Hi everyone, here I am with another "Chapter One" marked complete. Once again, I had an idea and I wanted you guys' feedback. You might say to yourselves 'Why get our hopes up if you won't continue?' but there's a reason here. When Family gets long enough that I don't feel the need to have it in the regular update spot or I feel the need to move on to a new story (though I'll still update Family from time to time), you'll probably have to choose between this story or the Web. Don't worry, though, Family will still be going for awhile.

Also, I just really wanted your feedback on this idea because I thought it was really cool. So there's that. The stuff above is only my excuse for it, really. I, uh, hope you guys enjoy this prologue, and stay awesome.

-ROC6

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Here's the full summary:

We thought it was just a cold. Then the flu. When she passed out from the fever, we got worried, but the hospitals were full. Then came the hallucinations, and we flat out panicked. Finally, came the last stage, the blood. Then she was gone, less than three days after the first sneeze. Under twenty-four hours later, my brother and I were officially orphans, our family gone, like what was happening to countless other families, torn apart by the disease. I don't know how Tyson and I haven't caught it, but I don't know how we're going to survive.

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Prologue

I covered my step-father's body with a sheet, his salt and pepper hair mottled with dried blood, with more caked over his face and blooming out from under him on the sheets. I resisted the urge to lift the one over my mother. I knew what I would find if I did, I'd already memorized every detail, each thing that was different from four days ago, when she was laughing and baking blue cookies and teaching Tyson to tie his shoes. I missed her so much, and it had only been a day.

"Percy?" he called quietly from the doorway, where he'd been watching the whole thing.

I walked over and knelt down, embracing him in my arms, where he started to cry over what we'd just lost. Under twenty-four hours from losing one parent, we'd lost the other. We were orphans, now, and it stung. Our father died a few years back, and here we had just lost what we'd only just started to rebuild. But I had to be strong for Tyson.

"I know, buddy," I said consolingly, "It's gonna be alright."

But I didn't believe it for a second.

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My hand hovered over the knob, then dropped back to my side. The last of their dying groans had finally silenced. It was fitting, in a way. They were born within minutes of each other, it only made sense that they died together, too. I hadn't seen Bobby and Matthew face to face in over twenty four hours, not since the hallucinations started, and I'd been forced to leave their side when the screaming started. They'd attacked me, screaming I was a monster, like their mother used to when I was young. The scratch marks on my arm from where they scratched me were raised and red. By all laws of science, I should've been confined to my bed, joining them in a few hours, but I seemed to be immune. This disease took my family from me, and yes, as dysfunctional as we were, we were still family, took the families of countless others, and here I was, perfectly immune to the disease that was destroying our world.

I walked to my room after picking up the largest backpack we owned. It wasn't fair that I lived while so many others died. I packed some clothes, a sleeping bag, whatever could be useful. I shoved as much water as I could into my pack, and as many non-perishable food items as I could cram in it. It was thankful my step-mother had gone through a fitness phase a few years back, so we had hiking packs and camping gear lying around. After throwing in all the medical supplies I could carry, I was about to leave when I noticed a glint on the counter, a knife. I picked it up and slipped it in my pocket.

You couldn't be sure what's out there.

I stepped out of my childhood home, there was nothing left for me there. Everything was silent around me as I walked out of town, not even the cawing of a bird to break the heavy silence. I guess Eliot was right when he said, 'This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper.'