ZNIPER: A Sniper’s Journey Through The Apocalypse.

by Ward III, C.

  Reality in this new world was bad enough, but as the news quickly spread, details were grossly exaggerated as they were passed from person to person. Somehow, there had been a rumor started that the Fourth of July EMP was caused by a massive solar flare that had doused the earth with a space disease or cosmic radiation, causing a mutation. Several people committed a ritualistic group suicide from that rumor alone.

  The folks on the outskirts of town were either boarding up their houses in preparation of a final standoff or were flocking to the city center in search of protection from the sheriff and the newly deputized Town Defense Force. The high school gymnasium had turned into an overcrowded refugee center as most of the small empty homes in the downtown area were quickly being filled.

  Centralizing the town actually had some benefits: organizing work crews had become much easier because there was now a deeper pool of skilled technical talents, and the dissemination of information was far more accurate, which eased a lot of unwarranted fears caused by half truths and rumors. Mr. Art Bell had brought with him a pile of old electronics from his basement. He didn’t know if any still worked because he didn’t have any power at his home. The next day, with the help of the electricians, some pilfered solar panels, and a large pile of collected boat batteries, Art discovered most of his communications equipment still worked. At that moment, Art unknowingly became one of the most valuable individuals in town.

  A new working group with a dual purpose was also located in the high school: the town’s veterinarian, two fire department EMTs, a dentist, and the high school biology teacher formed a medical staff. Tasked with normal day-to-day injuries and illnesses, they were also charged with studying and reporting on the new threat that was now terrorizing their once-tranquil little town.

  For the safety of every resident and for the protection of the community as a whole, the city council issued a mandatory curfew from sundown to sunup. Everyone was to remain locked inside their homes at night. The Town Defense Force had set up several fortified second-story observation platforms in homes and business rooftops throughout town. Even though they couldn’t see well during the nighttime curfew hours, the TDF had orders to “shoot anything that moved.”

  Tensions were high. Citizens were not trusting any outsiders for fear of catching the mysterious disease. With the exception of a few teachers, a town councilman, and a couple of diehard political activists, almost everyone was permanently armed and kept a polite distance from each other.

  The disease wasn’t the only threat on people’s minds after a deputy was stabbed to death while patrolling the community gardens. His body was found the next morning by a horrified gardening crew, along with several rows of missing produce. This incident added to the cloud of fear, reduced law enforcement resources, and also broke the spirit of all those who diligently maintained the crops in an effort to ease the hunger epidemic.

  Work details had to have designated guards. Hunting parties were now searching for the more difficult to find wild game and the increasingly easier to find infected predators. Victor now held full marksmanship classes every other day instead of once a week. On nontraining days, he and a small crew ran rescue missions, helping to relocate folks in town who were too afraid to walk on their own.

  Victor was beginning to believe that these rescue missions were a complete waste of time and resources. Instead of being too afraid, most of these people were just too lazy. Some of them only wanted access to the town’s only pickup truck to haul unnecessary household goods.

  Just over three miles east of town, on the eighth day of running these so-called rescue missions, Victor’s temper peaked at max level when he argued nose to nose with a slightly plump older lady who unquestionably had to take her six foot, four hundred pound wooden grandfather clock, which was handmade by her actual grandfather in 1932, and of course her Great-Aunt Margaret’s matching china dish collection with 24-carat gold trim, and she unconditionally could not survive a single day without her plush salmon-colored reclining chair!

  His face turned a dark red, and a vein swelled in his neck. He was about to say something that would land him in a heap of trouble at the next city council meeting when a pack of six screaming creatures broke through the underbrush on the opposite side of the road.

  “Contact!” yelled Curtis, quickly shouldering his newly acquired Mini 14 carbine. He leaned over the hood of the truck, positioning himself properly behind the engine block and front wheel for cover, as Victor had taught him. Curtis didn’t wait for instruction or permission—he began to fire, steadily bouncing hot, empty shell casings off the hood and windshield of the old truck. He continued with a slow controlled-shot tempo into the advancing crazed pack, immediately dropping the two lead maniacs who were sprinting directly toward him across an unkempt front lawn.

  Victor stiff-armed the annoying lady in the face, pushing her through the open front door hard enough so that she stumbled and fell against the opposite entryway wall. He followed her in without responding to her curses and unslung his rifle, almost muzzle-thumping her as he spun in the entryway. The creatures were closing in fast, but they were still outside his pistol range. For just this reason, Victor’s scope magnification always remained on its lowest power-adjustment setting, giving him a wider field of view that enabled him to quickly acquire targets, especially close range and fast-moving ones.

  With a released-coil sound, the spring-loaded bipods slapped forward as Victor subconsciously wrapped his arm through the green nylon sling. He spread his feet wide apart, giving him a strong foundation, and paralleled his shoulders to the exterior wall. He brought his rifle up; jammed one of the extended bipod legs into the doorframe, keeping it in place with his nonfiring hand; and leaned forward heavily into the buttstock.

  Curtis had taken down three of the monstrous gray creatures before they had split from the pack. He was having difficulty tracking the flanking speed of one that went far left, but he was still sending rounds after it. The one on the far right dodged around nonfunctional minivans that had been parked for well over a month. The middle one jumped into the old truck bed, its beady eyes locked on Curtis.

  Victor flicked his rifle off safe. As soon as he found a part of his target, he squeezed the trigger. The sound inside the house was deafening. He could no long hear the screams of the lady cussing behind him.

  As the creature dove across the top of the truck toward Curtis, Victor didn’t care if it hit center mass or not. A one-shot kill didn’t matter; he only needed to alter the attacker’s course. With a wet smack, the creature screamed, crumpled, and then rolled off the hood of the truck onto the ground in front of Curtis, who brought the buttstock of his own rifle down onto its head repeatedly.

  With so much weight pushing forward, Victor felt little recoil. He worked the bolt without losing sight picture. He held the bipod leg tight against the doorframe and took a step left. To have better situational awareness, he kept both eyes open to avoid tunnel vision inside his scope. He took another step left, swiveling his muzzle to the right toward the minivans. A creature sprinting up the sidewalk leading to the front door startled him and caused him to flinch as its greasy gray form filled his entire ocular lens.

  Victor squeezed the trigger, putting a .308 bullet clean through its right lung, spraying blackened bodily fluid all over the shrubbery and several innocent garden gnomes. The thing sprawled out and tumbled, landing directly in front of Victor. Still locked into his shooting stance, his body weight leaning into the rifle against the doorframe, he let go of the rifle’s grip, reached down to his hip, and drew his pistol. As soon as it cleared the holster, he tilted the muzzle up slightly toward the creature scrambling to right itself, and he shot from the hip without aiming. Squeezing off round after round, he watched his impacts hitting the target’s chest and abdomen until finally the pistol’s slide locked to the rear.

  With his rifle still pointing toward the sidewalk and locked into place against the doorframe, Victor quickly reloaded his pisto
l, then holstered it. He worked his rifle bolt, putting a fresh round in the chamber, then put it back on safe, relaxed the tension, and slung it across his back, where it had been only a few seconds before.

  The creature withered in front of him, scratching at the concrete doorstep, chipping away its fingernails as it tried to crawl forward. It had one rifle- and sixteen pistol holes in it, and it still had the determination to fight. The pitiful thing hissed and shook fiercely with vehemence until it finally bled out in a pool of nasty fluid.

  Victor looked up at Curtis, who only gave him a wide-eyed, understanding nod that suggested he was all right.

  “Did you get the one that ran that way?” Victor asked as he visually scanned his son for injuries.

  “Yeah. It took me a full magazine, but I got ’em.”

  “Your buttstock. You need to wash that off. Don’t touch it; it could be contagious. Look in her laundry room or under the kitchen sink for some bleach,” Victor told him.

  Curtis didn’t say a word as he entered the front door, stepping over the sobbing lady, who was still sitting on the floor where she had landed. Victor put a calm, understanding hand on his son’s shoulder as he passed, which helped ease Curtis’s urge to vomit.

  Victor looked down at the plump lady with rage in his eyes and a clinched jaw. He pointed his finger in her face. “You, look at me. Look at me! My son right there almost died for your bullshit cups and saucers. You have five minutes—five damn minutes—to gather any clothes, food, and medication you need before we are leaving. With or without you!” he growled.

  She crawled to her feet and hustled into her bedroom, still whimpering.

  Victor gazed at the creature lying in front of him, amazed at their speed and ability. The thought of Erica struggling to survive wherever she was—finding food, fighting bandits, probably alone and afraid, traveling on foot over two hundred hostile miles filled with these things—suddenly enraged him further.

  “And I’m burning that salmon-colored recliner chair!” Victor yelled into the house.

  STAGE THREE

  ADVERSARIES

  Foreign. Domestic. Diseased.

  Under a large open gazebo at the public beach, the city council was having an impromptu meeting. It was a nice sunny day with a pleasant breeze drifting off the lake and stirring the smell of roses, with sounds of ducks quacking nearby. In attendance with the mayor were the original city council members, Sheriff Bohner, Victor, and Mrs. Cloud representing the medical research team.

  As Victor looked around the long picnic table full of frail and tired faces, his hopes of survival waned. The community’s leaders wore the same soiled clothes and malnourished features as everyone else in town. Prioritizing food gathering and security protocols was the basis for this meeting.

  The mayor initiated. “Thank you all for coming. Our hunting teams are having difficulty finding rich game areas lately. What they are finding plenty of is danger. We can’t say if we’ve over hunted the surrounding areas, if the diseased people are also consuming animals, or if all the wildlife has been scared away. Or possibly all the above. Either way, our food supply is running dangerously low when we should be investing in a winter reserve.”

  “Can we send them farther out? To areas that we haven’t hunted yet?” asked councilwoman Jessica Holland.

  “We must consider that option. But how far out do they go? They could scout out on foot, even preplan to stay overnight in houses known to be abandoned. When they successfully harvest game, they’ll need transportation back here.”

  Victor chimed in, “That could work well for sharing of information with anyone they find in the rural areas as well. The hunting parties could become our ambassadors. Never know—they could find more people wanting to relocate into town or farmers willing to barter.”

  “Great idea, Victor. If we are all in agreement, I’ll talk to the hunter teams to see if any are willing. I can’t force anyone to take that kind of risk venturing so far away from town. They’ll need some extra supplies too. Victor, could you help make an expedition equipment list for them?” asked the mayor.

  Victor nodded. “If the hunters are going farther away from town, that means they’ll be exterminating fewer Grays running crazy through our nearby woods. Lately, the hunters have been shooting more of them than they have rabbits and squirrels.”

  “Can we refrain from saying ‘exterminate’?” said the only well-groomed councilman, wearing an almost-clean button-up shirt, at the end of the table. “Those are humans that you all are shooting. Some of them are from this town.”

  Victor raised an eyebrow. “Sir, have you witnessed any of these sick neighbors of yours in person?”

  “No, but that doesn’t change the fact that you all are out there sadistically hunting people. I’ve heard that some of you gun-nut psychos are even keeping score. Is that true?”

  Victor gave the sheriff a “please help me” look.

  “We are tracking statistics. It’s far from a leaderboard for bragging rights. If you care to know, the first week when Ben was attacked, there were four confirmed cases. The following week, there were nine. Last week, there were seventeen. These numbers are attacks on citizens; they do not include engagements by the hunter teams. I’m not the smartest man, Stan, but I can guess next week we’ll have around thirty attack reports. Soon, there’ll be too many to count,” the sheriff said flatly.

  “You can call it whatever you want,” Victor said. “This disease is spreading and getting worse. We have to do something to secure this town. Not only from the Grays but also from marauders running rampant. I have some ideas that I will run by the engineers. As far as the Grays, I propose we attempt to draw these things away from town and eliminate them at a safe distance.”

  “Wait. What do you mean by ‘draw them away’? Like baiting them or something? You’re a maniac! Why are you even here, Victor? You have no authority,” the councilman challenged.

  Victor gritted his teeth and leaned forward, planting his fist on the green-painted picnic table, about to give this guy an earful when councilwoman Holland intervened.

  “Give it a rest, Stan. Victor has been putting himself and his family in danger to ensure residents are relocated safely. He’s contributing more than most of us, including you. Now, unless you have solutions to—”

  “We should be capturing and treating these sick people, not indiscriminately euthanizing them! It’s murder. And by the way, I’ve heard how Mr. Knight-in-Shining-Armor treats the evacuees!” Stanly interrupted.

  “Mrs. Cloud, can we treat them?” asked the mayor, ignoring the councilman’s accusations toward Victor.

  “Based on the few autopsies we have performed, no. Not yet. We still don’t understand the virus; it’s unlike anything any of us have seen or studied. In fact, we believe that it is still evolving. We haven’t witnessed the worst of it yet. It’s quite sophisticated.” Mrs. Cloud addressed the table, avoiding the previous intense argument. “Stan may have had a clever idea, though—we should try to capture a couple for testing. We could learn more from live specimens than deceased. Sheriff, if our veterinarian has sedative tranquilizers, could we use your jail to detain a couple?”

  “Sure, they are all empty now.” Sheriff Bohner confirmed.

  Stanly stood abruptly. “Mrs. Cloud, are you now suggesting experimenting on them? Alive? Trapped in cages like lab monkeys? You’re even more cruel than this mercenary!” he shouted, pointing at Victor.

  The mayor used his smooth-talking politics to calm the situation. “Mrs. Cloud, see if we have the tranquilizers. Victor, could you bring us back a couple of live ones?”

  Stanly scoffed, tossing his hands in the air. Victor simply said, “Yes, sir. It will be risky, but I can manage that with a handful of guys.”

  “OK. For now, let’s focus on capture and detaining. With any luck, we’ll learn more about the illness, maybe even a treatment. At a minimum, we’ll get a better look at this terror, perhaps discover its weaknesses. In the m
eantime, hold off on the wholesale slaughtering, but do experiment with drawing them away from town. See what gets their attention.”

  “Sounds like a plan, sir. Just to be clear: if we encounter hostility with the ability, intent, and opportunity to cause serious bodily harm or death, our first resort for self-defense will be deadly force. That goes for Gray or human. I’m not risking anyone’s well-being for this infestation. I’ll let Stanly over there kill them with kindness.”

  Stephan had been walking point, daydreaming about how refreshing a clean set of clothes would be, when a creature baring a mouth full of blackened, jagged teeth leapt through a nearby bush with outstretched hands, caused her to stumble backward. As she fell back, she jabbed the weapon forward towards the vile creature, thumbing her M4 from safe to full auto. She stitched the Gray in a perfect vertical line, putting one round through its abdomen, one to the center of its chest clipping its xiphoid process, one round through its neck, and the last round into its right eye socket at near point-blank range.

  As she landed on her back with a thud, her legs lifted, stopping the heavy grotesque corpse from landing on top of her by planting her boots into its chest. Kevin was fast enough to kick it off to the side before any of the contagion could leak on to her.

  Both of them were in a state of shock. Kevin reached his hand down to help her up. The weight of her, and her backpack, almost pulled Kevin to the ground. As he assisted her up, the forest came alive with a shudder.

  There was a shift in the stagnant air. The birds stopped chirping, clearing the sound waves for dozens of feet, snapping dried sticks and breaking branches. The ground vibrated as a large dead tree landed nearby with a thunder. A chorus of snarls and growls followed.