The melting icecaps have freed so much more than methane gas. The very tip of Everest is sinking slowly as the ice warms and slides down, dragging with it the frozen bodies of failed explorers and the few guides who caught the tourist's misfortune. The ice began to release them,one by one until there were none left and Everest was left bare stone, right to the tip.
The world was flooding, freezing and boiling all at once. Nobody had the time or cared enough to bring the dead to their proper rest or to consider what else the ice might be giving up to the air once more. By the time anyone connected the dots, the death toll was in the hundreds of thousands and they roamed as though they were never killed by an unnamed virus.
They clawed their way through every ragged inch of the dramatically shifting weather, desperately trying to find some semblance of the world they left when they went up into the icy tomb of Everest. All they found were the remnants of their towns, their streets, their homes. The former occupants sought refuge in floating cities, well aware that the resurrected dead couldn't float and hadn't seemed to figure out how boats worked.
They were fragments of their living selves, held together by desperate need to find living, breathing humans to carry the virus on and remind them that they were once the same creatures they craved contact with. They were so misunderstood, so hated and so very lost in a drowning, burning hellscape that only ever hinted that they lived there too, a very long time ago.
The world was flooding, freezing and boiling all at once. Nobody had the time or cared enough to bring the dead to their proper rest or to consider what else the ice might be giving up to the air once more. By the time anyone connected the dots, the death toll was in the hundreds of thousands and they roamed as though they were never killed by an unnamed virus.
They clawed their way through every ragged inch of the dramatically shifting weather, desperately trying to find some semblance of the world they left when they went up into the icy tomb of Everest. All they found were the remnants of their towns, their streets, their homes. The former occupants sought refuge in floating cities, well aware that the resurrected dead couldn't float and hadn't seemed to figure out how boats worked.
They were fragments of their living selves, held together by desperate need to find living, breathing humans to carry the virus on and remind them that they were once the same creatures they craved contact with. They were so misunderstood, so hated and so very lost in a drowning, burning hellscape that only ever hinted that they lived there too, a very long time ago.
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