The initial Outbreak occurred on October 12th
2013.
For all of its horror, the world thought it was an elaborate
Halloween prank. A bit early, perhaps. That
should have been the first clue that we were wrong.
The news stations were filled with sarcasm. Awkward jokes
and mishandled facts leading to more viewers’ annoyance than the
confusion-filled panic our fictions had expected.
In all predicted scenarios, the panic was the worst of it.
People flooding the streets or boarding up in all the wrong places was what
raised the numbers of the dead. Office buildings cut off from the outside
world, survivors left to waste away without food or weapons. The first deaths
of the main characters would invoke the afterthought that maybe a mall would
have made a more strategic base.
It was always too late of course. The stories play out the same.
The group would organize and take to the streets. There’s always death,
sacrifice, and the two survivors. The survivors who make it to the destination
and find that final twist in the plot. The real problem is never the outbreak
in the end. The survivors find out their real battle is themselves, or the
government with super-secret experiments, or worse, the humanity found in an
infected friend thought beyond help.
It’s easier; I suppose to blame the horrors on something
else. Reality was much worse. The horrors here were something a cheap author
might have called man’s confidence and disbelief. Fiction was always looking
for a moral, smashing the lessons learned into someone’s face. There was no
need for morals here. Reality made lessons an afterthought, and no one had time
for those anymore.
The initial Outbreak occurred on October 12th
2013. It went quickly. No one thought to hide or fight. No one believed the power
behind creaking bones and unwavering stares.
The initial Outbreak was the only outbreak; there were no
survivors.