Zombie System: Ruling The Apocalypse

006 - A group

They stepped out of the shopping mall in new clothes. Jonathan picked a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt to cover his bite.

The Greens ambled past them, their vacant eyes fixed on unseen horrors. Jonathan and Eleanor walked hand in hand, a silent covenant between them.

A curious pattern emerged: whenever Eleanor inadvertently stepped too far from Jonathan, a Green would instinctively lurch towards her, its guttural growl a chilling warning. But a simple touch from Jonathan, a reassuring grip of her hand, and the green would halt, its predatory intent dissolving into an aimless shuffle.

Jonathan smiled. And then he would caution himself to stop. He was a walking dead and he had to be humane. He had to find a cure.

Eleanor, catching on, began to test the boundaries, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She’d step away, watch a green approach, then quickly grasp Jonathan’s hand, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips.

They found a car, surprisingly intact, parked near a shattered storefront. Jonathan tested the ignition. The engine coughed to life with a hopeful sputter. They drove on, navigating the debris-strewn roads, the city a ghost town save for the relentless green tide.

A gas station, miraculously untouched by the worst of the chaos, beckoned. Jonathan pulled in, filling the tank with a quiet efficiency born of instinct. He set the car’s ancient map to Cyclops Infirmary, the place Eleanor had named as the virus’s birthplace.

As they drove, the distant sound of gunshots echoed from a two-story building.

Jonathan pulled over and parked the car. He moved slowly towards the building. Eleanor, silent and resolute, followed close behind.

"Be careful, you could get shot," Eleanor warned.

Inside, the stench of blood and decay was overwhelming. He saw them: Greens, their forms hunched over a motionless body, tearing at the flesh, devouring a man's head with sickening efficiency. A gun laid by the side.

Then a low rumble, a chorus of growls, emanated from upstairs. Followed by the thud of a door.

He ascended the creaking staircase and Eleanor followed. They reached the top floor to find a cluster of greens relentlessly banging against a sturdy wooden door.

"Maybe survivors are inside," Eleanor whispered.

Jonathan walked towards them. The Greens, as if sensing their presence, turned. Their vacant eyes met Jonathan’s, and a ripple of recognition, or perhaps obedience, seemed to pass through them. They shuffled away from the door, leaving a clear path.

Close to the door, Jonathan turned to look at them. He wished they would go away, and then they did. They turned and walked down the stairs.

"Tell them," Jonathan rasped in a cracking sound that brought forth a fresh cough of blood.

Eleanor understood. She pressed her mouth close to the door. "Hello? Is anyone alive in there?"

A tense silence, then a cautious, male voice from within. "Who's out there? Are the greens gone?"

"Yes, they're... they're taken care of," Eleanor replied, glancing at Jonathan. "Do you have a gun? Anything?"

"We've got bats," the man's voice responded. "Are you alone?"

"Wait, how did you kill them without a sound?" One of them spoke from within.

"The hall is safe," Eleanor ignored the question and asserted.

A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing a narrow crack. Through it, a pair of wary eyes peered out, then widened in horror as they caught sight of Jonathan. The door slammed shut with a resounding thud.

"Are you stupid, girl?!" a woman's voice shrieked from inside. "Are you playing games with us? Get away from that thing!" She said in a hurry.

"No, please! He's different! He saved me, he can control them!" But her words were met with frantic shouts and the muffled thud of objects being moved to barricade the door.

Jonathan, realizing the futility of her efforts, stepped forward. He pressed his face close to the door, his voice a low, gravelly rasp, each word a painful effort. "I... am... a... mu...tual... green." He coughed, a spray of blood splattering the worn wood. "I... con...trol... them." He paused, gathering his strength. "With... me... in... your... squad... you... will... be... safe."

He heard a hushed argument from within, a rapid-fire exchange of desperate whispers and shocked exclamations. He could tell that they didn't hear him.

Eleanor, hearing their hesitation, added her voice, fervent and clear. "He's saved me countless times! He's not like them, he thinks, he feels! He's trying to help!

Slowly, tentatively, the door cracked open again. Eleanor slipped inside first, offering a reassuring smile. Then, Jonathan stepped through the opening.

The small room was a stark tableau of fear and desperation. Three men and two women huddled together, their faces pale, their eyes wide with terror. The men clutched a baseball bat, their knuckles white. The ladies, seeing Jonathan’s disfigured face and glowing green eyes, gasped and instinctively hid behind the men.

"Don't come close!" one of the men barked, his bat raised defensively.

"I'm... still... human," Jonathan rasped.

"That's how Malachi turned!" a woman cried, her voice trembling. "It's a stage! He was talking just like that before he started eating people!"

"He's been like this for six hours!" Eleanor interjected, her voice sharp with impatience. "It takes five minutes to turn! He's not like the others!"

"How?" one of the men demanded, his eyes darting between Eleanor and Jonathan.

Eleanor took a deep breath. "He's a project in his own right. A mutating zombie. He controls them. They won't hurt you with him around." She looked at Jonathan, then back at the bewildered survivors. "He wants to get to the Cyclops Infirmary. It's where the virus was created. He thinks he can understand it, maybe even find a way to culture it... for a cure."

"How did you know all this?" another man asked, his gaze fixed on Eleanor.

"Because I know their secrets," she said, a cryptic edge to her voice. "The secrets of those who put us down here."

"So what?" one of the women challenged.

"So, let's get him to Cyclops," Eleanor stated, her voice resolute.

"You don't need us, do you? We can just go on our way, right?" The man who had first spoken to Eleanor asked.

Jonathan, sensing their doubt, stepped forward. "I... am... a... sur...vi...vor... some...how." He paused, letting the words sink in. "I... just... want... to... help... you... all." He met their wary gazes. "It's... not... like... I... need... you... but... you... need... me." He gestured towards the door. "Let's... go... to... Cy...clops."

He coughed again, the blood a stark punctuation mark to his words. "Stay... with... me... and... you'll... be... saved." He turned and slowly walked towards the door, expecting them to follow.

Eleanor lingered for a moment and then her eyes swept over the stunned faces of the survivors. "If you are attacked under his watch," she said, looking into their eyes and the. at Jonathan who was about to walk down the stairs, "kill me." With that stark promise, she followed Jonathan out into the chaotic street.

Hesitantly, the five survivors emerged, Eleanor holding Jonathan’s hand, the rest clutching each other, their bats ready. "Don't break the line," Eleanor warned.

The Greens who had chased them to the second floor now shuffled past them, oblivious, their forms parting around Jonathan as if by an unseen force.

"You see," Eleanor whispered to the group with a smile.

"It's working," one of the men breathed.

They reached the car and piled into the back seats, leaving the driver's side empty for Jonathan. He slid in, his movements still stiff, and started the engine. As he drove, their eyes, reflected in the rearview mirror, remained fixed on him, a mixture of fear, wonder, and a nascent, desperate trust.

"Unbelievable!" one of the men said.