The End Project

 I don’t think anybody expected it, that crisp April morning in London. I just doesn’t happen. But, as with many others, eyes turned up toward that plane. It came from behind me, that faint rumble, which at first sounded like a works truck or a lorry at speed. But, on turning, it was impossible to not to look up, as the jumbo jet careered intensely towards the city. It may well have been speeding up but that observation was rendered moot given its target; the city centre.

 The crash and explosion were a blur as we instinctively leapt to the floor, screaming and crying. After the first initial roar of fire, heat and debris, a long, ominous noise called out, whether one wanted to hear it or not. There was obvious panic at first, this not being a regular occurrence, with those not still lying on the floor dazedly wandering. Thankfully the emergency services were exceptional during those days, weeks and painfully short two months for the nightmare hadn’t yet begun. At least that’s what they think it was.

 It mutated, so those final victims have and obsolete version of whatever caused the others to change too. But you can’t get near The Living Dead, not even as a group. They’re like an advanced hunter-killer. Initially they appeared to resemble zombies, although while their body is humanoid in nature, they don’t resemble us much any more. They have turned us into prey, you see. We are their game and their food. Their approach is methodical and pack led, almost regimental at times. And their intelligence improves rapidly, so attempts to thwart or hold them back is akin to holding back a tsunami.

 To begin with they would simply attack us in a blind rage, but they soon learned to play with their food, guiding people into specific locations to unleash their vicious ire upon. Those that could, and were willing to, fled for the sanity of the countryside. 

That’s where all that remains of Humanity heard the more dreadful part. For not just London had been hit. Major cities the world over had their plane crashes and mutant human hybrids, causing them to seek the open solace of fields too. But, like some insidiously demented sanctuary gone wrong, those undead yet angry eye to to our direction.

 The last straggle of survivors from the menacing ruin that was London brought with them of a top secret Project called End Times.

 It seems that government the world over had some way of infecting its population. Hitting major cities was ideal as infection rates would be staggeringly high enough to ensure entire continents would see an unprecedented human genocide. Why that would happen will sadly remain a complete mystery, as their demonic plan has worked and we, in our current form, are no longer. What will become our our abberations is not something we will ever think about for they are coming. We can hear them!

 So, my dear reader, if one should find this and has the heart. Think fondly of us, think fondly of our foolishness!