Time unknown. Location: South America, somewhere along the Amazon River.
It's been several days since he first came across one of THEM. Or rather, one of THEM came across him. He's learned a lot about this new jungle predator; it hunts without stealth relying instead on sheer numbers and terror. He's seen a whole village overcome by THEM in what seemed liked hours. He watched from the trees as the locals tried desperately to hold them off, barring themselves inside their small church. "Typical." he thought to himself, "When the shit hits the fan, you run to your god for safety. There ain't no god here. Just these things."
He watched as the things scratched, clawed, and smashed the door until all that remained were splinters of wood and the screams of the dying. He heard the report of handguns and rifles as those in the back of the church made their futile stand. He witnessed the spread of the infection and learned, a single bite and you don't become one right away, but you succumb. Multiple bites and will you cross within minutes. He saw as one victim had all of its lower body gnawed off. As soon as its eyes opened, the others stop feeding. Yes, he learned a lot in the last few days. None of it is good.
- The damn world has gone to hell. I'm not the top dog anymore. Shit, I'm barely a dog. Who fuckin' knew that the world would be brought down by THEM.
From his vantage point in the trees, he looks out at the horde of things surrounding a Cobra listening post. He witnessed the team of Vipers unleash lead hell on the jungle, and he watched these things act as if nothing happened. He also so the retreat of the Vipers back to the post. He saw one of them limping, friends unaware. He knows it is only a matter of time before the injured one turns. He believes, that as long as there is anyone alive in the bunker, those things will be outside trying to get in. When they leave, he'll go in, clear it, take what he needs, and the fuck out of Dodge.
Date: August 22, 2009. Time unknown. Location: South America, somewhere along the Amazon River.
- It's been four fuckin' days, and these fuckers are still trying to get in. Maybe the ass wasn't bitten after.
In places, the earthen covering of the bunker has been dug away, exposing the reinforced concrete exterior. He knows that persistent as these things are, there's no way they're scratching through 3 feet of concrete. Even if they did, there's still 4 inches of armor plate, plus who knows how much conduit, ducts, and structural shit before they'd be able to get inside. With that thought, he turns and makes his way back to a particularly tall tree. Hidden among the upper terrace, he sits in his makeshift shelter and plans his next move. So many options...
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