Through Those Dark Doorways

Since the Change, everything has fallen apart. Pockets of humanity survive against all odds, raiding the surrounding areas for food and supplies, in constant danger from the innumerable 'Changed' - diseased, deranged and deadly creatures that were once men. Still, those who remain face an even greater danger: themselves...

But something is happening among the Changed. They are mutating, becoming faster, stronger - better. And their lust for fresh meat cannot be slaked.

Humanity's last chance has presented itself. But with the Changed roaming the streets at will, psychopaths rising to power and end-time cults putting their own plans into action, can the last dregs of mankind pull together? Or will they be destroyed by the Changed?


1. The Midnight Cat

The night is black, the sky shadowed and lightless. The clouds hide the stars, protecting the cold earth from the twinkling starlight. The city streets are dark and empty. Yet they are far from lifeless.

                 That is, if you could call the population ‘alive’.

                The silence of the night encompasses all like a blanket, the world wreathed in a veil of soundlessness. Nothing moves – not the air, not the dead rusting cars, not the half-open doorways nor the shards of glass scattered across the pavement. All is still.

                Except for the cat.

                The mangy animal darts down the street, swollen paws touching the ground softly, cautiously. Its wide green eyes look around warily. This is no place for a cat. All the same, here it is – perhaps led to this place by a somewhat misguided instinct, or a deranged train of thought brought on by solitude and malnutrition. Cloudy, lonely eyes rake the darkness, searching for any sign of movement – any indication that it is not the last thing alive on earth.

                A patch of darkness shifts across a doorway, a shapeless form. The cat opens its mouth to reveal cracked yellow teeth, weakened by years of rot and disease - and from its broken maw issues a mew. A final cry for companionship.

                 They rush from the doorways: indistinct figures, faces shrouded in shadowy cowls. Torn fingernails snatch, clawing hands grasping at the warm, diseased flesh, tearing through muscle and sinew, splashing dark water onto the street. Gargling snarls escape from split lips wet with frothing slobber, broken teeth bare in hideous growls that expose gums weeping pus and plasma. The poor creature stands not a chance beneath the savage onslaught. Its fragile spine snaps instantly under the pressure of many hands, its nerves torn apart before they could so much as warn the animal or instil panic.

                The cat dies violently; instantly. The meagre spark that was once a mind flashes for a fraction of a second before being extinguished by a dark wave of brutality. Its last thought before going under is one of despair, of futility and horror.

                The cat’s body was once living – now, ripped apart to feed the dead.

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