Through The Rot: Prolog

:warning: TRIGGER/ CONTENT WARNING! :warning:

Cursing, gore, death

Read at your own risk

Word count: 2638

   Matt stood on the ridge, watching as the sun slowly clawed its way into the sky. Its fiery hues bled across the horizon, chasing away the suffocating darkness. The last of the stars flickered stubbornly, as though unwilling to surrender their domain to the light.

    In the distance, faint screams echoed. They rose like smoke on the horizon, carried on the cold morning air, before slowly fading into a welcome silence. Matt shoved his frozen hands deeper into his jacket pockets, his fingers brushing against the edges of a crumpled photograph.

    The golden glow of the rising sun reflected in his hazel eyes, highlighting the shadows that clung to his hollow face. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself the indulgence of stillness. How many more times would he witness this? How many more sunrises before his world stopped turning? For all he knew, this could be his last.

   The ground beneath him trembled, breaking the fragile peace of the moment. A low rumble vibrated through his boots, making him stumble back. "Shit." Matt hissed under his breath, regaining his balance. His heart sped up just a little as he unslung his rifle in one swift motion, the barrel gleaming faintly in the light.

   He scanned the horizon, his muscles coiled, his breath fogging the air. The tremor had stopped, but the quiet that followed was worse. It was the kind of silence that filled the spaces before something terrible happened.

    A faint, metallic creak echoed from somewhere below, far too close. Matt grip tightened on the rifle as the familiar, acidic stench of ash and decay reached his nostrils.

The sun’s warmth was only just beginning to touch the frozen earth, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the dread settling in his gut.

┏┉┉┄┉┉┛✸┗┉┉┄┉┉┓

    Vardon shivered, rubbing his hands together in a pathetic attempt to chase the cold from his body. His breath fogged the air, curling like smoke as he strained to listen to the room around him. Outside, the wind howled in fury, hammering against the barn’s walls with relentless ferocity. It screeched through the gaps in the rotting wood, sounding almost alive in its rage.

    Inside, however, it was eerily silent. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘Dead silent.’ He thought darkly. ‘Ironic.’

    He crouched in the shadows, hidden beneath a pile of scavenged boxes, their contents long picked clean. The splintered edges bit into his back, but he dared not move. He could still picture the group of survivors who had chased him, their shouts carrying over the barren field like the growls of feral dogs. He didn’t know what they wanted from him, supplies, his rifle, maybe his life, but he had no intention of finding out.

    The decrepit barn had been his salvation. He’d kicked through the brittle back door, which had all but shattered at his touch, and ducked behind the boxes before the others could catch up. As he’d hoped, they assumed he’d run straight through and out the other side.

    Vardon let out a slow breath, his fingers brushing over the cold steel of his knife. He wanted nothing to do with people. Not anymore. Ever since the world ended, most survivors had become worse than the monsters they feared. Heathens. Thugs. Lawless brutes who saw the collapse of civilization as a free to tear each other apart. When the government fell and the armies were overrun, society hadn’t just crumbled, it disintegrated.

     The wind outside rose to a shriek, a piercing wail that seemed to rattle the very bones of the barn. Vardon winced as the icy air wormed through the cracks, chilling him to the core. Slowly, carefully, he began shifting the boxes aside, inching his way out of his hiding spot.

    A deafening bang shattered the stillness. Vardon flinched, his heart leaping into his throat as the back door slammed violently against the wall. The hinges groaned in protest before snapping entirely, and with one final shriek of the wind, the door was ripped free. It sailed into the air, disappearing into the darkness beyond, leaving a jagged void where it once stood.

    Vardon froze, every muscle taut as he stared at the empty doorway. The wind howled louder now, its icy breath whipping through the barn like a ghost. He swallowed hard, his hand tightening around the knife.

    As he listened to the room once more, beneath the wind’s wail, Vardon heard a soft, almost undetectable sound. A sound that didn’t belong. A rasping breath. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as his head whipped around, his eyes scanning the large room.

     A heavy scraping, like a boot being drug along the wooden floor caught his attention, making his head snap to the left. Vardon’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t dare move. Every small creak of the barn seemed magnified, each whistle from the wind like a scream. The rasping breath was gone now, but the scent in the air had changed, sharp, acidic, like something burning in the distance.

     Vardon’s fingers itched for his rifle, but the movement to retrieve it from his back seemed dangerous at the moment. He tightened his grip on the knife instead, the cold steel offering little comfort. The smell was growing stronger.

     A thud echoed through the barn, then another. Slow. Steady. Methodical. The kind of noise you hear in the pitch dark when something is too aware of you. Vardon’s pulse quickened, his teeth gritting against the rush of panic clawing at the back of his mind.

    A scrape to his right. Something dragging against the floorboards. His gaze snapped to the direction of the noise. Nothing.

    Another thud. This time closer. The wind outside picked up again, rattling the barn, but it was drowned out by a low, raspy growl.

     He knew he was being hunted, stalked like prey, but there was something off about this. It wasn't the usual behavior of the dead, but it wasn't quite right for humans either. As his mind swirled with possibilities, the growl was followed by a bone-chilling screech, so high-pitched it made his teeth ache. He had no idea what it was, but it sounded like death itself.

    He thought about his rifle again, so close yet so far away. He still didn't dare make a move for it. Not yet. He couldn’t risk it. The thing, whatever it is, was waiting for him to make a sound, waiting for him to act. It was patient. Too patient.

    He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady his breathing. The moment he moved, he was a target. He could feel it.

    The scraping sound grew louder now, the dragging movement shifting closer. Something was circling him. His muscles tensed, and his hand clenched the knife until his fingers almost bled from the pressure.

    Vardon’s hands trembled as his eyes tracked the sounds. It was infuriating not to see what made the noises, what he was up against. The scraping sound suddenly stopped, replaced by something far worse. A soft, rhythmic growl. Closer. Closer still.   

     His heart hammered in his chest as his eyes darted around the darkness, searching for any sign of movement. Every corner seemed to hold shadows that twisted and lurked, each creak of the barn like a thousand eyes watching him. The low growl rumbled again, this time vibrating through the wood beneath him.

    With a sudden, desperate surge of adrenaline, Vardon yanked his rifle from his back, raising it to his shoulder, his finger hovering over the trigger, as he sprinted towards the open door.

    Stepping from the shadows and blocking his escape route now stood an image from his nightmares.

     It was massive, far taller than any man with arms that were too long for its body. It stood hunched just a little, but its posture screamed predator. Strips of rotted flesh clung stubbornly to its frame, but most of its body was unnervingly intact. It was strong, built for the hunt. The air around it was thick with a rancid stench, like decayed meat left out in the sun for too long. Beneath that was a metallic tang, almost like blood already spoiled.

     Vardon’s breath caught as he slid to a stop. His eyes were wide in horror and disbelief, his fingers trembling so hard he almost dropped the rifle.

     It took a single step towards him, but it didn't move like any other zombie. It didn't lurch or shuffle. It stalked. It's step was deliberate, patient, as if it were savoring the moment. The dim light caught the deep gouges in its chest, displaying the disgusting rib cage that shouldn't have held anything living, but something pulsed inside, shifting, making Varden feel as if were being watched back.

     The creature’s head tilted as its eyes remained locked on Vardon’s, as if it were sizing him up. Then it did something that made Vardon’s heart almost stop. It smiled.

    Its torn lips continued to spread slowly, widening unnaturally like a snake about to consume its prey then it let out a blood curdling scream that rattled the barn’s walls, echoing into the night like a banshee's curse.

     Vardon’s body moved before his brain could catch up. He didn't think, he fired. The rifle kicked hard against his shoulder as the bullet slammed into the thing's skull with a sickening thud, sending black gore into the air. The blast was deafening, the sharp crack of the gunshot filled the barn with a sudden, violent sound that shook the walls. The creature’s head snapped back, its form jerking as the bullet tore through its brain, but it didn’t fall. It staggered, letting out a high-pitched scream that pierced the air.

    ‘Why didn't it go down?’ Vardon’s mind raced as he cocked the rifle again. ‘It was a headshot for hell's sake.’

     Vardon fired again. And again. Each shot landed true, another bullet tearing through its head then chest. The creature’s body jerked violently with every impact, but still, it didn’t die. It continued its twisted march forward, each movement filled with hatred. There was a kind of rage in it now, something beyond the animal instincts that usually drove these things. This one seemed intelligent. And it was playing with him.

    Vardon took a step back after each shot, trying to gain a little distance from the creature, to no avail. It kept coming. His breaths came in ragged gasps as his boots scraped along the floorboards in his frantic retreat. He was losing ground. Fast.

    “Dammit!” Vardon spat, his voice lost in the deafening sound of the gunshots and the monster's screams. He was going to run out of bullets at this rate and still not kill the thing.

     Vardon cocked the gun and aimed again, but this time the creature was too close. Before he had time to pull the trigger, the thing lurched forward with terrifying speed, its clawed hand swiping at him. Vardon threw himself to the side, the claws just missing his flesh but tearing through his jacket.

     His heart pounded painfully in his chest as he rolled across the floor then stopped in a crouching position, ready to bolt. He locked eyes with the creature and his breathing hitched at what he saw in them.

     Recognition blazed in those lifeless eyes. It knew him.

    The creature let out another ear splitting scream, a maddened shriek that vibrated through the barn’s rotting beams. It lunged forward, faster than before, more erratic, its limbs jerking with a terrifying kind of desperation. Its decaying face twisted into something grotesque, an almost humanlike hunger, but twisted with pure malice. It was getting smarter, angrier. But so was Vardon.

     His pulse hammered in his temples, the blood rushing in his ears. He could feel the weight of time slipping through his fingers.

    In a desperate move, Vardon jumped to his feet and ran towards the unguarded door. He threw the rifle over his back, knowing there was no point in firing again. The creature couldn’t be stopped by bullets.

    Vardon’s boots slammed down on the wooden floorboards, the hollow thud of each step echoing off the walls, masking the sounds of the terrifying creature closing in behind him. He didn’t dare glance back, but he could feel it gaining on him.

     His right foot landed on something slick and his ankle twisted violently. The sharp, agonizing pain ripped through his leg before he even had time to what was happening. A high-pitched yelp escaped his lips as he tumbled, crashing to his knees with a thud that sent a jolt of pain through his spine. He gasped, struggling to get to his feet, but before he could, a cold, iron grip reached from behind and locked around his neck. The creature’s fingers dug into his flesh, lifting him off the ground with terrifying ease, his feet kicking uselessly in the air. The pressure increased, an agonizing squeeze that cut off his breath, tightening like a vice around his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. The world was spinning.

    Vardon thrashed and kicked, his legs flailing wildly in the air, his fingers pulling at the creature’s in a futile attempt to pry them loose. Each attempt felt weaker, slower, his strength draining faster than he could fight back. His vision blurred as he gasped for air, but the grip on his neck didn’t loosen. His spine screamed in agony as he dangled there, his body barely able to keep up with the torment of the crushing pressure.

    Every second felt like an eternity, his head swimming, his chest heaving for air that wouldn’t come. His mind screamed for him to escape, but not telling him how. The air around the creature's mouth was putrid, and smelled of rot and death, making his stomach heave.

     He looked into the things eyes and saw raw hatred, a look only someone who truly despises you could give. ‘Who was this man? What did I do that was so terrible?’ Vardon questioned himself as his arms went limp and dropped to his sides.

     The pain was instant, white hot, and all consuming. Vardon’s body convulsed as he tried to gasp from the sudden agony as the creature’s claws tore into his stomach.

     It wasn't just pain, it was wrong. The feeling of his skin giving way, his muscles tearing, and his insides being wrenched apart was something his brain couldn't . It was like his body didn't belong to him anymore, just a fragile vessel being unmade piece by piece.

     His vision swam with a haze of red and black as agony coursed through him, sharper and more profound than he ever could have imagined. Every nerve in his body screamed as his mind began to fracture, slipping into a fog.

     He thought of all the times he'd imagined his own death, a bullet, starvation, slipping away in his sleep. But this? This was something else. This was beyond his wildest nightmares.

     Memories flickered through his mind like broken reels. The sunsets he used to love, the warmth of his heavy blankets on a cold night, the angelic giggles from Bethany, the taste of her lips. The faces of his parents smiling at him swirl behind his eyes as his mind tries to block out reality.

     Vardon’s body spasmed as the creature wrenched its claws deeper, twisting this way and that. He felt every tear, every snap of bone, the warmth of his own blood running in rivers down his legs. His lips parted in a silent scream as his mind fought to hold onto conciseness, even though he wished it would let go.

     “Promise me you'll survive. No matter what, Vardon.” He heard Bethany beg him in his mind. The last words she said before her own heart stopped . That promise felt like a cruel joke now as it slipped through his fingers like sand.

     ‘I'm sorry…I couldn't keep my word.’

    His thoughts were sluggish as the agonizing pain began to dull. He felt so cold, almost numb. The sounds around him became muffled, distant, as if he heard them with someone else's ears. His heartbeat slowed, each thud weaker than the last, the rhythm of his life unraveling.

     His body gave one last shutter as the darkness embraced him. Vardon’s fight was finally over.