I made this story like a personalised story for you the readers while I make make the decision please enjoy and the Main character is called Aaron
Thursday, May 10, 2012
In the middle of the coldest day of the spring, you ponder the Apocalypse. Whether or not the reports prove true seems too early to determine, but the news and social media buzz with the threat of a virus and the potential pandemic brewing in remote areas of the world. So-called experts span the news channels, attention-starved parasites stuffing the audience with fear before devouring them. Is it really anything to be worried about? Snow falls outside, despite the calendar reading May, and ploughs and salt trucks deal with the white roads and piles of ice. Only days ago, a horse named "I'll Have Another" won the Kentucky Derby, and Major League Baseball is in full swing. The price of milk hasn't changed, and hardware stores report no shortage of end-of-the-world supplies. The only real impact is a TV channel showing 24-hour marathons of a reality TV show about doomsday preparation enthusiasts.
Sitting at your desk, you stare through the window at the sudden snowstorm outside, the people walking by, cars zooming down the street. Life goes on. I live in nightfall Nightfall—smaller than Boulder but still a thriving, multicultural community on the east side of the Colorado River. You live in a quaint brownstone sandwiched by other row homes in the middle of the block. Through the front window, you spot pedestrians braving the cold weather and the heavy flakes of snow now collecting on car tops and sidewalks.
The end of the world—could it ever really happen? Am I prepared? Who can predict their preparedness for apocalyptic conditions?
You lift a magazine from your desk. The main article's title reads "Do you have what it takes to survive the Zombie Apocalypse?" The magazine turns to the topic of professions.
One's profession reveals much about his or her knowledge, experiences, and numerous skills. Some professions prepare people for handling the harsh life of apocalyptic survival, some professions increase one's ability to deal with other survivors, while yet other professions are perfect for rebuilding society in the aftermath of a civilization-altering event.
As a current member of the United States Military on furlough, you specialize as a Military commander. Aaron is faced with a challenge of a dependent child, You are taking care of your eight-year-old nephew. While looking after a child is by no means a weakness like an addiction or phobia, caring for a Dependent Child in a survival situation presents extra obstacles, and therefore is a challenge not all survivors may wish to undertake your nephew is called Jimmy and your a pet owner of a German shepherd who is called max.
With all the stresses of the outbreak, focusing on something you enjoy is a worthwhile way to clear your mind, relax, and forget about the apocalypse. Throughout your life, you've enjoyed many hobbies and pastimes, but two have captured your interest the most, the first being reading books as an avid reader, you often lose yourself in books, whether classical or modern, fiction or non-fiction, and whatever genre your interests fancy. From reading so often, you find learning and retention have increased over time. You drop the magazine and stare out the window at the flakes of snow drifting from the midday sky, the clouds swirling in a dark, amorphous blob. Heat from an old radiator warms your hands, and the wonderful aroma of homemade vegetable soup (Grandma's recipe) wafts through the air. Your vacation ended, and now it's back to business.
Max trots over, tail wagging, and sits next to you. He stares up at you with big, brown, soulful eyes.
A crash from the back of the house—you twist in your recliner and face the kitchen, the thin wooden door only a few feet away. Max cocks his head up and then rockets to the kitchen. Excited barks fill the air. Rushing to the door, you open it in a slow swing. The old hinges creak in exaggerated squeals, each one instigating a cringe. You shiver as you pass the door.
You breathe a sigh of relief when nothing in the kitchen appears disturbed. Ivory-colored curtains hang over the bay window, and you slide them aside to look outside. Marks in the snow lead to the back door. You glance around the small yard with the high-stone fence. No one ever knocks on the back door, since there's no way into the yard except through the alleyway. Only neighbors have access to the alley, and no one has ever visited you through the yard.
Max crouches low, front legs out, and stares at the door.
Your smartphone vibrates in your pocket, and you view the screen—Jaime. You decline the call—there are more important, pressing matters.You rush to the back door and check the lock and deadbolt. You try to turn the handle and feel secure. Still, you wedge a chair under the handle to keep it from rotating. Peeking through the window, you spot nothing in the yard, and snow has already covered over the faint tracks.
Your phone buzzes—Jaime again.
"Hey," you say and lean against the wall of the kitchen.
"Yo, you seeing this stuff on the news? Every channel is talking about this infection, people dying and coming back to life, zombies."
"Do you really believe in zombies?"
"I don't know what to believe, but I read about it all night at work." Jaime works security at Sober Lounge, a hip nightclub in the north end of Nightfall. At six-foot-ten and four hundred pounds, his presence bestows all the security the nightclub requires. "Check out NPR. Dozens of articles about this virus that's infecting remote parts of the world, shutting down villages, governments quarantining whole areas. They're closing airports in East Africa and Southern Australia. Parts of China are infected. This is serious."
"So should I be stockpiling water and guns? Time to board up the house?" you ask.
"Not sure I'd go that far yet. But I was reading this book on the Spanish Flu, and…"
"You just happen to read books on pandemics?"
"Well, I was reading one on the last months of World War I, and a historical scholar discussed the impact of influenza. Anyway, mortality rates of that virus reached twenty percent, affected up to five percent of the population. Jaime's excited voice bellows through the earpiece. "…and if the virus moves like that, we could be seeing a much greater lethality. If it's already spreading through densely populated communities, imagine how contagious it really is!"
"That does sound serious."
"I have faith, though," Jaime says, his voice sounding more relaxed. "The government will come through and keep us safe. Too many powerful people stand ready to protect us. Politicians, scientists…the virus doesn't care who it infects. They know that and will work to stop it."
"I hope so, Jaime."
"Changing topics—did you finish your profile for that dating website? Remember, I get twenty-five bucks if you do. You can even cancel the account after you go through their setup."
Thanks. I really appreciate it. Anyway, I have to work again tonight. If you get bored, give me a call. Enjoy the rest of your day. See ya."
Jaime has been one of your closest friends since the end of your first tour of duty, when he was part of a civilian volunteer group that held a rally to support your homecoming. Somehow, you struck up a conversation, and the two of you have been inseparable ever since. The years of knowing him have strengthened your bond, so a chance to do him a favor seems only natural.
After checking the yard one more time, you pour out some pet food for Max and settle beside your desk with a steaming bowl of vegetable soup and your laptop. Since you barely have any pet food left, you add it to your shopping list. From Jaime's e-mail, you bring up PrimeMatch - The Last Dating Site You'll Ever Need!
Take the free PrimeMatch Test and get your free matches today:
In terms of relationships, you are looking for a sexual and emotional partner. Your a Male whose skin colour is black your name is Aaron Amah your race of an African decent and East Indian.
And your native of America,your hair color is black and your eye color is blue.
With the PrimeMatch profile built and your obligation to Jaime met, you scan the subjects of other e-mails: from Colonel Faulkner.
Mountain Warriors,
Many of you are enjoying well-deserved post-deployment leave, but unfortunately, all leaves and passes must be hereby cancelled. Though I cannot discuss details on unclassified e-mail, events are rapidly developing which require our attention. All members of the Division are directed to report to their battalion areas by 12:30 today. 43rd Special Troops Battalion is to report to Alexander Air Station, a commercial air field in Lincoln County. Call your Battalion duty for details. DO NOT REPLY to this e-mail. Communication by civilian e-mail regarding this matter is not authorized. Good luck and Godspeed. Your country needs you now more than ever.
Colonel John Faulkner
You close the e-mail window and shut down the laptop.
Finishing your soup, you bring the empty bowl into the kitchen. Filling the dishwasher, you notice a speck of red on the bottom of the white oven door. You scratch it away; it has the consistency of dried blood.
"I'm home," you hear from the living room. "Ares, I'm home." The door slams, then hurried feet pound on the floor as Johnny runs into the kitchen. "Hey," he says with a toothy half-smile and sits at the kitchen table. Max follows him in and sits at the edge of the table.
Your sister asked you to watch for him for a few days. It was perfect timing since you're on vacation, and your nephew provides company. The first round of chemo strains your sister's body the most, and she would rather not have Johnny see her in the first days of the course.
"Do you think I could have just two cookies?" he asks, already beginning the negotiation phase of the pre-dinner snack.
"You can have one cookie, but then you have to eat dinner in a half-hour. I can heat up vegetable soup or make you something."
"Can I have a grilled cheese?"
"Yep," you say, but he focuses on the jar atop the counter filled with chocolate chip cookies. He sits back at the table and yanks a rolled-up comic book from his back pocket.
"Ares…" Johnny says with a long pause. "When am I gonna see my mom?"
"Soon."
"Why are you here and my mom is gone? Is something wrong?"
Your sister asked you not to tell Johnny the reason you're watching him, but it's an awkward position to be in. You told him everything okay Johnny stares at his comic book, nodding with a pensive look as if mulling over your words. But soon, he smiles and flips the page, dazzled by the vibrant images of his comic.
You take out bread and cheese for his sandwich and place a pan on a burner. From the small window over the sink, you notice that the snow has stopped, and the clouds have pulled away from one another to expose the naked sky beyond.
Snow in May. What a crazy world.
Friday, May 11, 2012
In the middle of the morning, you ponder your agenda for the day you headed to the base.
Alexander Air Station is a remote airfield located on a stretch of road off US Route 287, a fair distance from Nightfall. In the 90s, AAS served as an under-utilized training field, and in 2008, it was converted into a commercial airstrip, with hangars rented by the Armed Forces.
You set out early for the hour-long hike to the air field. The e-mail from Colonel Faulkner didn't indicate a uniform of the day, but you settled upon You wear the typical camouflage pants and jacket with tan shirt and combat boots.
Snow falls in scattered waves, and you stare at the dull tan mixture it makes along the side of the highway. Traffic has thinned outside of Stodgy Farms, the rural town in Greater Nightfall, and now all you can see is the long black stretch of highway, the far-off mountains to the left, and the faint outline of distant Chipper Ridge on your right.
You turn on the radio. A deep-toned announcer speaks over light jazz music.
…three days and two nights on the beautiful island of Bermuda. Onboard our Atlantis cruise ship, enjoy our award-winning buffet or tempt your palette in one of our five-star restaurants. We offer spa service and daily aerobics, as well as poolside massages. Call your travel agent now or book online at…
You switch off the radio.
Though your GPS bleats out directions, the AAS coordinator told you to look for a gas station named Marty's, and sure enough on the left of the highway, a dusty, faded box of a station hides behind an illegible sign just below a bend in the road. Two gas pumps, covered in soot, stand like twin chess pieces on a patch of dirt. A handwritten piece of cardboard in the window reads Meat Mash 1.99.
A shadow crosses your windshield, and you twist the wheel just as your car smashes into a figure on the road. You feel a jolt, and a body slams over your hood, then bounces along the metal frame and rumbles over the roof. You slam on the brakes, your arms shaking as you brace against the steering wheel. Your body clenches as the car decelerates. Twisting sideways, the car whines and the tires squeal, but you finally come to rest in a dusty cloud. It's all over in seconds.
Your car engine stutters, then shuts off, but that's the least of your worries right now. You jump out of the driver's seat and peer at the man lying on the road twenty feet back, face up. Running over, you eye the figure: bushy brown beard streaked with gray down the center, blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a work shirt with 'Marty' embroidered on the name tag. His right leg lies mangled and rotated to the side, and the hip appears indented. His skin bears a yellow hue, and green freckles decorate his cheeks.
You check the man's pulse but find none. His chest doesn't move, nor is he breathing.