Who: Alan and Juan and maybe others... tag in when you reply When: Mid-afternoon (just before the virus struck, and then a few hours after) Where: The streets
It was one of those neighborhoods that you were nervous to drive though, especially a white-bread guy from the suburbs, like Alan. What houses weren't boarded up might as well have been, being delapitated and practically falling apart. Many of the abandoned places were victims of arson, charred out shells, like something out of a war zone. The doors of Alan's car were locked, and he gripped the steering wheel with both hands, so tight that his knuckles were turning white: it helped to keep him from shaking, but not from fear.
The red and white Staples shirt was crumpled on the passenger seat behind him; there was a twinge of guilt for skipping out of work. The boss would be ticked off, and Susan would have even more grounds for suspicion, but despite his knowing all the repercussions for his actions, he went ahead anyway, forced by a burning desire that forced away all common sense.
This was his second time around the same block. There was a young man wearing sunglasses and a hood pulled over this head, leaning against a mailbox covered with graffiti. Alan's desperate eyes inspected him, hoping he had what he was looking for. Slowing down, but leaving the engine running, the man stepped toward the car and spoke to Alan through the now opened window. "Whattaya need?" he asked, speaking quickly, glancing around to make sure no cops were nearby.
"Zip," Alan replied, with a needy sort of urgency. "Powder, not crack." Praying the dealer had some, he nervously drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
"Half ounce for a quarter."
It was expensive, but Alan wasn't in a position to quibble over prices. His wallet was on the seat, under his work shirt, and he reached to pull out his money, when he heard a violent, gagging sound. Quickly turning back, he watched with horror was the dealer began convulsing and then suddenly fell straight to the ground, lifeless.
Alan's first thought was to slam on the acceleration and get the hell out of there, but he couldn't. Not without his 'medicine'. Shifting the car into neutral, he rushed out of the car, and after only a moment's hesitation, he rifled through the pockets of the dead man's clothes, coming up with several baggies filled with powders and rocks. He took them all, indiscriminately and stuffed his own pockets. A blood curdling scream set him on edge, and he was positive they were screaming because of him, but that scream was followed by another coming from a different direction, and then an inhuman roar. All around, it sounded as though all hell was breaking loose. Frightened and confused, Alan jumped back into his car, slammed the door and... what the fuck??? On the block ahead, somebody was stumbling out of their home, but his body was stretching and bubbling and obviously was going through a lot of pain.
Shifting the car's gear, Alan sped down the street past the tormented man, but the further he drove the more horror he saw: people had either fallen dead on the spot or were in the middle of some freakish transformation, which was difficult for Alan's mind to conceive. "What the fuck? What the FUCK???"
Crossing an intersection, disregarding the stop sign, an SUV barreled straight toward him and smashed directly into Alan's car with a loud crash. Steel twisted and glass shattered, but Alan's door had flung open and he spilled out of the car, tumbling on the pavement. Shaken, he rose to his feet to realize he didn't have a scratch. From where he stood, he could tell the driver of the other car was already dead. A scream came from close by, and then an explosion. Then another. Shelter. Alan needed to find shelter, and fast.
Toward the closest house, Alan ran around to the backyard. Maybe he could get inside... but all the houses around here had security bars on the windows and gates on the door. Out of sheer desperation, he tried anyway, and found to his surprise that the lock to the gate was open, and when he turned the handle, so was the door. What luck! Rushing inside, he slammed the door shut behind him and sunk to the floor, curling up into a ball with his arms covering his head. The screams were everywhere now, inhuman, sending chills up Alan's spine. Completely immobilized by fear and agitated by the drugs coursing through his system, he began to weep. This couldn't be happening. It had to be some sort of freakish hallucination.