by David Menard
When they reached the Electronics department they were appalled at what lay before them. A man hunched over wearing a tank top was biting a small child. Left in this man’s path were countless victims with blood soaked hands who suffered bites from his tantrum. They were pale, sitting on the floor looking exhausted. Most were moaning,while the spectators were yelling “Get off him!”
“Stay back Cindy, I got this,” Wallace said with authority. Bravery was not a trait she knew he possessed. She surely would ask him about this later. He took long strides over to the man attacking the child. He grabbed the man and threw him to the ground. The man in the tank top went sliding into a nearby display case. The child he was biting was losing blood rapidly. He had a large wound on his shoulder; an entire chunk was missing. Cindy was too occupied watching Wallace helping the child that she did not see the man in the tank top sliding himself across the floor. The man crawled towards Wallace and bit him.
”AAAAAAAAHHHHH” Wallace screamed as he fell to the ground. The maniac clamped down on Wallace’s ankle with his teeth, tearing out his Achilles tendon. He reached for his wound, panic setting in. Sweat was beading on his face as he shifted his body in an attempt to escape his attacker’s grasp.
“Oh my god, Wallace!” Cindy said stunned at what she was witnessing. She was fast approaching to help Wallace when the wounded child also bit Wallace. This stopped her in her tracks. He screamed once more, as he was punching the man to try and create seperation. He pushed off against the child and resumed his onslaught of punches to his original attacker. Cindy stood paralyzed with a crowd behind her as she watched the rest of bite victims crawl slowly towards Wallace grabbing at him. The floor was now crimson red.
“ARGH! Cindy help me!” Wallace cried as he was being eaten alive. The bitten customers surrounded Wallace and proceeded to bite him and rip away his flesh. Cindy was mortified; she was witnessing what she had read in so many books. She was seeing zombies eating one of her friends. These undead creatures were pale skinned and their eyes; they were milky white.
“Wallace!” she finally managed to voice out. It was far too late, Wallace Green was dead. He was a victim of cruel irony; had he left on time he would have lived. He was the cop that was one day from retirement and was killed on his last assignment. Oh my God! Time to get the fuck out of here. Wallace, I. I am sorry.
Cindy cut through the crowd behind her, hearing more screams as she did so. Some idiots were making videos of this atrocity. It disgusted her, but she had no time to scold them. She read far too many books to know what would happen next. She was now in a full sprint for the front doors. She reached the front of the store and realized that she forgot her keys in her locker. Well, this is how you die. Stupid asshole! Panicked, she scurried to the employee break room.
When inside she went to her locker and tried to turn the combination. She was shaking so much that she could not get the combination right. Calm the fuck down. Don’t die here. She took a deep breath and tried again. This time she found success; she snatched her purse and ran out of the room.
She stepped out of the break room and witnessed a horrifying sight. There were dozens of these monsters attacking the customers. The smell of blood and other bodily fluids was disgustingly overwhelming. The screaming and sounds of gnawing made her cringe. You need to get out of here now. She bolted towards the entrance; zombies were reaching and grabbing at her. She avoided them by side stepping past them. Karen, a fellow cashier, was being disemboweled on her conveyor belt. Cindy turned away as she advanced towards the doors, Karen’s small intestine was dangling off the side of the conveyor belt. An overweight woman ran past Cindy and collided with a nearby clothing rack, toppling her over. The assailant followed the woman and collapsed onto her and ripped her nose off as its thumb pushed through her left eye. After what seemed like miles Cindy reached the front door, and left the store.
The parking lot featured the same demented horror; screams of adults and children were amplified in the evening. There were hundreds of the undead stumbling around and feeding on the flesh of the living. She could hear the breaking of car glass and the screech of car tires. Some people were trying to hide in their cars and others were trying to drive away from the nightmare. The people hiding in their cars were mauled and eaten alive; nothing could keep the monsters away. The vehicles that were trying to get away could not drive through the mass of zombies. The drivers met the same fates as the undead when the zombies broke through the windows and devoured them.
Cindy scanned the panorama and saw only pain and despair. She looked over to the shopping cart storage area and saw a small group of the dead eating. She was horrified when she saw Captain Fahrenheit lying in a pool of blood adjacent to a tiny hand. She wanted to cry, but knew that her life depended on her ability to keep her composure. She proceeded cautiously and walked quietly past the group of zombies into the parking lot. She was spotted immediately and they slowly approached her. Cindy broke out into a run and ran towards her car. She reached it fairly easily, not coming within five feet of the monsters.
She opened her purse and juggled her keys, she was about to place them in the door when she heard a loud bang. A hot liquid sprayed over her face. She turned and saw a zombie, with a hole through its eye, fall to the ground right next to her. She would have been dead if that shot never came. Holy shit! Fuck. Oh my god. Fuck! She looked around trying to find the origin of the shot. BANG! She opened her car door when she heard a man call out.
“Cindy get in here, go through the back door!” John Stenson yelled to Cindy from atop the roof of his store. He saw another target and fired again. He was trying to protect as many people as he could. John thought swiftly and barricaded his store when everything happened. He was a veteran and when he saw people eating each other knew to create a place for defense.
She did not need another invitation, she sprinted towards the store.She could feel a bead of cold sweat running down her face along with warm blood running down her neck. The undead approached her on the route to Stenson’s. Each one received a bullet through their skull. She rounded the side of the store, almost collapsing as she did, and there were five more zombies. Before she could even think to turn around she heard the exploding sounds of a rifle and saw each one of the creatures fall to the ground. She saw a man standing by the back door with a rifle in hand and a foot propping the door open. Her hesitation was almost fatal, as she was pulled to the ground by her hair.
Cindy quickly rotated on her back, and saw in close detail what she was dealing with. It hovered over her, chomping it’s teeth together, and descended onto the ground to feed upon her. Cindy crab walked backward to avoid certain death. It crawled toward her, blood oozing from it’s mouth, those milky eyes she noticed before glowed in the dying sunlight. Her attacker grunted and growled, as it grasped at her leg. She gave it a clean kick to the face,. The sound of shattering teeth made Cindy wince as the undead creature recoiled for a moment. She created more distance, giving the man at the door room to end the assailant. Three shots, two to the body and one to the head. It moved no more. Cindy jumped to her feet, resuming her sprint for survival.
“Hurry up!” he yelled to her as he provided more cover fire. That was a close call, he almost lost her. He was not about to do it again. The shooter tucked his long, blonde hair behind his ear and continued shooting around her. He heard a shuffle from his blind spot on the other side of the door. He changed his vantage point and dropped two zombies that were flanking him. She was within ten feet now of the door, accelerated and leaped into the building. BANG!
Chapter 5: The Crimson Road
Anthony’s ears were ringing, he undoubtedly suffered a concussion from the collision. He lifted his head, focused his eyes and surveyed his surroundings. The panorama featured an endless amount of trees and in the distance, a large lake. He glanced to the digital clock on the dashboard, seven o’clock. He had been passed out for hours. The disoriented officer tried to move but the airbag hindered his move
ments. He reached for his pocket knife located in his left front pocket. He slightly punctured the airbag, deflating it. He unbuckled his seat belt slowly and opened the door.
Anthony’s head was pounding, but he knew if he stayed any longer he may not wake up again anytime soon; he felt sick and had difficulty focusing. He thought the sinister ordeal might have been a dream until he saw the maroon stains on his shirt. His comrades were dead, they suffered the worst death imaginable. A tear rolled down his cheek as he took in the view once more. Guy, Jeff, Stanley, Glenn. I am sorry. Anthony could not remember the name of the last officer, he still had not been acquainted with the whole force. This caused a new wave of emotions, that man died without a name. That was something he needed to live with.
He checked his gun for ammo, three bullets left. He loaded it back in the gun and caulked it. His weapon would not be effective if he ran into a handful of those monsters. Three bullets would not suffice, his chances of survival were grim. He remembered what Jeff told him before his unfortunate death. There should be some ammunition in the trunk. Hoping Jeff was correct, Anthony opened the trunk in search for ammunition using the lever next to the driver’s seat. He proceeded to the trunk of his totalled vehicle.
Upon opening, Anthony saw a small, black lock box. Anthony retrieved the keychain from the ignition and opened it. There was two automatic pistols and a manifold of boxes with ammunition contained within it. As an ex marine, Jeff was prepared for the worst case scenario. The police department used a standard issued pistol, making them a perfect match to Anthony’s weapon. The trunk also had a bottle of water that was rolling around and a spare uniform. He grabbed a new shirt and changed. It was a little too big but it was clean, it didn’t smell like death. Due to its size he tucked the shirt into his pants, keeping an eye on his surroundings as he did so. He quickly loaded the guns and put one in his holster, and the other two in the the back of his pants. He was fortunate to find a plastic shopping bag in the front seat; placing the ammo and water into it and tying it. It was heavy, the plastic stretching, a short term solution. He hoped to find something more serviceable when he reached the residential district. If the situation was contained, he would have nothing to worry about, but he couldn’t assume anything. He turned to the origin of the tire marks and took a deep breath. He took a step forward, paused, and continued.
The walk through the woods was not long nor rigorous; he made it to the road within five minutes. The guard rail was destroyed when he lost control of his cruiser. The road was deprived of any life, there was no sign of anyone or anything, only abandoned vehicles. He searched a few cars, eventually finding a station wagon with a duffle bag in it. He transferred his equipment and pressed on. Numerous vehicles he passed had broken glass and blood smeared across the doors. It was camping season, and the local campgrounds were a half mile or so from the Restoration Lab. The people who inhabited these cars were trying to escape the horror that he released. It was quite clear that things took a turn for the worse.
Why did you break that fucking glass? These people are all likely dead and it’s your fault!
He traversed the road cautiously with his duffle bag on shoulder and gun in hand. The air was thick, the sun was on it’s descent, it would be dark soon. The street lights would illuminate the road, but not enough. His chances of survival would be close to zero if he did not find shelter. Anthony gazed upon a blockade of crashed cars as he entered the residential part of the town. He approached the “wall” of cars and heard it again; the moaning and dragging feet. Dusk was fast approaching, fear was setting in. Keep your composure. He turned towards the ominous sounds, four monsters were coming for him.
They emerged out of an abandoned R.V, children seven or eight years in age. He could see protruding bones from one of the creature’s forearm and another was missing her face. He stood paralyzed, the flashback of Glenn’s death shook him. The leader of this small squad of undead was the faceless girl. Her pink shirt, decorated with blood was tattered and she had large chunks of arm missing. Only a pink shirt and long brown hair made the monster’s gender discernible, it's exposed skull stained maroon. The growling she and her crew emitted was higher pitched than the previous monsters, making the situation all the more terrifying. These are not people anymore. Anthony took aim and fired, shaking as he did. It took five shots to immobilize the small squad. He hit the small boy with the backpack in the neck with the first shot. The monster child did not recoil, proceeding towards the officer. The second shot was the executioner, hitting the creature in the forehead. The shots echoed into the night on the deserted road, alerting the predators in the area.
More moans materialized in the dead air, shifting and dragging feet accompanied them. Anthony assessed his surroundings and saw that many of the creatures were inside of vehicles ahead. Citizens hid in their cars to avoid the attackers, bitten beforehand. More emerged from within the woods that he himself was in. Dozens more appeared from the other side of the blockade of cars. He thought to turn around and run, but knew there was bound to be monsters no matter where he went. Going back towards the lab would result in the same situation.The town was his only hope; the police department in full could fend them off. If anyone is still alive... He pulled the gun from his holster and began to walk towards the wall of cars shooting the undead. Methodically Anthony shot the ones closest to him and when out of ammo, holstered his weapon and pulled out the other two. It didn’t take long to run out of ammunition as the monsters continued their assault. He dropped the bag, unzipped it, reloaded and resumed. As he did this an elderly man with maroon stained white hair nearly mauled him. The creature was mere inches from grasping Anthony when met with a bullet to the face. His brains splattered onto a bright blue van.
He had to be mindful of the monsters coming up the rear. Anthony’s movements resembled an orchestrated dance; one shot, two shot, turn and repeat. He knew he could not kill them all; he had to find a way to escape. He scanned the area while continuing to shoot down the assailants. Bodies were piling up, he killed at least thirty of them, not enough, there were dozens more. While surveying the area, he was almost bitten by a young woman whose tank top was ripped, revealing her breast,. He shot her between the eyes and her body jerked back, crashing into a pickup truck. Anthony’s predicament was utter madness, the dead were unrelenting. No matter how many of them were killed the rest would just keep coming, ignoring the fallen.
Ahead, he saw a manhole by a lime green pickup truck. There would be a slim chance that he would make it, but currently he was in far greater danger as corpses stumbled and crawled their way towards him. He rushed to the manhole and eliminated two more ghouls. The smell in the air was wretched, the odor of blood and waste was overwhelming, he was going to vomit. They were closing in, his time was up.
He gripped the edges of the manhole cover, and lifted. He was interrupted three times because the dead stumbled upon him. The cover was not heavy but his hands were sweaty and shaking, making the easy task a trial. A few seconds later, he was able to slide the cover off the hole enough for him to slide into it. He turned his body around so then his legs would be the first into the sewer. He held himself up by the forearms while his legs searched blindly for the ladder. The ghouls were approaching ever slowly but were indeed too close, if he didn’t find the ladder soon, there would be no way for him to be able to close the entrance to the sewer before they reached him. He blindly kicked his feet and finally found it. He climbed down a few rungs and slide the cover on just before a blood soaked old woman could reach him.
Anthony Garrison was surrounded in darkness; he wasn’t sure what to do now. He reached into his pocket in hopes to find the car keys with the miniature flashlight attached, but remembered he left the keys in the lockbox, in the trunk. He had to make this underground journey in total darkness. A most disturbing thought came to him. People who were infected may have hid down in the sewers and now were vicious cannibals.He would be trapped in the dark with them, unable to defend hi
mself. He carefully and silently traversed through the sewer; he wanted to hear everything. Luck was not on his side, every time he thought he was safe from the evil above him, he found himself in a worse situation than before. He silently reloaded his guns and reluctantly proceeded to what he felt was certain doom.
Chapter 6: Quarantine
News traveled fast regarding the disaster taking place in the small Massachusetts town. The U.S military made haste and decided to quarantine the area. A blockade was ordered to ensure no one escaped. The roadblocks were set up on Monday following transmission received from the D.N.A Restoration Lab. An intercepted phone call to the local authorities prompted security override of the lab’s camera system. It was then that Colonel James Alastor witnessed evil in its primal form.
Monday 3:15 pm
“Sir, I just intercepted a distress call from the D.N.A Restoration Lab! There appears to have been an attack on the building!” the switchboard analyst call out behind her. Her station was one of many, all of which were intercepting transmissions. She looked back to her superior, an aging man with a stern look upon his face.
“Play it for me.” he replied as he walked toward her station. His left knee, hindering him as he walked gingerly. The weakness in his knee was the only one he possessed, his decorated uniform indicated this along with his strong demeanor. James Alastor was fifty seven years old, with age lines afflicting his face. Two tours in Iraq showed him the apex of violence that existed in this world; or so he thought.
The woman at the monitor selected the audio file and replayed it. “Help!....Help! they are attacking,” A loud crash and screaming was heard in the background causing the man on the call to pause; he was breathing heavier now. “Oh my God, it’s a bloodbath! Please hel-aaaaah,” The man screamed as he was cut off and the phone went dead. The analyst looked back at her commander frightened awaiting his response.
