The Last 21

by Morrison, Donald

  Two minutes later the sun opened up above them, and the pair emerged onto the roof of the structure. Connors could see the rest of the team at the opposite end of the roof. As he rushed towards them he could see some of the men raising their rifles.

  “Don’t shoot!” he yelled, struggling to keep his charge while waiving his hands above his head.

  He made it about thirty paces further before he saw the first flash from a muzzle and heard a bullet whiz by his ear.

  “Fuck!” he shouted, ducking his head and looking behind him as he did.

  At the stairwell there were already corpses beginning to shamble out of it, and movement caught his eye as more began to come from the ramp leading downwards. He turned his head and ran full speed towards the others. “Take em’ down!”

  He ducked low as the others opened fire at the Lieutenant’s command. The air around him rippled with gunfire and as he reached the group he spun and brought his rifle to bare. As his eyes fell into the sights he realized there was already a staggering pile of bodies gathering with dozens more falling and crawling over the rest. He dropped three more before he heard his neighbor’s rifle give out the telltale click of an empty clip.

  “Out!” he shouted.

  Connors dropped another one and without taking his eye from the scope reached up and pulled a clip from his chest loop and slapped it against the other man’s chest.

  Another corpse dropped.

  Connors grabbed at his last clip just in time to hear a scream and turned his head as a soldier two men away jammed the barrel of his pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger, blowing the top of his skull backwards off the side of the parking structure.

  “Fuck!” Connors shouted, stunned for a moment before yanking his focus back to the waves of creatures shambling towards them. Another soldier turned and stepped up onto the ledge.

  “I ain’t fucking going out like that!” he screamed. Then he jumped.

  Connors leveled his rifle and squeezed the trigger until the soft click of the firing pin hitting nothing but empty space filled his ears. Then he dropped the rifle and pulled his side arm.

  As he lifted the pistol he thought about his mom and dad. He hoped his father was able to protect his mother. She wasn’t strong enough to survive on her own. This he knew.

  He watched as another soldier pulled his knife and charged headfirst into the approaching mob, swinging his blade wildly with a berserker lust before a group of the infected overpowered him and began to tear the flesh from his face and neck. Connors heard the screams become wet and gurgled, and then stop completely. He imagined his father was getting them out of town safely, and prayed that they wouldn’t stay at their house waiting for him to get home.

  Another gunshot saved another soldier form being eaten alive.

  “I’m sorry mom…” he whispered as the barrel of his pistol raised to his mouth and a tear worked its way down his cheek. He pulled the trigger.

  Click—

  The alley below began to fill with the quickly shambling corpses of those that had met their own gruesome fate. Above them the last scream was heard before the corridor was filled with the sound of shuffling feet and soft gurgled groans. The entire city had fallen into the same scene; death and carnage, torn flesh and blood. The air was beginning to take on the aroma of copper and smoke as the viral plague began to spread itself across the city of Miami.

  Day 12

  The police station was still, a deathly quiet more than Officer Gonzales had ever heard filling the halls. The usual sound of chatter and radio codes scratching through static was gone, the bustle of officers returning and leaving for their shifts replaced by a silence that pressed in on all sides.

  It had been three days since the National Guard had arrived and local police had been ordered to fall back. Most of the officers had either fled home to their families or lost their uniforms in an effort to avoid becoming targets in the local riots.

  The first few days had been easy, what was thought to be violent attacks rising, drug addicts and citizens being attacked by the homeless and unregistered vagrants. The next few days it had gotten worse. Then three days prior to this, it had turned into a nightmare. The streets had become a walking horror story, the dead coming back to life, zombies tearing people apart, roads blocked by totaled cars, gunshots and screams filling the air.

  Gonzales had gone to the only place that made him feel safe; the station.

  Six months prior to this his wife and child had been killed in a car accident while visiting family in Mexico. Everything he loved and cared about had been taken from him. He had spent the next three months on psychiatric leave and upon returning, had put his life behind him, reattaching his badge and dedicating his life to law enforcement.

  Now he sat in an abandoned station with the world falling apart around him, staring at the floor, wrapped in a cloak of helplessness as he beat himself with the realization that there was nothing he could do. There was no stopping what had begun.

  A half an hour went by as Gonzales sat on the cold tile floor in front of his locker, a picture of his late wife and child hanging limply between his fingers. His eyes had fallen to the egg shell tile beneath his feet, and it wasn’t until the sound became loud enough for him to realize it was approaching fast that he yanked his gaze away, pulled his pistol and spun to the door.

  “WHOA!” a young man in a crimson splattered t-shirt and jeans said as he charged into the doorway, running face first into the business end of a Desert Eagle 45. “It’s me man,” he said, his hands raising slowly into the air in front of him.

  “Polk?” Gonzales said, his voice a strained whisper as he lowered his pistol and slid it back into his holster. “I thought you’d taken off like everyone else.”

  “What are you still doing here man?” Polk asked, still standing in the spot he had stopped in. “It’s a fucking warzone out there.” He paused, a squint flashing through his eyes. “You know it’s only a matter of time till people come here looking for guns and ammo right. You think they’re gonna be cool when they find you in here, still in uniform? They’re gonna kill you quicker than those things outside would.”

  Gonzales stayed quiet for a moment, staring at the younger man who stood in the doorway, a black duffel bag in his hand. “I… I couldn’t… I didn’t know where else to go.”

  He looked at the other officer. “Well dude, you gotta get the hell out of here man. Find somewhere else to go. I’m gonna grab my shit, couple extra guns and I’m taking Cindy and heading up the 2 man.” He paused, scoffing as he looked around the locker room. “This… this is all gone.” He locked eyes with Gonzales. “And you’re gonna be too if you stick around here.”

  Gonzales nodded slowly as the other officer moved quickly past him to the other side of the room. He sat there as he heard the man swing the locker open and could hear him stuffing equipment in his bag.

  A minute later the other officer came back around, a black, Kevlar vest now covering his chest, duffel bag weighted down. He stopped, looking down at Gonzales, took a deep breath and exhaled sharply.

  “You’re a good cop man. It’s been an honor to serve on the force with you.”

  Gonzales nodded, words lost to the apathetic sentiment he was swimming in.

  “Yeah,” the other man said as he turned to make his way back into the hallway.

  Gonzales listened as the other man’s footsteps grew distant. Then he heard the first gunshots.

  He slowly looked up at the open doorway leading to the hall, his hand twitching as he thought about the gun at his side.

  Another three gunshots rang out, followed by yelling and quickly approaching footsteps.

  “Gonzales! They’re fucking coming!”

  He felt his stomach begin to knot and he slowly pulled his gun from the holster.

  “Gonzales!”

  The footsteps were almost to the door when he heard a grunt and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor.

  As his eyes stare
d at the open doorway he saw the other officer slide into view. His eyes were wide with panic and he was scrambling to get up, reaching desperately at the spare clip on his belt. Then three zombies were on him, tearing flesh from his screaming face and blood soaked fabric from his arms and legs.

  Gonzales sat there, his gun pointed at the doorway as the officer he had just spoken with moments earlier, the one with the waiting girlfriend and perfect escape plan was torn apart by ripping jaws and clawing hands. He watched as the gurgled screams began to fade and the crimson pool began to spread outwards. Silently he sat there, his pistol aimed at the three writhing, gore covered shapes in the hallway. Then he slowly reached up with the other hand and pulled back the slide on the gun, locking one round in the chamber.

  Three sets of eyes moved to him.

  The station became quiet again, the reverberation of the last gunshot all but fading. Again the halls fell empty, save for the wet sound of chewing and squelch of flesh and muscle being torn from bone. In the locker room a lone badge lay on the ground, a black stripe through its center, the sea of red that surrounded it leading off in a trail of staggered footprints.

  Day 13

  ‘Reports are unclear as to what is causing this outbreak. Some are calling it a mutated virus; some are even going as far as to use the word zombie…’

  Jeff sat on the old couch he had spent the last four uncomfortable hours glued to; the worn crosshatching of different hued browns beneath showing through between him and two of his friends from school.

  “Dude… this can’t be happening,” his friend said, gaze locked to the images of carnage and destruction flashing across the screen.

  Jeff let his gaze fall to the heavy weight of his father’s pistol sitting loosely in his hands.

  “Look guys,” the other boy continued, “we just need to get out of here.” He paused. “My family has a cabin up the fourteen by Navajo Lake. We just need to get there.”

  There was silence between them, the frantic words of a local news reporter filling the empty void.

  “We’ve got enough food for a month and we can fish when we run out. I think my dad even has his rifle still there so we can hunt too.”

  Jeff stared at the pistol.

  ‘A temporary shelter has been built on the S.U.U. campus and local police are asking everyone not to attempt going home, but to head straight for the University.’

  “We should stay here,” Jeff said, his words barely floating above the television on a whisper.

  “What!?” his friend replied with a snap. “No!”

  There was a strained pause.

  “With those things out there tearing people apart. You wanna stay here? Hell no!”

  Jeff’s eyes were still locked to the steel barrel.

  “Brooke,” his friend said, eyes moving swiftly to the girl sitting quietly next to him. “What do you say, we get the hell out of here and head for the cabin?”

  The girl stayed quiet, the shock of everything that was happening holding her words at bay.

  “Shit…” the other said, standing up and making his way to the kitchen.

  “You’re dad doesn’t drink beer?” he called out a moment later as he stood in front of the sterile light emanating from the fridge.

  Jeff took a deep breath, his gaze tearing away from the gun to the carpet just to his left. He stared at the light brown stain where just a month ago he had been working on a model with his dad and had accidentally dropped a small container of acrylic paint while making his way to the garage. He was surprised at how calm his father had been about it, just telling him to use thinner and get it cleaned as best he could. His dad was usually harsher than that. Must have been a good day.

  The other boy walked back into the room with a soda in his hand and plopped back down onto the couch.

  “We just need to wait here,” Jeff said after a moment, pulling his eyes away from the memory and locking them to his friend. “My dad’ll be back in a while and he’ll have a plan, trust me.”

  “Dude,” his friend barked, “have you seen the shit that’s going on out there!? Your dad’ll be lucky to even make it back without getting torn apart.”

  “Fuck you Todd,” Jeff replied, hurt and anger trimming his words.

  “Look dude,” Todd replied, unphased by his friend’s retort. “We need to get the hell out of here and we need to do it now!”

  “Guys,” Brooke whispered from the side.

  “Dude, I’m not fuckin leaving!”

  Jeff was beginning to feel anger slowly filling him.

  “Guys,” Brooke repeated.

  Two sets of eyes fell to her.

  “We need to keep it down. If what they say is true, those things out there might hear us.”

  “Jesus, you think they can hear through walls? The fuckin doors and windows are closed. See?”

  Todd turned to the front door and spread his arms out, raising his voice mockingly. “Tra la la la la!” He turned around to her. “See? Nothing?”

  “Dude,” Jeff replied, starting to stand up. “Knock it off…”

  “Or what?” Todd sneered. “Gonna use daddy’s pistol on me?”

  “Fuck off alright… Just be quiet.”

  Movement beyond the thin curtain blocking the front window caught Brook’s attention. As they boys were beginning to get heavily involved in a heated debate regarding staying or trying to make a run for it she saw the silhouette growing closer.

  “Dude, FUCK THAT!” Todd yelled. “I’m not fuckin staying here!”

  “Guys..” Brooke said, her panicked words squeezing out just above a whisper.

  “Then fuckin go! Asshole.”

  “Guys…”

  Another portion of light was blocked by a second shadow.

  “Fuck it, I’m outta here.”

  “Guys!” Brooke said, her words snapping through the air.

  The argument stopped and both boys traced the invisible line from her finger to the blocked out window. In that moment of silence they heard the scratching of nails on glass and soft rasping moans filtering in through the storm panes.

  “Oh shit…” Todd said, his words low and scared.

  The three stared at the window as the shadows beyond pushed and shoved for a view through the pale curtain.

  “We gotta go,” Todd said. “Now.”

  Todd turned and made his way quickly through the kitchen, pausing as the other two caught up. “When we hit the yard, we head straight through the cemetery for Crawford Motors. We’ll be able to get a car and get the fuck out of town.”

  This time Jeff nodded in agreement.

  “On three,” Todd said as the scraping in the living room turned to pounding.

  “One.”

  The pounding crescendoed.

  “Two.”

  Glass shattered.

  “Three!”

  Todd swung the door open to three sets of waiting arms.

  “AAAGHHHHH!!!” he screamed as two sets of teeth snapped at him, the weight of their bodies pressing in causing him to fall backwards into the kitchen, landing heavily with them on top. “FUCK!!”

  Jeff stared in horror, the gun in his hand a useless paperweight behind his fear. Then Todd screamed as a chunk of his arm was torn away.

  “AARRGGHHH!!”

  Jeff was frozen in place. His mind was racing with options, but nothing was making a connection to his body. Then he heard a second scream. This one startled him out of his daze. He turned and saw the pale white of Brooke’s face and the tattered bodies beginning to make their way through the living room; the window now completely open. He heard the soft crunch as more slowly piled in, falling across each other beneath. “RUN!” he shouted, grabbing her arm as his friend screamed in pain on the floor behind him.

  He grabbed Brooke’s arm and drug her through the kitchen, narrowly dodging flesh torn arms as he hit the stairs leading to the bedrooms above. “Go!” he yelled, turning to fire three shots at the monsters beginning to make their way up the
stairs.

  He turned and rushed to the door at the end of the hall—his parents room. Then he slammed it shut and began sliding a large dresser in front of it.

  Moments later the pounding began again.

  Jeff moved to the back wall next to where Brooke had knelt down. He looked out the window at the yard below and saw six more creatures slowly making their way through. His friend’s screaming below had attracted more.

  Jeff took a deep breath and then let gravity pull him down next to Brooke. He looked at the cylinder of the revolver and then let his eyes fall back to the door.

  As the pounding increased he slowly took his friend’s hand.

  The scene downstairs slowly crept beyond macabre; broken glass and blood lined the floor from the front door to the back. Crimson footprints led from a large puddle to the stairs, smearing as more and more took their place. Upstairs, pounding had resumed, followed by the distinct crack of cheap wood splintering and the piercing shrill of a girl screaming. Three shots rang out and then the house went silent, save for the low hungered moans and the soft crunch of footsteps through glass.

  Day 14

  “You gotta stay close babe, please…”

  Richard had ahold of Kendra’s hand. It was a loose hold, but enough for him to make sure she hadn’t fallen behind.

  That morning the reports that were blaring across the television screen and all bands of AM and FM were enough to slap him across the face with the realization of what was happening around them and the fact that it was well beyond the time to leave town.

  “Where are we gonna go?”

  In a matter of two days, their small; sixty-thousand person town, had erupted into a world of violence and chaos as stores were looted, buildings destroyed, and countless were slaughtered by those that had died during the melee.