Synopsis: England, somewhere between 2000 and 2010. It's difficult to tell, mostly because no-one is left alive after the events of a few years ago. One survivor, Nathan, with his dad's old shotgun and a pocket full of shells, remains in his 2nd floor apartment, fending off the creatures that took everyone he's ever loved away from him...

Author's note: This is the introduction to the story. Its managed to turn into quite a big tale filled with action, violence, loss, friends and hope. I will only be keeping this first part up, the rest has been taken down for edition and expansion. A long process, but one I love.


GULL
Duncan Muggleton

I couldn't tell you exactly when it started. Maybe that's because I don't know for sure, or because I'm too scared to even think about it.

I wish there was a way for me to have stopped it all happening. I wish there was something I could have done to help those who needed me most. (I wish I wish I wish) I still have a chance to rectify a few wrongs; to save her.

What I know for sure, is they're still out there. Still moving through the shadows and staring through the windows with those burning yellow, unblinking eyes. I've taken to sleeping in the day, and being awake for when they like to come out in the blackness of the night, to get at the one person they still haven't reached. The single fact that I've been in here for (two? three? It all blurs into nothingness over time) years fending them off tells me they have to try harder; to get at this sad loner.

I have no intentions of giving up; of giving them exactly what they want. Soon I'll make my move, with the cold steel of my dad's old shotgun in my hand, pockets packed full of shells and a mind for only one thing:

Revenge.

You're probably thinking it's the same old story: the lone hero of a wasted world and no regrets...nothing to lose, right? Well, this is a slightly different state of affairs. For one, everyone around me who I ever loved is either dead or gone. Some were buried by myself in crude graves in the allotment out the back, with their names etched finely in the wooden crosses to mark their places of rest. Those who aren't buried were taken by them; those creatures stalking the streets of the town I once called my home, the one place I felt truly safe; now nothing more than a ghost of a memory in the remaining twilight.

As much as it hurts to keep thinking like this, I know for a fact that I am alone. I'm in my families second floor apartment (is it mine now?) , looking out over the lengthy stretch of deserted street below me, as dusk is settling in, and I can already here them stirring. It could just be the wind, but the steady rustling in the trees and bushes just down the road increases eerily in the half-light.

I would have made my move a few weeks ago had it not been for my neighbour across the street. I didn't even know he was still in there, let alone alive and still in there. Hell, I didn't think anyone in this wasteland was still breathing. All I remember is being woken from sleep by an unholy scream that ripped through my very dreams. I jumped over to the window.
Bert Ibstock was running uncontrollably, arms flailing in all directions, his bare feet smacking harshly on the surface of the road, in a pitifully painful attempt to get away from them. It's the first time I'd seen them out in the daylight. It meant that I could see their whole figure clearly for the first time since they came, and I can tell you they disgust me to the core. Their upright, eight foot bodies are outlined in deathly black hair; thin enough to see their deep red skin ripple with the muscular strength to rip apart a human like paper. Claws cover they're hands and feet, as long as kitchen knives and just as sharp; something I unfortunately found out for myself.

Their long heads sit upon a snake like neck capable of turning a full half a circle to face the opposite direction. Its features are a cross between a wolf and some sort of lizard. Two fangs hang beside either side of its bottom jaw when its mouth is closed, and a cluster of razor sharp teeth line the inside of its mouth. Most would mistake it for a werewolf. However, as all of us know, werewolves don't exist. If they did, they wouldn't stand a chance against these creatures, these...monsters. I imagine them running off, yelping, their tail tucked safely between their legs.

I call them Gulls because of the sound they make. Not so much a roar as a piercing, deafening screech. It can be heard from miles away. If one happened to make that god-awful noise right next to me my ear drums would unquestionably explode. Okay, so it's as about as far from a seagull, or any bird of whatever kind, as you can get, but that just happened to be the first thing that came to mind amidst all that great shit heap of trouble they brought with them. Funnily enough, I never thought to ask them their name. I didn't see any reason on being first name terms with them, to be honest. Hello there! My name is Nathan, old boy. And before you rip my legs off and knock ten bails of bullock out of me, what the devil does one call you, ay? I feel it rude not to introduce ourselves to one another!

Its powerful legs covered four times the distance that Bert's were. It caught up within a matter of seconds. I fired off a few desperate shots at the Gull in an attempt to injure it, or at the very least, distract it. The spread of the shotgun shells was too wide and unpredictable to be in the least bit affective at this distance. I'm not entirely sure what Mr. Ibstock was hoping to achieve, but whatever it was he needed help doing it. Whether he'd made his mind up and was heading to the coast to search for his family, maybe some answers, I don't know. Maybe he'd gone mad in that house on his own for so long. I sure as hell know how that feels.

Mr. Ibstock was one of those neighbours you'd probably call a curtain-twitcher. A constantly curious individual who would 'just be passing by and noticed this and wondered about that. Oh, and did you hear about number fifty-seven? I shouldn't be telling you but...' He was the kind of neighbour you're polite to if you pass him in the street, maybe uniformly cleaning his car or diligently weeding the garden, but you don't hang around. You exchange the usual pleasantries and ask the usual questions, but you don't delve any deeper into this mans' strongly opinionated life. I know he had a wife (Marjorie? Maureen? Mary?) , he talked about her enough, but I didn't know if she was still alive. The poor guy probably had some delusion or another about it. He had probably convinced himself that his wife would be waiting for him at his mothers and that's where he was headed now, walking into a generously heated house with a roast waiting in the oven and plenty of cheer in his heart. Perhaps a ghostly vision of her, clad in white and coaxing him to meet her in the street, created by those mysterious creatures lured him into the street and into their evil clutches. As long as I've been here, there's still much I don't know about them. If I'd somehow known he was there we could have done something about this nightmare, maybe headed off to the coast together. We'd stand a much better chance...

It was too late for could haves; the Gull (or whatever name you feel is appropriate here) loomed over Bert as it pulled his legs from under him, causing him to land hard on the concrete. He didn't pull his hands in front of his eyes; he just stared up at the Gull, which salivated grotesquely into its own hair, which reflected the last remaining strands of sunlight with a bright shimmer. Bert glanced sideways and saw me, reloading the gun as fast as I could. I'd like to say he looked pleased to see me, yet there was a look of such calm in his eyes, as if we both knew how this was going to end. I did.

'Shoot me,' he said, only raising his voice slightly to be heard over the deep growls of the Gull standing a few inches away from him. It was uncharacteristic of him, sure, but you never foresee how anyone could react in a situation like this. For a start, what is the situation? My head spins endlessly, with all the associated nausea and head aches, when I try to think of all the possibilities.

Before I even had a chance to raise the gun, he was in two pieces. The Gull ripped the man's legs clean from his body. It lifted the two halves over its head, letting the blood pour down its body. My stomach turned (at least it was still inside my body) , and I looked away, knowing full well I could do nothing for him now (add another mark to the tally, Nathan) It didn't drink the blood, it didn't do anything with Bert's remains, just threw it into the side of the road, screeched it's ungodly screech up at me, and disappeared into the next street in a whir of red and black.

I never see them feed off of their kills. They just leave it at that. No blood drinking or body snatching. No, none of the usual crap you see in the movies. They're just here to kill us. Every last one of us.

They are here for a reason, somebody sent them; but who? This are one of the many things I'm desperate to find out before it really is too late. Or am I already way past that point of no return? I don't know, but Bert is still there, a month on from the attack. It's gradually becoming more and more unrecognisable as all manner of insects surround the corpse and slowly eat away at what is left of the poor man.

Whenever I look out, it's a jarring reminder of what happened, a swift kick up the backside. I know what I have to do, and as soon as I reach the coast I'll find what I need.

I'll find her.

[Peppy]

Wow, I feel good to edit something, it's been a long time. For that reason, I might be rusty(Or I'm just looking for an excuse)

Anyways, the story was interesting. The gull, creepy, I could invision it easily. Hmmmmmm... I fixed a few minor mistakes. Most of which I fixed. Bert's death was awesome. Funny to me, but I'm a sick person.

Just a suggestion on a sentence:
I still have a chance to rectify a few wrongs; to save her. ------->I still have a chance to rectify a few wrongs, maybe even save her.

Yeah, can't wait til I read Part 2

Thanks for the comments and corrections peppy. I was never sure how to punctuate that sentence, I need it to sound pretty resolute because of who she is (which you'll find out in part 2, should be up in a few days). But looking at it your suggestion could probably work better...

thanks again

[Arnklit]

There were a couple of places where the language didn't really flow right, but other than that it was well written. It's however hard to see why this is so different from other "guy get's pissed off, guy gets revenge" stories as you say, but I'll wait till I've read further parts before I determin that. The story reminded me a lot of the zombie movies where everybody has gotten infected exept one guy with a shotgun,I hope you bring something other than that to the story.

yeh yeh tis not gonna be the same old zombie story, this is more of a prologue to be honest. Thanks for your comments

THANK-YOU!!!

I know some of you have read my 11 part story, and to you I would like to extend an enormous thank you (see top of post ). This story was the reason I joined this site, and I haven't regretted it. Particularly Peppy and jnabonne, you've given me helpful advice and comments along the way that has helped me to complete my story.

However, now I've received interest from one or two e-book sites I emailed it to, I've taken down the other ten parts and the epilogue for editing and expansion. A work that will take time but it'll be something I'll be extremely proud of once it's finished, and it will hopefully turn into a novella of sorts.

If you'd like the .pdf of the unedited 11 parts (plus current epilogue) please let me know!

Once again, thank you to those who read it. I got a response, and that's what matters to me. This site is great!


Oh, and while you've got the spare time... http://www.storiesmania.net/communit...1599#post51599

later you beautiful people.

[Corneac]

Wow congrats Dunc! No one's more deserving that you mate...

Heh heh heh, you actually thanked me. Awesome. I almost stopped looking through it when someone--dunno who--started posting it. Mystery, total mystery, that's why my respose wasn't there the moment it was posted. Hmmmmmmmm...Yeah, good job on the Gull chapters. Like a fire.

[Vorcla]

I've always liked the "post-apocalyptic" scenario ("The Road Warrior," etc.). Nice gritty feel to it, first person gives it a sense of immediacy. The creatures are pretty horrific. Wonder what they are?

[Solman]

Excellent prologue. Obviously there's a lot more to this story that I look forward to reading in the future.

I'm sure you've probably heard this before, but the prologue reminds me somewhat of Will Smith's "I am Legend." One thing I love about these kinds of stories is that there are so many different ways to tell it and so many different interpretations. Romero had his own story with "Night of the Living Dead," Will Smith has his with "I am Legend" and I'm sure you'll have your own as well. It's a great start!

[Bluejay]

The full story was here for a while. Spurred on by positive comments, Duncan shopped it around and eventually pulled it from SM when he got a bite about getting it published. So I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for the next installment - sad to say (for SM), the story has moved on.

[Merrywinds]

What I really liked was the crude feeling of the story, with the main character being a (sort of) normal guy and not a superhuman über-soldier. The I-profile-writing was well done. The storyline was also good, and I feel like I'd want to read some more. These post-apocalyptic stories are almost always fun to red. A nice piece of work.