15 years ago
Peter had never seen a war zone except in movies, but he knew that what was happening outside wasn't a war, it was a slaughter. The first screams had started shortly after Alexandra and he had left the restaurant. In the ensuing panic they had been separated as what seemed to be a zombie started its rampage through the area. Well that one zombie had become twenty than one hundred until the entire city had been overrun by the creatures. And Peter could have sworn he saw some of the zombies start to change to wolves part way their feasting. There had been one extremely close call that, had Peter's shoes been made out of a slightly weaker material, he would be still out there, but on the other side of the killing.
He weighed the small bag in his hands, it was heavier than it should be, but maybe that was just because it brought everything into perspective. It looked almost as bad as he did, bloodstained, torn, and missing somewhere to go. He had seen it and had paused to pick it up. It had been Alexandra's though she was probably one of the hundreds of zombies roaming the city now. She had been a known a killer, a hired murder, yet the only thing he could think of was that there was probably a ghost out there who was happier now.
The worst part was that he didn't even think that what was out there was truthfully dead. If they were truthfully dead or undead as it were, then he be able to see thousands of new ghosts from the violent attacks. As it was, there was only the normal amount of ghosts in the city. It was like the 'zombies' were on a type of PHP that was contagious. It was like a virus, a virus or bacteria that caused rapid deterioration of the higher mental orders, increased agression, strength, and speed, and a increase in the decay of flesh. The method of the diseases spread seemed to be biting someone, but who ever had heard of a disease that you got from biting someone? Another one of the blood curdling screams came up from the street, causing some people to turn away from the window and woman to break down sobbing. Peter rubbed his arm self-conciously the material from his shirt rubbing up against the scar that he got when that werewolf bit him - Oh, right. Peter walked over and began to comfort the sobbing woman while continuing to think. 'So it was a disease like lycanthropy that that caused rapid deterioration of the higher mental orders, increased agression, strength, and speed, and a increase in the decay of flesh.' he thought, 'yet it doesn't attack other diseases like lycanthropy does. It seems to coexist somehow with them. As some other people came over to comfort the woman and Peter drifted back over to the corner he had been sitting in and pulled out his notebook. He then began to write about everything that had happened that night. From the beginning of the meal to the zombie attacks.
After of what if it felt like hours of writing, listening to the horrible screams and pleas for help that came from outside, and comforting the nearby people, Peter finally saw a familiar face in the crowd. Rather he felt it first, rippling through him as the the ghost went past. He looked up from the notebook to see the spectral stalker floating a bit above the heads of the crowd giving the person in front of him the evilest glare it could muster. Peter didn't know how to feel but looked at the purse next to him. 'Guess she's not out there,' he thought. He watched Alexandra make her way over to the bar and pull out what looked like a very good bottle of champane and pour herself a glass. He thought of what he could possibly say at a time like this, gave up, and walked over to her. He would hopefully think of something by the time he got there.
He nodded to the ghost and sat down next to her now dried blood splattered all over his cloths and face, his coat torn, and the dried blood in his hair had hardened to make it feel harder. None of any of this blood was his and the only substantial injuries were the bruises on his jaw, ribs, and back. "You know," he began, leaning lightly on the bar and scratching his face with one hand, before continuing "It'll be very hard to pay for that without this." He set the purse down in front of her, part of him congratuating himself on the excellent impromptu.