Ailinon has a minion!

Quarantine the Infected Subeta

It was just as the rumors had said, the rural town of Broken Hill in Southeast Shadowglen was… off; the understatement of the year. The streets were empty; windows were boarded up and there was a silence that promised terrible things if broken. With every hair on the back of his neck standing straight up, Ross Wesson cautiously ventured further into the settlement. As he passed quiet hotels and dilapidated businesses, he drew a small handgun from its hiding place inside his leather jacket and held it close to his frame, mostly shielding it from view. He trusted his instincts and the voice in the back of his mind was screaming at him that eyes were boring holes into his body from all directions even though he saw no one.
Then something made him stop in his tracks. A gust of wind blew through the streets, kicking up little whirlwinds of dust in its wake. As it blew against him, he instantly twisted his face in disgust. With the breeze came the distinct scent of rotting flesh; Ross knew the aroma all too well. The virus had spread, despite his best efforts, despite the unspeakable things he’d done in an attempt to avoid what now appeared to be reality. A whole town was lost, maybe a hundred victims now the cannibalistic undead and there was nothing he could do but ‘cleanse’ what remained.
“Damn it,” he said softly to himself.
Ross paused, his rigid body collapsing into a posture of despair. What was the point? There didn’t seem to be one. The infection was getting worse. What was once two or three diseased people per town was now… well, everyone. The hunting of malicious supernatural creatures was a thrill, a way of life, that had been violently ripped away from him. These new monsters were once human and blowing the head off a teenage girl made Ross ill, even if she was trying to eat his face. There was no satisfaction from the road he traveled now. The reward, if there was one to be found, was as elusive as Shinwa’s goblet.
A movement behind him, something he felt rather than saw, shocked Ross out of his despair and he spun, dropped to the ground and raised his gun all in a single fluid motion. His pulse pounded in his ears as he eased his aim away from nothing. He knew there had been something there but whatever it was, it had disappeared.
“You are losing it, Ross. Of course it was only a matter of time,” he commented to himself, a habit he’d picked up recently since the loss of his hunting partner, Jared Smith. They had been like brothers of war, taking down any bad beastie that came their way. Until the beasts became human, that is. Jared couldn’t handle it and in a moment of weakness, he’d been killed. Ross never knew silence could be so overwhelming. The quiet tormented him constantly and so he did his best to fill it, even if there was no longer any person there to hear his various quips.
He turned to continue on his path through town, but instead smacked straight into a little boy. The hunter reeled backwards and fell to the ground several feet away from the child. Completely thrown off his game, it took him several seconds to raise his gun but he stopped just as he was about to pull the trigger. The child, about eight years old or so, didn’t look infected. Maybe he wasn’t a zombie, but the kid was definitely stupid, sneaking up on him like that.
“What is wrong with you?!” Ross yelled, getting up and dusting off his hole ridden jeans.
The boy just stared at him with strange grey irises, eyes that gave the impression that they held all the information in the world. “It isn’t here anymore. It left.”
Ross quit fussing with his clothes and gear and frowned. “What isn’t here?”
“The Infected. It left and the others followed.”
Riddles, great. There were far too many people that couldn’t speak plainly when the supernatural was involved. Jared had been the smart one, translating the load of bull witnesses fed them into thoughts and actions Ross could follow. Now he was on his own.
“What in the hell are you talking about kid?” Ross demanded, absentmindedly mussing his short brown hair with one hand.
“You can end this.”
“Oh I can, huh? And how do I go about doing that?”
“By destroying it. It hasn’t ventured far from here. It’s in the woods beyond this place. If you can kill it, you can stop the virus.”
The hunter was getting pissed off now. “No seriously, what in the hell are you talking about? What ‘it‘? What is ‘it‘?”
The boy turned sideways and pointed down the road and then he vanished; gone in the clichéd, ‘blink of an eye‘.
“Son of a…” Ross scanned the immediate area but he was completely alone. The boy hadn’t been human after all. Maybe it had been a ghost or even a god or goddess, but either way Ross hated when they popped in and out like that. “Alright then. I guess it’s over the river and through the woods to gank myself an ‘it‘!” He shook his head and sighed, but started a determined stride towards his destination.
After a while he reached the edge of Broken Hill, a spot where the buildings ceased and nature remained in control. The forest beyond the town was dense and a fog spilled across the sparse ground, clinging to the trees and blanketing the exit road.
“Perfect. Doesn‘t seem like I‘m going to be killed in there at all,” he muttered sarcastically as he stepped into the dismal mess.
In the woods he became cautious again, treading lightly, analyzing every shadow. Ross had no idea what he was searching for, if there was anything at all. The skeptic in him continued to dismiss what the kid had said and yet Ross knew otherwise. There was something in the forest with him, he could sense it. In all the years he had hunted, he had never encountered anything like it. The atmosphere was stifling yet frigid at the same time and it was electrically charged, almost crackling audibly. He had never been scared of anything but his entire being pulsed with terror now. It was close, it had to be.
And then he saw it.
Almost completely obscured by the trees, a ghostly animal appeared to hover some distance from the road, its fur moving as though it were in water, like the rules of gravity didn’t apply to it. Ross watched it with wide green eyes. No matter how hard he tried, he could not turn away from it. In fact he found that he couldn’t move at all. He was petrified both with fear and wonderment. The creature had not visibly stirred and yet it was getting closer. As it drew nearer Ross could make out more details. It was a celinox but not one like any other he had ever encountered. This beast was stunning; its top coat a light grey with white mottling and a white chest and stomach. A normal celinox would have had crystals surrounding its eyes and jutting up from its spine but this specimen had none. Even more remarkable were the eyes themselves which were solid black. Ross could feel its raw power spilling over his body, like needles poking into every bit of his flesh. The dull pain was just enough stimulation to keep him focused. He needed to fear and destroy this animal, not admire and worship it.
The celinox turned its face slowly towards him as if giving Ross ample time to panic about what was soon to occur. The pure ebony pools where its eyes should have been finally settled on the hunter after several agonizingly long seconds. It then tilted its head slightly to the left and stilled with the exception of its undulating fur.
Ross let out a shaky breath and in doing so he realized he could move again. He fumbled for the shotgun strapped across his back knowing his handgun wouldn’t do any damage and doubting the shotgun would either but he had to try. Fight to the last man, that was his motto… and he was it.
He managed to grab the shotgun securely after a few tries and didn’t bother aiming as he fired the silver and salt buckshot straight into the celinox. The sound exploded through the trees, bounced off every surface and then faded into silence.
In the quiet that followed his fear became reality. The animal wasn’t affected at all, almost like it wasn’t even truly on the same plane of existence but somewhere else.
In response to the attack the creature straightened its neck and opened its blank eyes wider. Suddenly the hunter found himself on his knees, doubled over and coughing up blood. When the fit subsided he looked at his hands, palms covered in crimson. What had just happened? He didn’t know and continued to stare when he noticed a mark on a clean bit of his skin. It seemed like a rash to him at first but the mark was growing, spreading up his arm. He was infected.
Horrified, he jerked his head back up to see the celinox but it was gone. All at once he knew what the boy had been going on about. The reason Ross could never stop the plague no matter how many of the infected he slaughtered was because the ultimate source had not been man, but the creature that had now sentenced him to death. He cried out in agony as he felt his body dying, as he felt himself becoming what he hunted. Desperately he reached for his gun, intent on ending things on his own terms. As his fingers closed around the grip, he found that he couldn’t stop staring at the blood on his hands. It called to him in a voice growing steadily louder until it was louder than his own. He needed it, needed it to continue on. He wanted to feed. He had to.