probably get back to the areas where the buildings; he assumes that’s where everybody else will be at this point.

He tries to count how many there were left. The best estimation he can come up with is probably at the twenties, assuming that everyone else has already started killing each other. He taps his pockets, checks for anything metal inside them; judging from how light they felt, there just wasn’t many, at all. He still has one pistol, and this reliable hunting rifle. Looks like he was going to pay the gun store a visit.

She couldn’t take it any longer. Amelia sits by herself at a bus stop bench, motionless, as if all the spirit is taken out of her. Tears were just flowing out of her eyes, but she didn’t feel like she was crying. It was just her, lightening the load of her emotions.

She sniffles but once, and wipes a few tears away with her finger. “Sarah…” she mutters, hoarsely. “What the hell am I gonna do?...” She couldn’t take her eyes from the gray cement that stretched over the block. Compared to others, it was the best view she could settle on.

She demanded a response. But all she got was silence. She sighs, continues to sit there like a statue. Apart from the solemnity, she was starting to hear other distant noises. The wind, the crackle of concrete…

She was forced to submerge, above her heavy thoughts, upon seeing figures on the other left end of the street appear. There were about three of them, shambling… a cruel reminder that she’s still in this mess, this hell.

She hurriedly wipes the tears, her moment of weakness, away. The way she messily did it reddened and shined her cheeks. She stands up, sniffles a few more times, and starts jogging toward the direction of the infected. Those things were beyond her at this point. All she was looking to do was arm herself with a new gun.

(End Preview)