The End: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller

by P. A. Douglas

Clay’s rifle clicked empty. He fell to one knee, disregarding the puddle of blood he had been standing in, and reached in his side pocket for a fresh magazine. After spitting out the spent magazine, he slammed the new one home cocking in a fresh round. Before he could stand, Gus found himself doing the same.

  With a momentary lapse of rapid fire, the hallway cleared of dust and scattered drywall. The building was littered with holes. Several zombies still lingered forward toward the end of the hall, and many of those that fell in the onslaught began to rise again.

  “Fuck!” Clay instantly stepped from the safety of the stairwell out into the hall, shifting to one side of the doorway. With the dust built up around them, wearing his mask made it hard to see. Clay pulled his up over his head and looked down at his rifle.

  The zombies started closing in. Eight lay on the ground no longer moving, but five of them still pressed on. All were dressed in basic office worker attire. With bloodied ties and tucked in shirts, the dead, rot-infested pus bags crept onward. Their moans and raised hands were in one accord.

  Clay quickly brought the M-4 to his shoulder, sighting one of the ghouls down the barrel. The three-round bursts rang out as Clay lit into the hallway toward his targets. One set of shots went wild. Blood sprayed from chest to shoulder and then down the hall into the wall, sending more dust out into the air. The zombie jerked slightly but wasn’t slowed at all. It pressed on. Clay fired again sending two rounds into the same zombie’s chest and one right in the center of the dead man’s throat. Blood splattered out from behind the walking corpse as the lead zombie still moved forward.

  A rapid succession of three round bursts erupted right beside Clay, sending him off guard for a moment. He jumped, startled by the unexpected fire.

  Gus stood beside him, the doorway leading into the stairwell at his back. With more controlled accuracy, the first burst of shots sent the lead zombie to the ground. All three shots tore through its face, sending it to its final rest.

  The staccato of gunfire poured out once more. This time with more intent to destroy than subdue, each burst of bullets rang out, hitting their targets. One by one, the zombies fell to the floor. Some limbs twitched here and there as the final ounce of animation slowly drained from their decaying bodies. Others just lay still, forever free from the torment of their horrendous existence.

  With a stifled shout from behind his mask, Gus shoved his new partner on the shoulder and then pointed to the first of many doors to be checked on the floor. “Good shooting, kid.”

  Same as before, the two men made their way through each room clearing it in hopes of finding their target, Mr. Grech Vonhinkly. GCUR-TECH’s facility looked nothing like what Gus had expected after what he was told in the debriefing. For some reason, he had anticipated more of a sci-fi high-tech place with tons of machines and labs. This place was everything but.

  Very similar to the third floor, the second floor was filled with offices and an occasional classroom. The place came across as more of a training facility than anything else. Gus stood in the sixth cleared room on the floor wondering where all the mad scientists or the crazy lab equipment were that would be utilized to bring back Frankenstein.

  The scenery had, however, changed just a bit, and not in a good way. Unlike upstairs, the second floor had seen a lot of action. The place was a wreck. Desks and chairs were tossed all about the rooms. Papers and office supplies cluttered the ground. So far, the only creatures they had come across were the ones at the stairwell.

  Dead bodies, on the other hand, were another story. Mangled and mutilated, devoured corpses littered the building. They had been devoured almost to the bone, some even unrecognizable by gender. The place was a blood bath.

  As they turned to exit the room, a piece of paper on the floor stuck to the bottom of Clay’s shoe. The clotted blood and matted remains of flesh on his boot heel clung to the paper as he stepped away. Leaning down to remove it, he noticed that the header read something odd.

  “New Panglobal Habitation Project,” he read out loud scanning down the paper a bit farther. “The changes in the behavior of the infected ants are very specific; giving rise to the term zombie ants... the dead ants are then repositioned in various other situations… abnormal reproductive structures. What the hell is this?” He looked up suddenly, realizing he was alone in the room. He quickly rushed out into the hallway, catching up with Gus, who was already clearing another room.

  “If we are going to stay alive, boy, you better stick close and cover my ass,” Gus said.

  “What were they doing here?” Clay asked.

  “That’s not our problem, and there are some things best kept in the dark. I’ve got enough to keep me up at night as it is. No need to go adding another one. Now stay behind me, or you’re going to get yourself killed,” Gus replied.

  Moving on to the next room, the two men finished clearing the second floor. Both were starting to wonder if there would be anyone left alive. If the second floor was bad, then the first one couldn’t be any better.

  “Hey, we forgot the bathrooms on this level,” Clay said as they made their way back to the stairwell, stepping over the dozen zombies they had brought down earlier in the main hall.

  Without saying a word, Clay, his gun hanging at his waist, took two wide strides over a gunned-down zombie, grabbed the bathroom door handle, and hurled the door wide open.

  A cowering ghoul leapt out, taking Clay by surprise, and when it fell upon him, Clay lost his footing and tripped over a body lying in the hall. Clay fell to his back, taking the attacker down with him, and his rifle fell from his grasp upon impact.

  Gnashing and snarling, the zombie bit and tore at Clay’s face. Saliva and blood poured from the foul creature’s mouth as teeth came down on him. The zombie’s hands clawed violently, ripping at his clothes. Unable to break through the thick plastic of the gas mask, Clay fought frantically as the zombie tried to meet flesh.

  He searched for his weapon with a free hand, while using his other to pull the zombie off of him. Unable to find his gun, he reached down into his boot, pulling out a large blade. The sharpened steel instantly penetrated the zombie’s skin. Clay instinctively went for the heart and jabbed quick and hard. It was a solid hit. As he pressed the knife in deep, he tried shoving the zombie to one side, hoping to get out from under it. However, as Clay jumped to his feet, the zombie did likewise. With the knife protruding from its chest, unhindered, it lunged forward.

  Clay stepped back fleetingly, but unfortunately, his feet again became entangled with a lifeless corpse on the hallway floor, and he fell. Staring up at the undead thing as it approached him again, Clay froze.

  From out of nowhere, Gus appeared over Clay, pistol drawn and at the ready. He fired two quick shots straight to the head of the ghoul sending it to the ground. Gus leaned in close over the young man. Expecting to be helped to his feet, Clay reached out a hand. Instead, Gus was already stepping away. Clay’s blood-covered knife, unexpectedly, landed in his lap. As he staggered to his feet, Clay wiped the knife on his pant leg and shoved it away in the top of his boot.

  Without looking over his shoulder as he spoke, Gus snapped, “Not going to say it again, kid! I’m the front man for a reason. Stay tight, live to see another flight! You got it?”

  Clay caught the brash tone that Gus had intended. “Yeah, I got it,” Clay said, wiping his facemask down with the sleeve of his shirt, thankful that he had put the mask back on. It saved his life and he knew it.

  Having cleared the rest of the facility’s second floor, Gus and Clay slowly made their way down the same stairwell once more. This time, a little more apprehensive, the two soldiers worked as a unit.

  Unlike Gus, who only had a little blood and guts on his boots from traipsing around, Clay was a mess. He was covered in gore; having fallen twice from the mutilated attacker did a number on his appearance.

  Gus hadn’t told him yet, but the first day out of the epidemic, Willy had gotten covered like that too. When they got ba
ck to base, Willy had the luxury of sleeping in a holding cell for fear that he might turn overnight. With the infection being in the blood, Gus planned to stay as clear from it as possible.

  As they rounded the corner, they noticed that the doorway leading into the hall of the first floor was wide open. Gus shot up a fist, halting them were they stood halfway down the flight of steps. Putting a finger against the lips of his mask, Gus took one slower step forward, peeking around the corner.

  There were no moans or growling, but there were definitely zombies. Just from what Gus could see, the hallway was filled wall-to-wall with the undead. So far, the two soldiers had remained unnoticed. The looming ghouls just stood in place, swaying back and forth ever so slightly, taking hardly any steps in any direction. Even if they did have enough ammunition, they would easily be run down by the mob before their bullets did enough real damage.

  Gus crept back a few steps, out of the undead hordes’ line of sight, trying to come up with a game plan.

  8

  “Well, what’s next?” Clay whispered as they both sat on the set of stairs out of sight from the undead in the hallway below. “There must be more than a couple dozen of those things hunkered down in there. Honestly, I am surprised they didn’t hear us making all that racket upstairs.”

  Gus looked at the radio in his hand for a moment.

  After waiting a while, Clay said, “Well?”

  As if to answer him, Gus clicked the receiver on the radio, grinning up at the young man. “Blue Bravo, come in… Over.” He paused for a second, and winked at Clay. “We create a diversion.”

  Despite the thick plastic of his mask and the darkness of the stairwell, Gus saw the young man’s perplexed expression. “We send the chopper down to blow out the front door, sending the creeps out to investigate…”

  *

  “I hope you’re calling to say mission complete,” Watts said over the radio. He had spent the better part of an hour twiddling his thumbs. That is, up until recently. A few stragglers from out in the woods had finally managed to meander their way to the facility. The attention drawn by the chopper had sent them in from who knows how far. Trying to help pass the time, he pulled out his handgun for a little run with some target practice. He had already taken out three walkers when Gus radioed in and broke his focus on the fourth zombie in his sight.

  “What’s your status, Chief?”

  *

  Back on the stairwell, halfway between the first and second floor, the radio rang out with only a moment’s delay.

  Before Gus could answer, a gut-wrenching sound bellowed out from within the hallway on the first floor. Footsteps and moaning cried out in unison, the soldiers’ presence detected. It only took a split second for the first of several putrid zombies to break from the hallway into the stairwell.

  “Oh, well. New game plan,” Gus said and grunted. He jumped to his feet tossing off the ammo pack from his shoulders. Anxiously, he sifted through it. “Hold them off,” he shouted, not taking his eyes from the bag.

  “Gus, come in… Gus, come in… Over,” Watts chattered over the airwaves from the rooftop.

  Clay darted several steps down, alerting the dead even further to their whereabouts. The zombies uncontrollably convulsed with excitement as the fresh meat appeared from around the corner several steps overhead.

  Instantly, an onslaught of fire rang from Clay’s rifle. The M-4 grew warm in his grip as each bullet ripped through decay. The vibration of the gun tightened his muscles as Clay shook in unison.

  Looking over his shoulder and back up the steps, Gus was still fumbling with the bag and ignoring the persistent radio calls from Watts. “What the hell are you doing?” Clay shouted. He had stopped the constant blasts of ammo rocketing through the air just long enough for him to ask the question and instantly started back up again.

  With a handful of zombies down, the front of the hallway had quickly begun to fill from all the excitement. What zombies didn’t go down, did their best to press on through the rain of bullets. Waving his rifle from side to side, holes tore through chests and necks, chunks of flesh and bone ripped from arms and legs, but they just kept coming. Every few seconds seemed to gain the horde another inch in their ascent up the stairs leading to the two soldiers.

  Clay started to tense, taking a step back up the stairs. Right as he turned to see what the delay was, Gus appeared beside him with a grin on his face.

  Muffled beneath the protective gear, Gus mumbled, “Plan B, it is then?”

  He quickly jogged down the six steps between them and the horde, and kicked the lead zombie square in the face as hard has he could. The creature’s face caved in. With the large man’s practice at taking down doors, it was no surprise that the instant the heel of his combat boot met its face, it collapsed. Red and gray splatter squished from the zombie’s nose as it collided with the inside of its own head. One eye instantly erupted, sending the ghoul falling back with the spray of gore and grime from sudden impact.

  Clay didn’t see anything leave Gus’ hand, but based on the arch that it was tossed, he had a good idea on what the man meant by Plan B. Still in mid-thought registering the event, Gus was already on top of him, pushing him back up the stairwell.

  “Move! Move! Move!” he yelled, passing Clay up in the process, his big feet pounding up every other step in long strides.

  Clay had taken a few steps before the grenade exploded, knocking him off his feet. The impact of the detonation was contained to the hallway. The stairwell shielded the blast from the worst of it.

  *

  On the rooftop, Watts heard the grenade go off. He knew what it was, having been in the field enough. Glass from a few windows on the first floor blew out, sending a cloud of smoke with it. Leaning over the edge of the building looking at the damage, Watts hoped all went as planned. Swiftly making his way back onto the chopper, he started gearing up for takeoff. “Gus… Come in, Gus… Over.” A moment passed. “Gus, you have five minutes to report, or I am taking the fuck off without you. Over,” Watts shouted over the radio.

  *

  In the stairwell, Gus stood to his feet, brushing the dust and debris from his uniform.

  Clay still awkwardly leaned against the railing coughing up dust and drywall. His ears were ringing.

  Gus, gladly, could not say the same and made the effort to cover his ears while he ran up the stairs. Grabbing up his gear as quickly as he could, Gus reached his stunned partner, who was off balance. Gus shoved an M-4 into Clay’s arms, passing him up as he descended the steps to the first floor. He might have said something as he passed, but Clay couldn’t tell.

  Clay heard the very faint echoes of gunfire, but it was so muffled that it sounded more like the subs in the back of his car rattling off. Descending the steps to join Gus, Clay witnessed as the lead soldier lit up the floor around him. The man had his rifle on full and was aiming at the ground in front.

  Gus was doubling over the fallen zombies with fire from point blank range. He swept the perimeter from side to side with bullets as he moved forward, slowly leading from the stairwell into the hallway of the first floor. Blood and guts danced around his feet as the hail of ammo ripped into the undead. He wanted to be sure none of them would be getting back up again.

  Stepping over the uninviting mess that the other man had just made, Clay squished and slid through bile and filth. The puddle of grime and blood was unrecognizable for the most part. Nothing but parts littered the floor. Arms and legs and the occasional torso lay strewn and bullet-filled.

  As they made their way into the hall, it was filled with smoke and dust.

  “How the hell are we supposed to see through this shit?” Clay shouted, ears still a little shot.

  “Slowly,” Gus replied.

  The two soldiers moved forward clearing the floor of possible threats. The lights strapped to their weaponry only made it harder to see, reflecting right back at them in the dust.

  Unable to see more than a foot in front of them
, Gus kept his head low, watching the floor as he moved forward. He moved down the hall doing what he could to clear it. Bodies and parts of bodies laid everywhere. It was hard to tell in the dust cloud, but it looked like parts of bodies had also managed to make their way onto the walls as well.

  Not paying any attention to the front of the building, a large number of zombies not affected by the blast sifted through the dust and debris ahead of them. The two soldiers moved along, clueless to the sounds of their steps and moans as they continued to fire round after round, taking out the scattered remains of a once prevalent horde.

  With Gus in the lead still sweeping back and forth with his rifle, his cleanup procedure suddenly became interrupted when a zombie appeared from the dust cloud only a foot in front of him. Startled, he stepped back, but it was too late. The creature was already on him.

  He stepped once more wrestling with the ghoul. With one big shove, the creature flew back against the wall, giving time and space for Gus to raise his rifle. He aimed it right at the zombie’s head and fired. The chamber clicked empty. “Hell!”

  The lab coat wearing man leaped forward again, landing on Gus for the second time. Gus fumbled his weapon, dropping it to the floor. The creature’s teeth gnashed violently as it spit and snarled over him. With the same half grunt of effort, Gus tossed the zombie against the wall. He reached down, yanking up his weapon, then fell back a few paces to where Clay stood.

  “Shoot it,” he screamed.

  Clay frantically pulled back on the charging handle on his M-4. “It’s jammed! I had to reload and it’s jammed.”

  Gus flipped the ammo bag from around his shoulders and onto the blood-covered remains littering the hallway. He reached in to retrieve new rounds for the M-4, but after two attempts kept coming up with only nine-millimeter magazines.

  Beside him, Clay stood, still feverishly trying to get his rifle un-jammed.

  Only a few feet ahead of them, in the cloud of dust and drywall, came the moans and howls of more flesh hungry corpses, their bodies slowly coming into view from amidst the fog.