People of Earth (Epilogue)

Happy New Year! Haven't posted in a few, so I'm starting the year of at ABC with a few fresh pics from my collection. This is the Epilogue to another Sci-Fi series I'm currently working on "people of earth". . Hope you enjoy. Don't forget to check out the cover photo attached, and visit my blog @ http://geistwriterz.blogspot.com/
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“This has to be a dream.” Chris Thought as he rubbed soot from his burning eyes. He was stumbling backwards. The floor beneath his feet was slippery, like moss on a sunken boulder. It was uneven and cracked, so each step was awkward and hazardous. He couldn't tell how far he was from the cellar door anymore. When he first barred himself inside, a furnace light guided his path towards the back walls and partially into a service tunnel connecting this room to the adjoining storage unit on the opposite street. But that light had faded, perhaps moments, perhaps hours ago. He couldn't tell anymore, not in the constant and deep blackness of this basement tomb, that turned each moment into night. The tunnel beside him was an abyss, an endless portal into oblivion. Moans emanated from deep within. A fading groan, like far off iron gates swinging gently on rusted hinges. The walls and ceilings bled black water, letting fat drops roll and fall and splash against the concrete, clapping as they burst, like applause from moist hands.
Chris tried sniff snot back into his nostrils. He caught of whiff of the dank air, making him gag. It wreaked of death. The whole world wreaked of death. It wreaked of rotting flesh, and fermented shit on mildewed cloth, as if the whole planet marinated in decay. But this basement was thick with it, not even the slightest breath of crisp air for refreshment.
“..urk..this..can’t..b…urggg” He vomited from an empty stomach, filling his mouth with green vile that spilled carelessly over his lips and down his chin. He used to avoid touching his face, engraved childhood habits. Avoid touching your face. Use hand sanitizers, wash your hands regularly. all these rules for hands he thought, what good did they do. They are caked in blood and bacteria, scarred with scrapes and wounds, crippled by blisters and breaks. His fingers curled like a monkey’s paw, and he could no longer tell where filth ended and flesh began. He rubbed the vile from his mouth with the back of his left, the only hand still strong enough to make a partial fist. Salt, mixed with blood and oil and dirt, it tasted of that and nothing else. It lingered on his parched lips, nestled in the craters of peeled skin, that his tongue and teeth gently flicked at.
Another sound emanated from the tunnel, a shrilled and muffled scream. Chris peered into the darkness, too weak and too tired for any real emotion. What sort of wickedness lurked in the shadows he could only guess. Something monstrous he knew, something inhuman, something dead that rose again. I should be afraid…but he wasn’t. He could feel his heart beating with a dull thump thump....thump thump…
I don’t want to be afraid anymore…I can’t be afraid anymore…I can’t be.
The thought was troubling. Only men who had nothing to lose had nothing to fear, or so he believed. But, in truth, he had lost everything. His friends, his parents, their friends, their parents…all gone. He lost all but his life, and even that was frail and waning. And even if he did die, what would it matter. No one was left to mourn him, no one left who had memories to share or honors to give. No one to avenge or damn him either. The world was dead, and he was just another corpse to stain it. A walking corpse, hollow and empty, like all the others. His once blue eyes, were grey and red. His brown hair used to stand spiked and glistened with product, but he had since shaved it down to the scalp, leaving patches of stubble here and there. His right cheek had sunken in, the left side swelled where an ill timed train jump left it fractured. And though he was always lean, the skin had never held so tight to his bones as they did now. He was a pale and sickly skeleton man, opened jawed and brain fried, covered in scum and hiding in the dark. Waiting to die.. Or waiting to live.. Time would tell.
“uhreeeAAHHHHHHHHH!!” The noise was piercing. Starting as a lull then roaring down the corridor like a freight train. Something new, and more disturbing then he had heard before.
“GRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH” again, deeper and louder.
There it was, the fear, it had returned to Chris once again and enveloped him in a trembling embrace. His eyes widened, a spark inside them glowing lively. He meant or meant not to gasp, leaving his voice confused to where he squawked and croaked at the same time.
He pressed himself against the invisible wall, as if to become a part of it. Beside him the tunnel burped a cold draft, fallowed by another horrific wail. “grrrrRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHK”

I shouldn't have come here…why did I come here.

He wasn't even sure where here was. With everything happening so fast, every decision was in haste, and he had trouble recalling why he had made them or what had forced him to. All he knew, is he was always running from them, for his life...running. These things, whatever they were, had torn him from reality, pulling him into a world of nightmares, where men had mutated into abominations. Cannibalistic mindless machines who felt no pain, and would not rest. Who’d feed upon, and mutilate all flesh that it could grasp. Who could not be stopped. Who would not be stopped, until all life has turned to death, in the world where death was no longer final. Stories that scarred kids, and entertained adults. Hollywood Sci-fi on a gloomy Friday night. Just warped dreams of a twisted mind. That is what this should be, but it wasn't. It was real. Real as the shovel he had used to cave in his sisters face, when she came rushing through the bay window to claw at his neck. Real as the toddler crying at the corner of Church and Barbara, his face pinched in distress before a mail truck rolled him over. Real as the impact that sent the driver from the window, and skipped him down the street. Real as dying alone in a damp basement, piss in your pants and shit on your lips, squealing like a pig in the claws of a monstrosity. Realer then one could imagine.
“BRAAAWWWWWWHHHHHHHHHHH…THUD.” Something heavy hit the floor. “grup….glrrrr. Grup..glrrr” It oozed along behind satin, dragging itself, or maybe something else.
Chris thought to run, but where. He couldn't see anything beyond his nose. Even standing still he could feel his feet sliding on whatever film coated the ground. It wasn't cement like the walls or the tunnel, it felt smooth, like linoleum. He remembered how clumsily he struggled around in here, tripping over hidden objects and ghostly obstacles, then almost sent him down every time. He could sprint right into a pillar and knock himself out, or trip on some unseen edge and collapse onto splintered wood set to impale him. “grup…gllrrrrrr….grup…glarer..” It was close, I heard it breathing as it stalked. Troubled breaths, filled with phlegm and spit and ooze. It sounded foul, and smelled as such, adding a sent of hot sewer to the already acrid room.
His brittle fingers felt along the wall. Bits crumbled off as he began to slide away from the tunnel, feeling for something, nothing, and anything. Invisible webs encompassed his face, but he didn't bother with them, or the spiders that scurried down his shirt, and around his neck. Feeling, this way and that. Up and down. Sliding, stepping, listening. “glurp….gllrrrr”
His index finger felt metal, it was round, and he felt rubber at the top. He clenched and raised it to his chest. It was light, but solid. A jack handle maybe, or some lever. It didn't matter. The fear gave him strength, to where his throbbing hands subsided, and his veins pumped fire. He didn't feel so naked with this iron in his hand, small comfort as it was, it was something, and that’s all he could have hoped for. He stood still, and the atmosphere grew heavy as some terror crawled into the room. He could sense it, like a blind mole might sense a snake. “glurp…glrrr..glurp…GRAWWWW” it screeched like some terrible hell bird. “snff …snff snnff…” it was smelling for him.

Its blind.
He knew. The other things would have seen me…Dark never slows the beasts.
He squeezed the rod handle, twisting his palms around it, guessing to where this things position was.
He had taken 12 steps to the right, he recalled. what if I miss it…it doesn't even sound solid. What if it does nothing but get me killed.
“Thoooooooooom”
Another sound filled the room, accompanied by a flash, that subsided to a gentle glow. The furnace had kicked back on, basking everything in front of it in an eerie orange light. A wriggling blob of pink and green flesh wormed near by. Boils and puss filled tumors riddled its mass, while a bald head bobbed on top. It swayed in every direction, jaw open to reveal a mouth of gnarly sharpened teeth, too large to let it close. It had thick layers of leathery skin where its eyes might have been, and a warped nose that tilted upward, and ended with a thorn like tip. it had no ears, but holes where they could be, and no limbs but for a single giant arm and a raw 3 fingered hand, that looked like it could flatten steel.
Chris swallowed hard, and cringed at the pain of a dry throat. He had seen what the mutated could become, but hadn't seen one this bad, Or this large. It was almost twice his height, and more then 800lbs heavier easily. His little lever might as well be a toothpick for the damage it could do.

Shit…this is fucking insane!

The creature slid towards him, still sniffing at the air and growling with hunger. Chris’s foot began to shake anxiously, fallowed by his hands, then his eyes. They darted around the room, suddenly becoming sharp, as he focused on some escape. The beasts arm raised high, and Chris bolted from the wall. Its fist smashed into the stone, Chris ducked underneath, then jolted blindly into the tunnel. “GRAWWWWW” It screamed from behind, but Chris kept running…again running. Into the darkness to escape these things that turned the world upside down. Into the abyss to escape the monsters, to save his life. Running.. I’m always running.