Before you read this I just want to say that I've decided that the 'Running' story series is going to be a collection of short stories instead of one long novel. as such this story probably wont have anything to do with the last one. I may join the storys into some interlinking time line some way across the roads but right now this story is a different story. :P
Tom needed to get away. Get far far away. Something terrible had just happened.
Outside he sucked the life from the air. And chocked it back out again as a roar sounded from the warehouse. The terrible thing was still happening. How could things go so bad so fast. “Focus,” fear quelling Tom's voice as he tried to keep his sanity. The days events being anything but sane of course. But, you couldn't blame a guy for trying, could you?
“RIIPPP!” a sound like a previously stuck zipper finally coming free. “SLOOSH”. “Oh god,” Tom's eyes widened in fear as he heard his co-workers being ripped apart. Their bodies exploding, as veins, abnormally full, were burst like gigantic pimples. Tom threw up. He couldn't stay here, if he did, he would die like all the others. Like all his friends.
But Tom needed to stop what was happening. If he didn't, if he just gave up, the entire town would suffer the same horrifying death as those locked inside the warehouse. Then the government would come in and seal the town off, “for the greater good.” He could almost hear their lies coming through the mega-phones on-top of the air-tight quarantine vans. “STAY IN YOUR HOMES. EVERYTHING WILL BE OK. I RESCUE OPERATATION IS UNDERWAY.” That's all that would be of Nazeing. At least until they could move the bodies.
“NO!!” Tom screamed. He couldn't let that happen. His town had worked for what it had. Farming. Providing for the slackers in London, who would just as surely throw them away. He couldn't let them die. Tears welled up in Tom's eyes as he realised what he had to do. Looking around his reddened blue eyes caught sight of a torch, just outside the front gate. Grabbing the handle, Tom turned it on, illuminating the clean, yet rusty set of doors. Doors 12 feet tall. He shuddered as his mind wandered to the other side of the doors, imagining the slowly solidifying blood that would be dripping down them, inside. Tom looked down at his hand when the shaking line of light coming from the torch threw him out of his surreal daydream. A flood of shame, and then instantly of electrified anger took Tom as he realised that he resembled a child, too scared to turn on the light after waking up in the middle of the night, because the “boogie man” might grab him. Using his rage, Tom managed to steady his torch. Tom took one last breath as he opened the doors and stepped into death.
So, there you go! Very sorry that i haven't been on here in AGES, but i had some personal stuff to deal with. It's all finished now mostly so i should be able to continue with this whole 'blogging' thing again. :)