Awake Again

Something has happened to you. 

I awaken in a dimly lit, damp and musky factory building. There are others here, other humans. I can make out their weary shapes, but I do not know them. At least, I don’t think so.

Something must have happened. Where am I? 

The generator sputters noisily as I try to gather my thoughts. The building is cold. The others are wearing winter coats and boots. The ground-level windows are extremely heavily boarded, but through a skylight I see a mild flurry of snow.

It’s winter. I can’t remember anything. 

I look at my hands; dirty and crusted with old, dried blood. I am wearing a bloodstained black hooded sweater, a ripped and bloodstained black coat, a pair of black trousers and a scuffed pair of steel toe-capped boots. 

Something did happen.

There is a large black duffle bag. Shotguns, pistols, a toolbox, first-aid, a radio. As I am taking stock, a blood flecked police cap falls from my head and rolls onto the open bag. I remember something.

I’m a police officer. 

More in the bag. Spray cans, Syringes, an odd device labeled “NecroTech.”

I was a police officer.

Knit into the lining of the cap, there is a name. “Cal Morse,” I say aloud, startling myself. The statement echoes through the factory and one of the transients stirs momentarily. The name feels right. I pick up the cap and examine the insignia on the front.

Malton. I’m in Malton.

There is a horrible groan from beyond the doors. Someone has spray painted on a nearby wall, “Vote Heather for Homecoming Queen!”

I’m in Hell.