Kyle knew one thing: life was a big fucking piece of shit.
Literally.
From the day of the first attack in 1999, till the present day 2007, things just were a big, hot, steaming pill of crap. You know what Kyle remembered about that first attack in 1999? The bestial nature of the donkeys. You wouldn’t have been able to tell that they had once been human, no, they would’ve been indistinguishable from any other herd of jackasses and Jennies.
Wanna hear what’s worse? His parents had been there that day. “Go out with your friends on a trip to Utah.” They said. “It will be fun.” They said.
Yeah, well where they now? Fucking in some abandoned New York building for all he knew. He remembered the graphic and heavily televised nature of the transformations, he remembered them with great detail. The way that their sexual organs changed first, and how it progressed like some sick and twisted morphing. How their eyes faded with bestial lust, and they abandoned their human forms.
It was sick – all of it was so very sick.
Well, that didn’t matter anymore. Here he was, in the middle of some abandoned city, with his crew for company. His crew was composed of his friends and any real survivors they found during those initial days of the outbreak.
There are five of them: Marcus, Flint, Carson, Donavon, and himself. Together, they had somehow managed to survive long enough to make it this far. Now, they just played it day by day; waiting to see if something of note actually occurred.
There had been a rumor some time back about a possible cure… but that turned out to be hogwash. Now days it was all about the supposed miracle vaccine. It could prevent infection, but only by airborne and waterborne transmission. Fluids and a few other infectious vectors still worked.
“Yo man, we should find a place to hold up for the night.” Marcus said as they watched the sun start to set.
Kyle looked at his group. “Yeah, alright then, find us some shelter will ya Donavon?”
“Sure thing Kyle.” Donavon turned and walked off towards a grouping of buildings.
Kyle turned away from the retreating boy. “The rest of you, keep an eye out. I don’t want any surprises." Now their group functioned pretty well, especially considering how different they all were.
Marcus was, by far, the largest member of their group. He’d been some sort of bigshot in his high school’s football team, the African-American was over six feet tall, and he must have weighed three-hundred pounds of solid muscle.
Flint was the next muscle-head in their group. He was almost as tall as Marcus, but weighed a good hundred pounds less. However, his muscles were far thicker and more defined then what you’d expect. His white skin had tanned a lot over the last few years, and his bushy brown hair had been cut to a crop just last week.
Following Flint was Carson, who was the only member of their group to not have a developed physical body. He was lanky and small, just under five feet and nine inches. He had dark black hair, and expressive hazel eyes. All of which just made him look far younger than he actually was.
Donavon was skinny too, but in a muscular way. His lanky body was taut with lean muscle, developed from years of intense training. His blond hair was cut short, and his blue eyes made him look more German than Australian.
Finally there was himself. Kyle didn’t like to boast too much, but standing at six feet and one-hundred-and-eighty pounds of pure muscle, he was pretty… uh… appealing. His red hair and freckles gave him an exotic look… well… exotic in an Irish/Scottish kind of way.
Now, they would wait for Donavon.