by Cody Prough
“Let’s go.” She agreed, rising from her spot on the ground. Her heart started to slow back down; they readied their weapons for the expedition outside.
The wind blew the snow by them now, gently. The wreckage made by the lurkers still fresh, what remains of the victims’ bodies are scattered amongst the snow, leaving crimson pools of blood around them in a beautiful contrast to the pure white snow. Only now did the snow start to conceal parts of the onslaught that took place here moments before. But it does so slowly, not in a rush to cover up the bloodletting.
Sarah gestured to a body that lay not far from them. The shotgun in his hand was worthless, torn to bits by the fierce beasts it had intended to stop, but a black bookbag lay on the man’s back. It had seemed to be mostly full. Steve slowly tugged it off the corpse’s back, an arm sliding off at the elbow when the strap got to it, making a wet snap, causing Sarah to almost gag.
Sarah eyed the streets with her sidearm dutifully, knowing if one of these creatures did decide they wanted dessert from this half-eaten meal left lying around them, that it would most likely not do much. It took a hell of a lot to put holes worth a damn in these things. But it would drive back any of these half-wits Tommy decided to surround himself with if they came for the transport.
Steve whistled quietly, showing the bag to Sarah. Inside there were several pill bottles of varying size, mostly orange, some white. As well as a few protein bars. “Hurry, check the rest.” Sarah urged, keeping her calm as best she could among the freshly snow-covered dead. She didn’t want to piss him off, he was her friend, possibly best friend now, but she was terrified; she wanted to be back at the base.
So, he listened, sorting the bottles for what they needed as best he could, then, moving on to the next corpse. The looting went on like this for some time as they took turns checking what bodies remained, gathering a few more rations and boxes of ammo, their bags and pockets filled, Steve even found a usable rifle. Making their way back to the Sick Ward, located under the old Peterson house just outside of town. A little too close to the old barricades for Sarah’s comfort, and not nearly far enough from Tommy. But they had little choice. Tommy and his goons had been forcing themselves in to more and more homes. Before too long they’d be on the outskirts of town and into their shelter.
Prolonging the inevitable. Sarah thought. Unfortunately, there weren’t too many ways that could be dealt with. And if Tommy didn’t lead his goons to their doorstep within the month the creatures would eventually have another migrating herd. It wouldn’t just be the straggling one or two they must fend off now. Is it just stragglers right now? There were so many a bit ago…
That swarm earlier confirmed it: the numbers are growing. The missing people who are dragged for what? Food? Some sort of mating ritual? Sarah wasn’t sure she wanted an answer to that question. Or the several others that swam in her head about the lurkers.
On their travels back to the outskirts of town they didn’t hear anything. As uneventful as she had hoped the whole trip would have been. But at least she could bring back some items for the camp and get a good night’s sleep knowing everyone was fed before bed (not on Beansie) instead of the rumbling of stomachs working as the backdrop for nightmares they all collectively suffered from. They continued, primarily taking backyards, sometimes stopping in basements to hide. The town was not very big, however in order to avoid the creatures and any hidden men Tommy had planted around the town they had to move quietly and slowly, checking windows for the snipers and everywhere else for the lurkers. It could take a day to cautiously make one’s way across town – a feat previously chalked up to just a couple hours.
They had ducked into a basement not far from the headquarters of the Sick Ward. Steve passed a bottle of water to Sarah, who sat in a daze on an old folding chair left in the basement. “Sarah, I just wanted to let you know.” Steve said quietly, eyeing his companion with a curious gaze “That you did great today, I mean it.” Sarah smiled, but it felt forced. She felt heavy, like the toll of the day was going to sit with her for a while to come. Her feet swelling, back in pain, she was terribly hungry.
“Thanks, Steve. I just need to get home. This bag is heavy.” Sarah tugged at her bag lazily with her free hand before opening the bottle, taking a few grateful gulps. “I know Mrs. Diaz needs some pills for her arthritis, did you find any?” Steve nodded, taking one of the orange bottles out and examining it and tossing it to Sarah.
“A few generic pain killers, somethin’ that’ll at least ease the pain.” Steve started patting his pockets, taking out a pack of hand rolled cigarettes, walking away from Sarah to light it. “I wish you’d stop smoking those.” Sarah mentioned passively, huddling up within her own jacket, her knees and soaked jeans being brought up to her chest. “They make you smell like death.”
“True, but don’t most things smell like death anyways?” Steve blew a circle of smoke towards Sarah, a slight grin coming to his face. Sarah just looked at him, annoyed as she waved the circle of smoke away. “Sorry.” Steve took another long drag, putting it out on a post and tossing it near the drain, the smoke trailed off as it rolled to the basement’s drain. “Since when’d you start carin’?” Steve moved towards Sarah, taking a seat next to her on the floor. She turned her head slowly to look at him, a genuine look of concern on her face.
“Well, if you go and get cancer where does that leave the rest of us?”
“I’d be fuckin’ surprised to live long enough to get cancer.” Steve grunted, looking away from Sarah, her eyes never left him, shooting daggers as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You ever miss it?” He changed the subject, running his hand through his hair, yawning. “What? Life before all of this?” Sarah shrugged, bewildered. “Who wouldn’t? You’re tellin’ me you enjoy being camped out in a basement for days at a time eating like crap?” Steve risked a glance back at Sarah, she at least didn’t look mad at him now, just annoyed. He was familiar with this look. “No, suppose not.” He replied, leaning back in his chair, his hand landed on Sarah’s shoulder reassuringly. “What I really miss is the weddings. Favorite part of my job.” Steve closed his eyes, his hand not leaving Sarah’s shoulder. “You show up, take pictures, everyone is dancin’ and singin’.” Steve began swaying slowly, moving back and forth. “Kids are laughin’ and runnin’ around, the drunk Uncle is getting inappropriate with the bridesmaids, the wine’s flowin’.” Steve sighed, opening his eyes.
“Yeah, guess I do miss it sometimes.” Steve let out another laugh, his gaze drifted over to Sarah, his hand slowly moving off her shoulder. “Anything you miss?” Sarah took a moment to consider, looking at Steve and his tired brown eyes. “I definitely don’t miss my marketing classes.” Steve grinned, Sarah smiled back at him, they locked eyes for a minute before Steve snapped to attention, getting up awkwardly. “Come on, we should start getting back.” Steve held out his hand, helping Sarah up. “Want me to take your bag?” Sarah shook her head, sliding the bag on her back. “I can carry my own weight, Steve. I’m not made of glass.” Steve grinned slightly, picking up the rifle and taking the lead out of the basement.
Chapter Four
Thomas C. Warlock had always gotten his way. Standing at a bulking six foot four, he had always been the star, his blonde hair blue eyed perfection. So, it only made sense that people listen to him now, and why not? They had listened to him in high school as the football team’s star quarterback (Go Bulldogs!). They certainly listened to him in the Marines, when he fought those God damn no good terrorists. Hell, they loved listening to him so much that he had promotions left and right. If he hadn’t been sidelined by an injury, he would’ve kept goin’ at it, too. He loved it. The smell of gun powder, the feeling of recoil, all of it was something he longed for while stuck in civilian life. He had missed the action, the routine and disciple, running drills. Most of all he missed the feeling he got when he kicked in a door, and if he ignored the first four rules of engagement nobody would bat an eye, because he got results.
>
It was that part of his life, the combat training, routine and medals, that made him the exact type of person they all needed to lead them in this time of crisis. After his injury he returned to his hometown and got a job. It was steady but boring. A real shit kicking post in a mediocre job at a factory. After all this shit went down, Thomas, or Tommy, found his true calling: Apocalyptic Warlord and Leader. Of course, if anyone asked him, he was simply trying to save the people who could be saved. But everyone knew the score. Nothing happened in this group without his saying so. Able bodied men and women shuffled around their positions, hidden throughout the local towns on his orders and awaited his commands. Several basements on different streets, second and third floor windows with nests of men, all connected by his words, uttered through a simple radio. Within his command post several men and women were always on guard, protecting the Headquarters.
This used to be the old Mahomet-Seymour high school, but with the world ending it was found to have much more use as headquarters for Tommy’s Militia. They would sweep the nearby towns, bring the bulk of their supplies back here, new recruits if they found any, never anybody who was sick or weak though. There was no need for that cancerous disease of being charitable to your neighbor. If you couldn’t provide for yourself, then you couldn’t live within the rules of Tommy’s Faction. Which is exactly how the world should have always been, according to Tommy.
He had just woken up, the bottle of whiskey sitting by his empty bed. He had gone to bed alone (except for perhaps the bottle, that is) in anticipation of a long morning in bed for a change. Having only one transport to take men to their satellite posts with supplies and start looking into new parts of the nearby towns. Progress had been slow, but it was progress. Which was better than none. Tommy had taken a slow tactical approach to his looting. They already had enough supplies, so he wasn’t rushing to risk his men, but he knew if he didn’t get them then those filth at the Sick Ward would be more than eager to take the scraps his men had overlooked or didn’t get to. However, this transport never arrived, leaving Tommy to fear the worst. Prompting the premature slumber and use of the bottle as a sleep aid.
But no, he couldn’t sleep. Not with this incessant knocking on his door. It had better be about that damn transport. He shuffled out of bed, not bothering to cover up as he went to the door. He threw it open, briefly looking at the person who had ruined his slumber.
It was Bug. The skinny runt he kept around as the messenger. He was fast, but that was about all. He could run between houses and hide better than most of his men. His clothing soaked; he no doubt had just come from outside. It was snowing, wasn’t it? It was when he first laid down. “Sir.” Bug’s eyes stayed focused on Tommy’s. Yeah, probably too scared to look down at it. Pathetic. Tommy was too hungover to laugh, but he grinned slightly. “What, Bug?” Bug looked at Tommy obediently. “It’s the transport sir, it was hit.” Tommy felt a rage rising inside of his chest. His grip tightened, never leaving the doorknob. The sound of it must have caught Bug’s attention, as he snapped to. “It was a swarm of creatures, sir. I had been about to return from a recon mission when I heard it… starting.” Tommy continued to take deep breaths, his grip loosening on the doorknob. “Go on.”
For the first time in the conversation Bug’s eyes drifted slightly, but not towards Tommy’s manhood, to the ground. He’s scared, isn’t he? “Spit it out.” Tommy said, losing his patience with his pet Bug. “I saw the Sick Ward folks; it was the same guy as last time. It looked like he was with someone, though.” Tommy paused to consider it, loosening his grip on the doorknob further. Tommy walked away from the door, finally feeling the draft and wanting to be clothed. Bug let himself in, keeping his eyes on the ground. “I did follow them, though.” Tommy stopped dressing, his interest rising as he turned around to look at Bug.
He walked out of the large janitor’s closet minutes after having spoken with Bug. Leaving the closet, that had been made up to be his room within his command post, looking around the larger basement. People shuffling up and down the stairs in a hurry. Tommy didn’t know who’s orders they were following, because he sure as shit hadn’t given any.
“Hey!” Tommy barked, everyone paused, looking over at him. That’s what I thought. Listen to your master’s orders. “I need a status report on the attack, a current list of supplies lost, and I need to speak to Dorian.” And just as quickly as they stopped, they all continued to scurry into an organized fashion, working as one fluid machine to the will of Tommy. Each person knowing exactly what their job in that scenario would be. Tommy sighed, the real work for the day was well ahead of him now. He had to reorganize his ranks, send a scout to check out the Sick Ward, plan a raiding party, and maybe even take some captives. Hell, why not keep bait around for the lurkers? He didn’t want to worry about sacrificing his own men if too many were near, he would simply take one of the sickly and drop them in the streets; if nothing came by to eat them, then he would know it’s safe for his men to loot the area. If the Sick Ward citizens became a meal for those… things? Well, that wasn’t something Tommy wanted to concern himself with. He had his own people and that was enough. It’s not as if he’d be feeding the captives anyway.
“Dorian’s in the armory, Commander Warlock.” It was Alverez in the corner, cleaning his weapon patiently. “He heard reports of a missing weapon, he went up there to check it out, sir.” Tommy nodded in recognition at Alverez. “Noted” and Tommy began towards the armory, located on the ground floor gymnasium.
Moving up the school steps, Bug in tow, he walked past a dozen of his troops tooling away at their tasks, preparing for their duties and avoiding eye contact with Tommy. He strolled, his right hand resting on his revolver’s grip. As he passed reflective surfaces on the way down the halls he would take a glimpse at himself; his oddly white smile growing each time he got to see himself.
Look at that face, like a fuckin’ Kennedy… except for this damn beard.
“Further-fuckin’-more, boot, if you don’t pay better fuckin’ attention I’m goin’ to grab your colon outta’ your asshole an’ feed it to a fuckin’ lurker, got it? I will realign your fuckin’ DNA an’ make you a fuckin’ pussy. You got that?” Dorian’s voice was booming from around the corner, now. Tommy could hear it, turning his face into a sharp and steely resolve as he entered the gym. Bug, still cowering behind Tommy, was peaking his head out to look at Dorian and his unfortunate “boot”.
“Dorian, what is going on here?” Dorian’s back was turned to Tommy, his bald spot sticking out to the room’s new occupants. He turned, his face was flushed with red and his hair thin and mostly white with a rough homeless beard, even more unruly than Tommy’s. His breathing was shaky, his fist clenched.
“This fuckin’ asshole here.” Dorian shot an accusing finger at the boot he was yelling at, Pete, who was shaking and on the verge of tears “lost track of a fuckin’ .45 Kimber and a G’damn pump action!” Pete began to speak, but his sentence stopped at an inaudible “I’m so…” before Dorian’s backhand smacked into his face, forcing him to the ground. “Now we gotta’ fuckin’ figure out who took it, and if this worm was in on it.” Pete kept himself low to the ground, cowering from Dorian and Tommy, Bug, his face now lit up with glee, watched the scene. “So, boot, where is it?” Pete looked at Tommy, shaking, he touched his face, wincing. “I…” Dorian’s boot came up quickly, the steel toe catching Pete in the arm he was supporting himself with, there was a loud shout, Peter fell, crying and rolling around. “Speak up.” Dorian’s boot pushed down on Pete’s arm, looking down at him. “Tell you what.” Tommy walked behind Dorian, patting him on the back playfully. “I got another job for you, Dorian. We can deal with him later. I’ll have someone lock ‘em away for now.” Dorian’s gaze drifted over to Tommy, an odd sort of loyalty existed for Dorian, for whatever reason he found himself listening to this man hardly half his age without question.
“We found the Sick Ward pups. I need you to sit on them for a few days. Ge
t an information report on ‘em, got it?” Dorian’s smile slowly curled upwards, his eyes lighting up. “Anything you need, boss.”
“Good, Bug’ll give you all the information you need.” Tommy smacked Bug on the back, echoing a loud thud as Bug winced, Dorian let out a laugh as Tommy began to walk away. A moment later, two guards came in to take Pete, leaving Bug and Dorian alone in the gymnasium armory.
“All right, worm. Where is it?” Dorian lost his patience; Tommy was out of the room, so he didn’t have to care anymore. “You know, Dorian, Tommy doesn’t like us fighting.” Dorian’s gaze sharpened, staring at Bug. “I don’t trust you, Bug. You’re a fuckin’ leech and for whatever reason Tommy’s keepin’ ya’. But let’s make one fuckin’ thing clear: if you ever put Tommy or this camp in danger to save yourself you leech fuck, I’ll be the first one to stop you. Got it? I knew men like you in the forces. You’ll jump ship to save your ass if you’re sure you’ll be fine. Last to battle, first to camp.”
Bug had backed away from Dorian, but Dorian approached him, backing him against a wall. He wasn’t sure, but he could almost smell a whiff of something on Dorian’s breath. “G…ot it. Dorian.” Dorian started exhaling slowly before slapping Bug on the face playfully. “Now tell me what I need to know, got it?”
Bug reported the information to Dorian, who jotted it down quickly and professionally. Not wanting to risk upsetting Tommy. His violent and swift justice, dealt out to those who seemed unintelligent enough to oppose him and his rules, always left an impression on Dorian since he had often been the one enforcing them.
