Hello everyone. I've decided to go and complicate my already hectic schedule by adding yet another story.

This is going to be a "zombie" survival story based on Stephen King's Cell.

It will have a lot of originality and as you already know, will be rated M. Mostly for violence and I might pepper in some 'Sentence Enhancers' every couple… seconds. Or rarely, we'll see how it goes. While it won't be as detailed as the original, it will be similar and faster paced.

As of now I am only planning this Prologue/Introduction until I see if it's something you'll want to keep reading, or if it's not worth the trouble.

So, let's get started.

07/16/14: Did some editing and added a little bit. Nothing major.

It started at exactly 3:03 P.M. eastern standard time on October 1 across America, Mexico, Puerto Rico, Japan, and Great Britain. That was all that the military could confirm before declaring martial law. Even that wasn't enough and they fled, as had everyone else capable of doing so.

None of their contingency plans, none of their drills, prepared them for what had started it. It was so absurd that no one in their right mind, or out of it for that matter, could foresee such a thing.

Because, after all, who could resist a ringing phone?

[][October 1, 1:45 P.M.][]

"We have been cleared to land and are on final approach," the intercom said as the flight attendants hurried down the aisles to their own seats, "Please turn off all electronic devices, return your chairs and tray-tables to their upright position and buckle your seat-belts."

Mordecai hit the power button on his phone, the screen dimly shown the dead battery indicator for a moment and disappeared. Sighing, he returned it to the pocket of his jacket and buckled his seat belt.

Opening the shutter of the window, he looked out onto the distant tarmac of the airport they rapidly approached. The rubber stained runway pointed out to him that he was in a large metal and plastic tube speeding toward Earth at an high amount of speed, reminding him in an instant why he hated flying.

'A bird afraid of flying,' he thought with a shake of his head.

He lurched forward as they came in contact with the ground, a dull screeching promising the brakes were functioning. Drastically slowing, it wasn't long until the plane was stopped and the engines began to idle down.

"We have landed at Preston Airway, the local time is 1:50 P.M. and the weather is clear and sunny. Thank you for flying Parkway, we ask that you remain seated until we finish taxiing to the terminal."

Glancing at his watch he nodded, positive he'd be able to catch the next train home.

[][October 1, 2:23 P.M.][]

"C'mon guys," Benson said into the walkie, "We don't have much longer, where are ya?"

Looking over the freshly cleaned picnic table, he nodded. Flipping through the pages of his clipboard, he marked the task off the list, still awaiting answer from the rest of his workers.

"How's it looking?"

Glancing back at Rigby, he shook his head, "Still waiting on Skips and Thomas to get back with the food. Muscle Man-"

Interrupted by the burst of static, he waited for the response.

"Yo, Benson! We're almost finished, we just have to put the mower away."

"Alright, and don't forget to lock the shed this time!"

"I always lock the shed!" the voice protested.

Unaware he forgot to release the button, Five's voice faintly said, "Then how come I have to double check every day?"

"Come on, that was once!"

"A day, maybe!"

Benson sighed and raised his walkie, "Let go of the button!"

"Aww, com-" he began, obeying half way through the sentence.

"Anyway," Rigby said, wiping at the dirt on his Park jacket, "I was thinking I should go and meet Mordecai at the train station."

"I don't know, we still have some work that needs to be done."

"I can keep him busy," Rigby offered, "You give me my phone back and call when everything's ready."

"Skips has your phone."

"What?!"

Benson shrugged, "Don't text during the morning meeting and I won't have to take it from you."

"What if someone calls and no one answers?! Even worse, what if someone does and he answers?!"

"Then you'll learn your lesson," he said, flipping back to front page and clicking his pen closed, "Where's he coming in from?"

"Belmont terminal."

"Take your walkie, it should barely reach that far. I'll send a ping when we're ready."

Rigby nodded and turned to walk away, "I'll be back, then. And tell Skips to not answer my phone if it rings!"

"Yeah, I'll do that," he answered sarcastically.

[][October 1, 2:55 P.M.][]

Stepping out of the glass door being held by a tired looking man in a suit, Mordecai sheltered his eyes from the sun. The train ride and the long trek through the tourist infested station was just enough to make his vision adjust to the dim, buzzing lights.

"Thanks," he said, shaking off the curt mumble he received from the man rushing inside.

Once the blinding haze began to lift, he was looking down on the busy square below. At the bottom of the stairway was a gathering of people nearing the double digits, many perusing the assortment of booths and tables selling cheaply made items and nic-nacs for what he was sure were absurd prices. Beyond was Belmont Arms, a hotel chain that promised luxury for less, that is if you could believe the sign. Beside and beyond were cramped stores and restaurants that likewise promised the same thing. From his position he could make out the edge of a kitchen and appliance store he'd passed on his first trip to the station.

The Chef's Edge, the flickering neon sign had informed, the bright lights of the window looking down on the set of variously sized blades. The Filet-er, he remembered the small, brass plaque stated.

Shaking his head, he began down the stairs, the thought of wading through a sea of mediocrity making each step he took feel heavier. Glancing at the booths, he tapped the pocket of his jacket, glad he picked up the souvenir from a shop inside, not out. Twenty-five dollars seemed high priced for a snow globe featuring a sunglass wearing snowman resting in a lawn chair with 'California Dreaming' in winding script, but it was of an obviously higher quality than the garbage the vendors outside were peddling.

Safely out of the crowd, he began considering his travel home. The busy street was packed with cars and buses, a rather large Duck Boat, and the sparse assortment of taxis floating by with their drivers making sure you knew they were angry at the traffic.

"It's about time," the familiar voice yelled from farther down the sidewalk.

"Is that you, god?"

"Yeah, you kept me waiting too long."

Mordecai slapped Rigby's hand away and laughed, "Come on, dude. You see what I had to wade through?"

Glancing over the wrought iron fence, Rigby shook his head, "That's when you start yelling, He has a gun!."

"Nah, they put you on a list for that, now."

"So, how was it?"

Slinging his backpack from his shoulders, he opened a small pouch and removed a scuffed and knicked guitar pick.

"I don't know, you tell me."

Rigby's eyes widened to the size of grapefruits, a rather humorous sight on his small face, and he grabbed the plastic triangle from his hand, "You got 'Atom' Joneson's guitar pick?!"

He nodded proudly, "Had to snatch it from a walking tackle box, but I got it."

"That's awesome," he said, extending it for him to take it.

Mordecai shook his head, "It's yours."

"Aw, yeah!" he shouted, sliding it into a pocket of his wallet for safe keeping.

"So," Mordecai began while picking up his back pack, "Should we try to find a cab?"

Rigby shrugged and they began walking, "They're planning a surprise party for you, I'm supposed to keep you busy while they finish."

"Lame," he said with a laugh, secretly touched they'd go that far out of their way to welcome him back.

"I figure we just walk back. It's only a couple miles and they should be finished by then."

Mordecai nodded, dreading the walk after several hours of sitting still on the plane but eager to catch up on things he's missed while he was away.

"So, who's all gonna be there?"

"The usual people. Eileen had to finish her shift then she'd be there. CJ was busy, and Margaret couldn't make it."

He nodded, "Yeah, I talked to her before I got on the plane. Said she was visiting her parents this weekend. Oh, look what I got for her."

Digging his hand into the pocket of his jacket, he removed the snow globe.

"Dude, that's lame! Lamer than the party!"

"Look, don't let your jealousy get the best of you," he said, returning his sacred object to the pocket, "I'll get you a snow globe of your own someday."

Rigby ignored the comment while his senses kicked in, his head spinning in the direction of the sound echoing around them.

Following his ears, he found the modified van sitting at the curb, it's loudspeaker blaring a quick, ringing tune. On the side next to the window was a mural of an ice-cream cone dancing with a popsicle. A man in a white jumpsuit leaned over the counter and handed a chocolate cone to the man in line.

"How about some ice cream for the walk?"

"What are you, a creepy uncle?"

Mordecai sighed, "Do you want some or not?"

"Fine, fine," he said while walking to a nearby bench, "I'll liberate this bench from the seagulls."

Stepping into line behind two teenage girls, he looked toward the front of the line, doing his best to tune out the conversation they were nearly yelling.

The man stepped out of line and a woman in a power suit stepped to the counter, talking on a wireless headset she had screwed into her ear. In one hand she held a leash with a yapping fluff ball of a poodle on the other end, pacing the ground at it's master's feet. In the other she held her purse, a small designer bag he'd seen in the window at one of the fancy- or expensive, either one- shops.

"Chocolate sundae," she shouted at the man who nodded and began to make the order, leaving her to tell her friend about how she had her nails done.

The teenagers were still talking about the same person- from what he could tell- and the tone was the only thing that changed. One had blonde, short hair while the other's hair was darker but a similar length. He hadn't seen the style in a while, but he never kept up on the trending of Pixie haircuts either. On the hip of Pixie Light was a faded blue cell phone which began ringing mid sentence. The tone was familiar, but he couldn't place the name of the artist.

'Cy, Sie?' he thought, eventually giving up.

"Hello?" she'd asked, smiling and turning to her twin, "It's Morgan!"

Leaning in to listen to the call, Pixie Dark shouted, "Hey, Morgan!"

They continued listening, a giggle here and there being the only evidence they hadn't froze.

"That's $4.50," the man at the window said, holding a large plastic bowl filled with two peaks of vanilla ice cream as land slides of chocolate sauce were slowly receding down the side.

Raising her hand, Power-Woman continued speaking into her headset, "Hello? Hello, can you hear me?"

Mordecai gave the man a look saying, 'Can you believe how rude she is?' to which the man answered with an indifferent shrug, showing that he was used to it.

The man in the van began to look down at his own phone, his ringtone being a basic, from the factory song.

"Morgan?" Pixie Light asked, covering her open ear with her free hand.

Mordecai glanced down the street, seeing a multitude of commuters, many on phones of their own.

"Hey, what the fuck?!"

Mordecai quickly turned his head in time to see Power-Woman lunge at the window, attempting to grab the man on the other side with her recently manicured pink claws. The fear inspired step back was enough to put himself out of her grasp. He dropped the sundae, leaving brown smudges down his otherwise flawless uniform, and grabbed her wrist, forcing her back through the window.

As she fell, the buttons on the front of her suit drug on the metal counter, leaving a clicking sound he was sure he'd remember forever.

She landed and let go of the leash in her hand, bellowing a sound that almost sounded like speech- rast, or maybe crast- and returned to trying to force herself inside of the van.

The frightened poodle began running away, it's pink and glittery leash trailing behind. It entered the street and a moment later was nothing more than a red and white streak on the pavement. Poor thing must have been yapping in puppy heaven before it realized what happened.

Pixie Light dropped her phone, allowing the blue rectangle to hit the pavement and split into several pieces. Emitting a guttural roar, she grabbed Power-Woman by the shoulders and pulled her backwards. At first Mordecai thought she was trying to protect the man in the ice cream truck, but that belief left him along with a large portion of his sanity.

Pixie Light spun the woman around and dug her small but undoubtedly strong teeth into the woman's neck, just one of the many underutilized functions of expensive orthodontic work. The ice cream man decided he had enough of this and sped off, smearing the already flattened remains of the animal.

"Who am I?!" Pixie Dark shouted as she began clawing at her head while Pixie Light was mutilating the woman only inches away.

Mordecai knew that he was in shock, but he also knew he had to do something.

With as much strength he could muster, he wrapped his hand around the object in his pocket and raised it over his head. The shadow he cast attracted the attention of his target, causing her to look up at him, her blood and gore covered mouth babbling unintelligible nonsense.

Swinging as hard as he could, the snow globe crashed into the side of her skull, leaving the object undamaged but also a deep thunk that rattled it's way up his arm. Dropping to the sidewalk, she landed with a similar sound but not a whisper more.

He turned to Pixie Dark, blood now streaming down her face.

"Hey," he said quietly, relieved for a moment when she turned toward him.

"Who am I?!" she shouted again.

She spun in a circle several times before she began sprinting away, full speed down a suddenly empty sidewalk, directly into the path of a street light, making no attempt to avoid it, crashing with enough force to send the glass cover clattering to the ground beside her.

"Holy shit," Rigby's voice said in disbelief.

Mordecai opened his mouth, but lacked the ability to continue.

It was in the background of what he witnessed that he began to understand just how bad everything had gotten in such a short time.

On the far side of the street, cars were frozen, many demolished beyond repair, many trapped and abandoned by their panicked owners. Several storefronts were destroyed, the faint ringing of an alarm reaching him from farther down. A large sedan was barreling toward the pileup where it swerved onto the sidewalk at the last second, sending bodies thumping over it's hood as the driver drove through the just as frightened pedestrians. Reaching the end of the blockage, he veered back onto the road, the engine roaring as the dented and bloody car screamed past them.

"Holy shit," he repeated.

Figuring he'd just seen what he had, Mordecai turned and found him looking up. Unfortunately he followed his gaze and his jaw dropped. There were people on the balconies of the hotel, the size of ants from the distance they were, but he knew what they were. Suddenly, one of the figures goes sailing off the edge, landing on a parked car. The instant they met, the car had crumpled into a flat rectangle as the explosion of blood, organs, and bones sprayed upward, painting the road and several people that passed.

"They fell!"

Rigby shook his head as several more dots began to plummet, "They're jumping!"

An explosion rang out somewhere behind them, not close enough to feel the tremor but enough to see a gray cloud of smoke begin rising into the air.

"That had to be at the airport!"

"What's going on?!"

The sound of metal striking metal brought them back to the menagerie of cars as a firetruck slammed into them, it's speed easily triple the posted limit. The large truck pushed them aside as if they were toys and sped by, it's siren and lights blaring. Shortly after, a line of police cars followed with an ambulance not far behind.

The sight of the ambulance reminded him of what had just happened, not even three minutes ago. Slinging his backpack to the ground, he knelt beside Pixie Light and jabbed a finger into the nape of her neck.

"She's still got a pulse," he said, looking to the puddle of blood that was already forming beside Power-Woman, deciding it wasn't worth the time.

"She killed that woman," Rigby mumbled, glancing around them.

"She's just a kid!" he shouted, "We have to get her help!"

"Watch out!"

Rigby took a step back, pointing to where a man in a tattered suit was running towards them, a large and bloody knife stabbing at the sky while he babbled the same nonsense Power-Woman had. Seeing them, running turned into a sprint and he shouted- this time it was oolblyach- as he stabbed himself with the blade.

The man had little interest in Mordecai, instead he focused on the smaller and weaker Rigby, the more primal instincts and common sense telling him he was the easier target.

Rigby continued shouting, far past the ability to move.

Grabbing his backpack, Mordecai shoved it between the two, watching as the long, polished blade entered the side and poked through the other, tangling itself in his bundle of clothes.

With an confused look, the man began to tug on the handle, his face contorting as he continued grunting.

"Abolloya!" he shouted, looking between the backpack and Mordecai.

Coming to his senses, Rigby wrapped his arms around his waist and began to push while hooking his right leg behind his ankle. The man let go of the blade and toppled over, colliding with the pavement leaving a painful thud in the air.

"Blah, blah, blah, to you, asshole!"

Mordecai looked at the hole in his backpack while Rigby kept him from standing. The hilt of the blade had entered the main compartment and refused to go back the way it came. Unzipping the compartment, he reached inside, wincing as his hand clasped around the handle which was slippery with the gelled blood of his fallen victims.

Rigby was panting, not from fatigue but from the adrenaline surging through his system.

More footsteps approached and a group of three looters streamed past, clutching white boxes with the word 'Panasonic' printed in light blue.

Running in the opposite direction was a police officer, his brown uniform stained with blood and smudges of black. Not even glancing at the thieves, he approached them, watching carefully as he crouched beside the man.

"He ran at us with a knife!" Rigby explained, taking his foot off his throat.

The officer nodded and flashed his light in the man's eyes, his other being occupied by his service revolver.

"The girl over there needs help," Mordecai said while jerking his head toward Pixie Light.

The officer glanced at her and the dead woman and shook his head, "Sir, what is the third planet from-"

His question was interrupted by a snarl and he quickly raised his weapon and pulled the trigger, spraying the sidewalk in a bath of blood as the bullet exited- Mordecai remembered seeing the sparks as it hit the pavement- with a stream of brain and skull following closely behind.

"Who's the first president of the United States of America?" he asked as he stood and turned to Mordecai.

"Washington," he answered slowly, still accepting what he'd seen.

"39X44?" he asked Rigby.

"I don't know!"

"He's not one of them, just stupid!"

"Yeah!" Rigby yelled in agreement.

"Alright, alright," the officer said hurriedly, "4+4?!"

"Eight!"

Nodding, he flipped the catch on his revolver and pushed the cylinder to the side. Dropping four spent shells to the ground, he refilled the empty chambers from the bullets on his belt. With his weapon ready to go, he removed a business card from the blood splattered breast pocket of his uniform.

"My name is Andrew McDougal, Sheriff of Belmont County. You may be called upon to testify in a trial about the actions i took today. I responded with what i determined to be the best possible action in this circumstance, and saved you from a delirious and dangerous individual."

Mordecai took the card, a simple black and red bordered design with the Sheriff's picture, badge number, and work extension, "Do you know what's going on?"

He shook his head, "No one does. If you have somewhere safe to go, get there."

Looking down to the bloody knife, he nodded, "Best keep that with you."

Snapping the cylinder closed, he stepped over their attacker and left, jogging past the square only to stop and look through the gate.

"Get out of here!" he shouted back and continued in full sprint.

"That entrance was full of people!" Mordecai yelled.

"What do we do?!"

A shadow stretched over them as the far too close hull of an airplane soared overhead, one wing half missing and the one remaining engine engulfed in flame.

"The park!" he shouted while cleaning the blade- the very same Filet-er he'd seen before- with his definitely ruined clothes, "We have to get the group together and figure out what to do next!"

Alright, that's all you get for the introduction.

So, if you want more, there'll be more. I'll give it a week and check the traffic stats.

Thanks for reading!