by Schafer, Jon
He let this sink in for a minute before saying, "But until Tuesday, we need to hold things together here before they get too far out of hand..."
Washington, DC:
Blocks away from the seat of power of the United States lies some of the poorest, most densely packed ghettos in North America. Although not the worst in the world, they are still a breeding ground for drugs, violence and the other assorted crimes that plague civilization when too many people with too little money congregate in too small an area.
Every large population center in the world has its ghettos, slums and housing projects where entire families share one room and take turns sleeping in whatever space they can find. Places where groups of addicts congregate unnoticed in abandoned buildings and where the homeless pack the alleys and doorways seeking shelter.
It’s in these downtrodden areas where the HWNW Virus thrives. Here, law enforcement doesn’t shoot down the dead, for in the slums of America they aren't exposed. The people of Washington D.C. have an ingrained distrust of the police and social services, so most outbreaks of HWNW go unreported. When someone who is infected dies and comes back as a reanimated corpse, they’re free to prey on those around them until put down by an armed neighbor. But incidents in which the dead are disposed of this way are rare. Because of strict gun control laws, most law abiding residents of Washington D.C. can't own a firearm, so they have to treat the walking dead in the same way that they have always treated the junkies, drug dealers and rapists who populate their streets. They lock their doors and ignore the problem.
This worked for a short period of time after the first cases of HWNW were reported in the nation's capitol, but as the number of dead grew, the living found themselves barricaded in their homes and apartments, now in an even worse situation than when the druggies ruled the streets. When they came out to go to work or to pick up essential food or medicine they weren't robbed, but were set upon and killed or infected and reanimated to join the hunt for the fewer and fewer sources of food left.
In Washington DC, entire buildings were now populated by the living dead, who roamed their halls and rooms in a dazed shuffle. When the food source was eliminated in their immediate area they had not moved on, instead resisting their urge to feed as a more powerful instinct told them to wait. The herd mentality told them there was strength in numbers.
Similar scenes like this were being replayed in cities across the face of the Earth.
Although some of these enclaves of the walking dead were discovered and eradicated, most went undetected as emergency services broke down. In some cases, due to the attrition of first responders such as police, fire and paramedics, huge congregations of the dead were reported but there was no one left to do anything about them. In these instances, the dead continued to propagate unabated.
In one of the first structures in Washington D.C. to have an outbreak of HWNW, the only ones left occupying its run down apartments were the dead. Over forty zombies wandered about aimlessly, moaning and shivering in hunger. As if alerted by an unheard signal, slowly in ones and twos they started moving toward the foyer and then out into the street beyond. Here they milled with other groups of the walking dead who filed out of the other buildings lining the roadway. Silence fell across the mass of horribly disfigured corpses as they searched for any sign of food. Soon, the streets of DC became filled with these aberrations, slowly turning in circles as they used their senses to seek out the living.
The wind brought a faint trace of smell to the crowd, causing the zombies to turn in the direction from which the tantalizing aroma of live flesh came. Those dead at the edge of the mass set off at once, quickly followed by the others.
Shuffling towards the smell of food, these zombies were joined by others who exited homes, offices and numerous low income housing projects until a virtual army of the living dead staggered through the streets of Washington DC. Converging on one location, they pursued and ate any living thing that crossed their path as they headed for the capitol.
The Secret Service, alerted to the swarm of dead heading in their direction, literally picked the President up off the ground as they carried him to Marine One and safety. The President's personal security detail boarded the helicopter with him, leaving the rest of the contingent to help protect the Nation’s Capitol.
These men and women joined the Mall police and the remnants of the DC police, who had been pushed back by the relentless waves of dead, to form a perimeter around the White House and the Capitol. The locals, bolstered by this influx of firepower of the Secret Service, soon secured their positions and put out a steady, accurate wave of gunfire that kept their deceased attackers at bay.
The Senate and House, which had been in special session passing laws dealing with protecting the Constitutional rights of those who had died and then come back to life, dissolved into a bleating uproar when news of the approaching horde of dead was announced. In a panic, Congressmen and Senators evacuated their chambers to flee into the streets, demanding that the police protect them and they be transported to safety.
They were told that a combination reaction/evacuation force of Marines had been summoned from their base at Quantico, Virginia and would be arriving within minutes. They were also told that additional helicopters called from across the Potomac were already preparing to land. They just had to calm down and be patient.
This appeased the politicians momentarily, so they huddled in small groups, looking about fearfully as the sounds of battle raged around them. Only a few of the elected officials offered their assistance in the defense of the town and the people who nurtured and sustained them, but the majority cowered in fear.
As the first huge CH-47 transport helicopter came into view, an argument between two Senators both claiming a seat on the evacuation vehicle turned into a fistfight. Others, seeing that they might have to get physical to secure a seat, prepared to do battle with their fellow politicians. None found it strange that they would fight each other to the death to escape but not fight against the zombies to save the city or aide its defenders.
When the first evacuation helicopter touched down, the elected officials rushed forward as one and mobbed the transport, biting and clawing each other like the things they were trying to flee. A few of the chopper’s crew tried to push some of the politicians off but found themselves pulled out of the transport and trampled by the crowd. The junior Congressman from California forced his way into the cockpit and pointed a pistol he had taken from a dead police officer at the pilot’s head while screaming at him to take off. The pilot hesitated, so the congressman shot him in the neck and turned the pistol on the co-pilot.
Not wanting to argue with the insanely terrified man, the co-pilot started rolling the helicopter forward, trying to get a running start to help gain lift for the overloaded aircraft. The wheels left the ground, but as more elected officials climbed in through the open hatches or grabbed onto the helicopter like leeches, the aircraft started swaying from side to side. The pilot increased power, but due to lack of maintenance caused by budget cuts initiated and approved by the very people in the helicopter, a hydraulic line burst.
Out of control, tilting to the side and gaining speed as it roared only feet above the ground, the CH-47 crashed into the mobile command center the police were using to anchor their defenses. The resulting explosion sent a wave of burning wreckage into the perimeter of law enforcement personnel, scattering those it didn't kill instantly.
With their line of defense now shattered, the call went out for the defenders of the Capitol to fall back to the White House and use its outer fence as the new perimeter. In the ensuing confusion, a few Congressmen who lagged behind, or froze in terror, were set upon by the advancing dead to be torn apart as they squealed.
Forming a new line of defense, the human remnants put out a withering fire that pushed back the dead. A standoff of sorts ensued that would soon be broken by the arrival of the Marines. With their overwhelming firepower, they would decimate the dead
and retake the city.
Three members of the House of Representatives, who in the chaos of the helicopter explosion had been cut off from their brethren, found refuge in the back of one of the armored vans that had been abandoned by the mall police in their forced retreat. They could hear and see flashes of sporadic gun fire coming from the White House and knew safety lay in that direction, the problem arose in how to get there.
The Senior Representative from the State of Massachusetts proposed they drive the van through the crowds of zombies to the White House, thus saving themselves from certain death and consumption at the hands of the flesh eaters surrounding them. This was met by debate from the others as to the pros and cons of the plan.
What if they struck and killed one of the dead? Would they be liable? Who would drive? And when that person was decided on, who would get to ride in front with him?
And the most important question posed by each man, how will I profit personally from these decisions?
This discussion could have gone on well into the night if a zombie with dreadlocks down to his waist hadn't spotted them conducting their circle jerk. Clawing at the front windshield, the Rasta dead soon attracted the attention of other dead who swarmed the van en masse.
Seeing this, the Representative from Massachusetts decided to overrule his fellows by jumping into the driver's seat and throwing the still running engine into gear. Flooring the gas, he ran over dreadlocks and two other living dead as he steered wildly in the direction of the White House. With the taxpayers footing the bill for his chauffeured Lincoln Town car, the Congressman was not used to having to drive a vehicle. In a series of fits and starts he would over-speed before braking suddenly, throwing the two men in the rear around like dice being shaken in a cup. On one of his braking maneuvers, two zombies latched onto the push bar at the front of the van and started raking their hands across the windshield. This further unnerved the already panicked Congressman, so he swerved wildly as he bounced onto Pennsylvania Avenue before flooring the gas again as he shot toward the wall surrounding the White House. Fishtailing, he regained control and sped off, paralleling the perimeter barrier.
Trying to find a gap in the fence that would lead him to safety, the Congressman took his eyes off the road for an instant. As he did this, he leaned over and turned his head to tell the others in the back to hang on. His twisting movement caused the van to yaw right and strike the curb at sixty miles an hour. The right front wheel bounced up as the rear end spun around, flipping the armored van onto the fence and tearing out a section forty feet long. Coming to rest upside down, the vehicle exploded, carving out another twenty feet.
Amazingly, the three politicians survived the crash but were now being slowly roasted alive. Their screams of pain and terror were like a beacon to the dead.
Converging on the breach, the dead avoided the flames as they swarmed onto the Presidential grounds by the thousands. Through sheer weight of numbers, they rapidly overwhelmed the defenders and were soon inside the White House itself, eating police and politicians alike. With nowhere left to run, the small remnant of humans not killed in the initial assault forced their way onto the roof where they secured the access doors behind them to await rescue.
One of their number, a lobbyist for the insurance industry, had been bitten in the original melee' at the capitol and hidden the wound from the others, not wanting to be left behind or executed. Cowering behind a heating duct, the virus took him and turned him. He emerged from his hiding place and staggered over to a stairway door, which he unlocked and flung open, letting his kinsmen onto the roof.
The pilot of the lead Blackhawk dispatched to relieve the siege of Washington D.C. hovered over the scene of carnage that was the White House. Everywhere he looked, inert dead bodies were being torn apart and eaten by animated dead bodies.
Diverting the rest of his flight to the Pentagon in order to secure that structure, he flew a search grid over the area as he looked for survivors. After a fruitless hour of this, he noticed his fuel was getting low and radioed for permission to return to base, adding to his request that there was no one left alive on the ground.
Permission was granted.
Fort Myers, Florida:
Stephanie Lynn sat on the couch, oblivious to most everything around her. An hour earlier she had taken her nighttime dose of psychotropic medication and then for good measure topped it off with two Klonapin and an Ambien. She was feeling no pain.
Originally told at age fifteen that she had mild bi-polar disorder, the great wastepaper basket diagnosis of the twentieth century, her doctor put her on a drug used to treat seizures. Stephanie found she liked the relaxed feeling the medication gave her, along with the familial attention she received from being the injured child. She continued to play the poor me role to the hilt while staying buzzed.
Neither of her parents had any history of mental illness in their lineage but each was sure that Stephanie's disorder had been passed down on their side of the family tree. Seeing this parental guilt made it easy for Stephanie to manipulate them into paying her bills, sending her to private school and generally letting her glide through life without taking on any responsibilities.
At the age of eighteen, the medication quit giving Stephanie the good feeling she craved and she started having to deal with the average ups and downs of living life on life's terms. After doing a little research into different drugs, she immediately started having anxiety attacks and dangerous mood swings. After a quick trip to the psychiatrist, she came home with a bag full of samples to see which worked best to keep her on an even keel. It was not that her problem had blossomed into schizophrenia, though Doctor Jonstone believed it had, she was just looking for that nice warm cocoon to slip back into.
Two things happened that day. She found a medication that made her oblivious to all around her and she decided that to keep up with her new found way of life she needed to change her major to psychology.
With mom and dad footing the bill, Stephanie emerged years later with a master's degree, no real life work experience and an endless future of bouncing from one psychotropic drug to another. After eight years of short-lived jobs (she was let go from three alone for falling asleep at her desk) and even shorter-lived relationships (six months was the max) Stephanie finally decided that enough was enough. Signing herself into a detox, she sought to free herself from her addiction. The meds were flushed from her system and her mind cleared, but an ugly truth soon became apparent. After years of altering her body’s chemistry by faking disorder after disorder, the lie had become the truth. She was now manic-depressive and schizophrenic. She actually needed the medications.
At around the same time an unfortunate accident took the lives of her parents, which while heartbreaking, left her a substantial monthly income from their estate and no reason to get off her butt. This was feeding right back into the root of Stephanie's problem since she had been a teenager. She was just plain lazy.
In the following three years, she ballooned to over two hundred pounds and was as active as a rock. She had been in one promising relationship with an architect before her final fall into gluttony and sloth, but when her boyfriend saw what he was getting into, he broke it off. When she asked him why, he simply said, "Being with you is like swimming with a brick. It'll take awhile, but in the end you'll pull me under.”
On her couch in Fort Myers, Stephanie whiled away the hours, alone and semi-comatose on psych-meds while watching pointless reality television and talk shows.
Earlier that day, she had gone to the Target store to pick up her prescriptions and was surprised to see Halloween decorations. Deciding this year she would give the good trick or treater’s an extra treat, she bought ten packs of full size Snickers bars and an assortment of smaller bite size ones. The larger candy bars would go to the children she deemed to have the most creative costumes while the kids with the average costumes would get the smaller treats.
By eight PM, one whole pack of the Snickers bars was g
one, but not from handing them out. Stephanie had methodically eaten her way through all eight candy bars while wondering why no one was knocking on her door screaming out a joyous Trick or Treat. Had she looked at a calendar, or watched anything else besides trash on television, she would have realized that Halloween was still two days away. But in her current state, this still might not have registered. By ten o’clock, she was starting to feel drowsy and was considering climbing into bed. Then she heard a scratching noise coming from her door.
Grabbing her depleted bowl of candy, Stephanie went to the sidelight and looked into the entryway. Catching her breath at what she saw, she thought, oh my God they look so real.
A boy and girl of about twelve years old stood scraping at her front door with their fingernails. The boy’s head looked pinched, as if it had been squeezed in a vice. One eye bulged grotesquely while the other dangled loose of its socket, attached only by a bloody stalk. His shirt and chest had been shredded, with strips of flesh and fabric hanging down and mingling together to make him look as if he wore a grass skirt. Bite marks, oozing black puss, decorated his arms as if he had tried to fend off an attack by something diseased.
The girl seemed in slightly better shape. Although spotted with blood, she only had one disfigurement. A chunk had been taken out of her left cheek, exposing the teeth and gums on that side. As Stephanie watched, the girl’s tongue poked out through the hole to explore the gaping wound.
Oh, they look so real, Stephanie said to herself. Definitely deserving of a full size candy bar. Turning the knob, she opened the door and stood expectantly, a Snickers bar held extended in each hand.
"What do you say?" she asked.
Ignoring the candy bars, the two dead pre-teens let out squealing noises as they attacked Stephanie’s hands, biting off six of her fingers in the initial assault.
Although Stephanie's screams carried down the street, neighbors were reluctant to come to her aide. They had been following the madness on television for the past few days and were frightened of what they might encounter.
