Twelve years.
Twelve years since the day the Infection escaped from a laboratory in northern California. It was an experiment to enhance and strengthen the human immune system, and it had failed utterly. It morphed the patient's cellular structure into something monstrous, and his blood seemed to mutate almost immediately into something unworldly. Alien. Fatal to mankind.
The heart of the man ceased to beat, and at first glance it seemed as though he died.
But that perspective was changed entirely as he began to reanimate. The color of his skin began to drain into a pale tone, and his eyes were black and lifeless. The military tried to contain him, but he was immune to their ammo. It didn't kill him. Nothing they tried to do did.
And, in turn, he bit one of the scientists. And another. And another. By that point, it was hopeless for all of the men still standing as the original zom and his new victims began to feast on their lives. It was too horrific for some to even comprehend, and to this day some become queasy or are struck by paranoia at the mention of it.
The government tried to cover it up, but it grew fatally apparent that there was no way they could keep up with their lies.
For not even a day after the Infection turned loose, more than half a million were mutated. In a sense, they were killed; the Infection would be passed by one of its victims biting, scratching or injuring another, and it was only a matter of time before all of the United States was engulfed by the undead. Zombies, as some call them. A rather twisted term, actually, though so many fail to realize what mass terror and worldwide devastation was caused by those things. Thousands would fall victim daily. Millions would be taken monthly at the rate the Infection was spreading.
Some Americans managed to flee overseas before they were mutated into zoms, but others wern't so lucky. And the nationwide blackout didn't help the matter. Electricity was permenately knocked out because no one was there to fix it, and because it had no value anymore. Guns didn't get rid of the zoms. They would always shuffle mindlessly to their prey until they got what they wanted, regardless of how many bullets shot through their body.
The other countries couldn't risk letting the Infection travel to the rest of the world. So they started to reject any incoming planes or ships from the Americas. And, sueprisingly, it worked; the zombies didn't make it pass the blockades, and over the corse of twelve years, were contained to North and South America. Though the two continents were fundamentally hopeless, the rest if the world was safe. For now.
However, hope still was aflame for a few in the States. Citizens started to establish communities across the land to help survivors live. These communities, more commonly known as "Safe Houses" by the inhabitants, were heavily guarded by huge, steel enforced walls made from scrap metal. Men and women were trained to stand watch at towers planted on these walls for waves of zoms that needed to be executed if they posed a threat. Zombie hunters would be sent on calls of victims' families to find their infected loved ones and send them to eternal rest by either severing the brainstem or decapitating them. Farms were set up in areas where the soil was best, giving the people a source of food. Water was collected from rainstorms, ponds and streams either within the Safe House or nearby on the other side of the wall. In twelve short years, at least a couple hundred thousand Americans managed to hang onto life and live peacefully within the massive walls of their communities.
But then it started to crumble.
There were five known communities still intact at the beginning of the twelfth year—Sacramento, Ontario, Saõ Paulo, Denver and Quebec, respectively to the city they once were—and two months into that year, three had mysteriously fell into nothing but zoms. The two surviving communities feared the safety of their citizens, so they began to reinforce their walls and mass-produce more crops in case disaster struck. However, only one Safe House—Sacramento—managed to hang on as the other was slowly and painfully devoured by the ever-hungry zombies. Now, the only community of humans in the Americas, was absolutely terrified.
The administrative board of Sacramento decided to cover up the other communities' demise, but the news soon leaked out to the citizens, and they began to worry. Rumors of the administrators failing to protect their people began to stir about, and the citizens were losing hope. The propaganda was overwhelming, and some were sure that zombies were going to make their way through the walls and infect all the inhabitants. And there was really no way to blame them; all the other Safe Houses were gone. No trace of life remained. It was only a matter of time before they were going to be killed, too, wasn't it?
