Way of the Undead

by Boggess, Michael

  Mark grabbed his umbrella and quickly stepped out of his truck to share with his sweetheart. He walked over to Stephanie, giving her a nice warm hug, kissing her softly on the cheek as he sheltered her from the rain. Mark felt he needed to try to be more affectionate and maybe see how Stephanie would respond. He was beginning to feel that they were being pulled apart due to their busy schedules, feeling that just perhaps it was time to take their relationship to the next level.

  The time had to be just right. Mark sadly looked Stephanie in the eyes. “Sorry we don’t have enough time to eat at a nicer restaurant. I’ll make it up to you soon, but I’m still coming to visit you at work this Wednesday.”

  “That’s okay! I like our cafeterias pizza and I know we haven’t had a lot of time to spend together. So… you are going to visit me at work?” Stephanie asked as she put her arms further around him.

  “Yeah, of course I am! I wouldn’t miss your first day of work for anything.”

  The two held hands as they began to walk down the sidewalk to the cafeteria, watching out for mud puddles as they shared an umbrella with the unrelenting rain continuing to fall. Just as the couple began to step into the cafeteria, lightening began to flash and flicker, illuminating the room a little more from outside the windows with each strike.

  “I’m so glad to be out of the rain,” Stephanie said as the sound of thunder began to crash, causing the walls to rumble and the overhead lights to flicker.

  “I know! It’s been crazy out there all day. And it don’t appear to be stopping anytime soon,” Mark said as the couple walked up to the lunch line.

  Chapter 4 Way of the undead

  Mark was now shielded from the rain, flipping through the radio stations in his truck. Nothing he wanted to hear was playing.

  After turning the station he came across a local radio station Disc Jockey, Wild Bill in the Evening talking about Knoxville and the quarantine. From what Mark could gather, the host quickly went on to say that in less than two days—the quarantine had spread and was covering more and more distance. It was figured by the end of the week, the whole city could be under quarantine, also that there was a need for extra caution and concern.

  “This just in! My friend over at Knoxville Memorial Hospital has giving me word that there has been a large amount of admittance into the hospital over the past eight hours due to flu-like symptoms. Over thirty new cases have been reported—this can be considered an alert epidemic state of emergency,” the DJ stated. “Little is known about the illness except for it is considered to be a new strand of retro-virus. The government has failed to comment on what is going on and what this virus could be. I’m not trying to spread panic, but it is under good authority from my friend, who is a doctor out at Memorial, who has stated that any and all should stop the use and consumption of local area tap water for drinking or bathing till more is known.”

  “What the government had originally commented on about the water is that it was some sort of pollution, and likely not any kind of a virus. The government also said that the lake and water distillery have been drained and are being cleaned and thoroughly filtered out with hundreds of thousands of gallons of fresh water daily.” Wild Bill paused for a moment as he went on to speak discerningly about the whole situation. “The government has had the water turned off in the surrounding area for a couple of days now, but the sick are actually coming to us from areas where the water was not supposed to be affected. No pollution has been found present in those areas—but a virus very well could be,” Wild Bill warned.

  “Caller go ahead, you’re on the air.”

  “They’ve been a lot of outbreaks of flu down here near Cartersville and even some out down in Gatlinburg. I’m not trying to panic everyone; however, I work down at the high-school and I’ve seen it with my own eyes. We had a least ten student’s today go home early sick, complaining of the flu,” the caller stated.

  Wild Bill briefly looked over his notes. “Thanks caller! The lines are going to stay open and we’re going to keep everyone informed. I’ve already talked to my bosses and we have the go ahead to broadcast uninterrupted with no commercial breaks till we get the word out.”

  Early the next morning, back at camp, Professor McClellan was preparing his report. He had a meeting at 0800 hours and had to update the government officials on all of his findings. It had been the illness plaguing the volunteer workers his top priority over the past couple of days. The workers conditions had continued to decline faster than expected, and upon Professor McClellan’s research they were not expected to make it till noon. The virus had taken over and the stages of progression were being charted to help in diagnosing the disease’s process from now and into the future. The Professor’s finding was that the virus was deadlier than even the Ebola virus. The illness was now peaking in the volunteer workers with death thought to occur within twenty-four hours after contact with the virus. Around 1100 hours before the government team had arrived to discuss the Professors findings, the majority of the volunteer workers had become deceased as the virus had begun killing off its hosts. Professor McClellan was standing over the deceased volunteer workers and had begun charting the times of death along with any and all complications up to the point of death.

  He called for a team to come in and place the cadavers into body bags for an internal autopsy—after which the team would also be responsible for transporting the diseased victims to the incinerator. Professor McClellan went back to his office to further write down his findings as well as adding to his report. The team of five arrived upon request from the Professor to place the victims into body bags. The team stopped and put on their decontamination suits before entering in due to the extremely high risk of exposure. As the medical team began rolling the seven of ten recently deceased bodies into place—the dead started to shake—crawling off of their gurneys before ferociously, fueled by anger began rushing over to the team slaughtering them one by one. The attacking, formerly lifeless and now zombie even began killing off the last of the three volunteer workers who had been left alive on a slab as they were on the brink of death from the infection themselves. Even though the sounds of screams had filled the camp, only a few National Guardsmen stationed around the quarantined area had heard any of the commotion. Faint screams had been heard coming from the makeshift medical facility. The five medical examiners had entered the room in full precautionary gown and masks and were immediately caught off guard and devoured. The seven zombies had now become fifteen as the five medical examiners and the three were now fully transformed. The camp was now infected, not with just the virus—but also by the dead.

  It would seem as though the zombies had reverted to some sort of primal instinct as they searched for a way out of the makeshift medical facility. In the presence of human flesh however, a hunger for flesh would be unleashed taking any and all precedence. The plastic walls of the small, cramped medical area began to crackle and crumple, becoming stained red with drying blood as the hands of the undead scratched and clawed their way around the room searching for an exit.

  In search of the noise, two National Guardsmen arrived at the changing area. Once there, they couldn’t just go rushing in—they had to follow protocol and put on a decontamination suit as a standard precaution. From within the thin walls of the changing room, the soldiers each paused, listening for signs of danger. Something was not right. They knew a group of at least five medical examiners were in with the victims, but the room sounded to be occupied by at least a dozen more individuals. The door was visibly stained with what appeared to be human blood.

  Each guardsman considered the possibilities; they each thought long and hard about going on in, especially amongst the presence of what had sounded like screams and cries for help. The two soldiers suited up, deciding to leave their guns in the changing room to keep from risking contamination. A couple of rooms away, due to possible blood splatter, the guardsmen were reluctant to open the door. After arriving, not one cry for help had been heard, and
there had been almost no apparent cause for concern—it was only to be a routine type of security check. Upon unzipping the door, another smaller decontamination room awaited. This room was used as a precautionary room to leave all of the possibly contaminated articles of clothing behind upon exit. At the door, the National Guardsmen began to open the hatch and enter into the med-isolation room.

  Private Gregg was the first to enter into the room and was grabbed and pulled down to the ground by awaiting zombies. The undead immediately began biting and tearing into his suit. The second guardsmen, Private Banks—saw the attack and took a precautionary step back before rushing to open the changing room door to escape. An angry gathering of newly undead watched in eager anticipation—and began to charge towards the fleeing soldier—stepping over top the feeding frenzy, even trampling atop Private Gregg. Private Banks saw them coming and quickly turned back around in an attempt to fight off the attackers. He gave a quick sidekick—knocking one zombie onto another. He then quickly turned around, unzipping part of the plastic decontamination room door.

  As he tried to dive through the partially unzipped door, two more zombies grabbed and clawed at his legs; one even got a powerful bite in causing blood to draw up through his suit. Private Banks screamed in terror as his calve muscle above his boot was being torn into by the vicious bite from what seemed to be an undead monster. The now lone guardsman, halfway through the door began kicking for dear life as the many powerful bites of killer zombies began to clamp down upon each of his legs.

  Private Banks somehow broke free of the grasp—crawling out and over to his M-16 leaned against a wall. The zombies came barreling through the small opening in the door—viciously crawling over to their pray as they were followed by another snarling group—hungrier than the next.

  The lone guardsmen made it to his weapon, rolling over to his back, and while clicking off the safety of his gun all in the same motion. He then pulled the trigger—lighting up the room with gunfire. The first of the undead was shot nearly ten times before one of the bullets finally connected and hit it at a precise angle directly from the floor up. The bullet hit the zombie in the front of the neck traveling upwards—blowing out the back cerebellum region of its brain. More blood-crazed zombies approached—rushing in packs. Just as one of the undead beasts would fall, the next would rise up, crawling over the corpse of the first. Private Banks began unloading on the next zombie—cutting the legs right out from under it with gunfire. He then started unloading on the next group. One was instantly hit in the head as another’s leg was easily blasted off onto the floor. The legless zombie relentlessly crawled its way over to the guardsmen—grabbing on to his boot—attempting to pull its way up onto the soldier. He then lifted the crazed zombie up off the ground by boot to its gut and shot it right in the face. The lone guardsmen pushed the dead zombie to the side and began to draw his machinegun on the next zombie to come running.

  Private Banks began blasting within a three-foot-range—hitting the next zombie in the chest with no affect. In an anger-fueled rush, a collision was imminent; momentum carried the zombie as it impacted hard into Private Banks causing him to lower his machinegun. The undead zombies shoulder blacked Private Bank’s eye—cracking the bridge of his nose. The hard impact made the lone guardsman lose his train of thought for a brief second as blood began to drip from his nose causing his eyes to water. The zombie instinctively grabbed at the guardsmen’s arm, as the movement drew attention from the zombies already glazed over eyes. The crazed undead zombie bit down on the squirming arm—feeling his mouth with the taste of flesh and the warm flow of the soldiers’ blood.

  Private banks took his free arm and grabbed the beast by the neck—pushing it away with all of his strength. More zombies began to enter into the room. The lone guardsmen grabbed his M-16 and began firing wildly at any and every walking corpse entering in—emptying his clip on the undead—even when knocking one to the ground meant another would stand right back up. The bullets began tearing through one of the zombies decaying flesh, but also straying, tearing the makeshift room all to pieces. Private Banks emptied his clip, while his vision became a blur as the remaining zombies hovered over him just before moving in for the kill. The blinded guardsman cried out in terror as he was soon to be eaten alive by the undead horde. The gunfire had not gone unheard. A unit of National Guardsmen suited up and gathered their weapons, readying for a fight. The small changing area was now full of the undead, who couldn’t grasp the complexity of the outer-door. Each zombie began scratching and clawing around on the plastic walls of the makeshift room until they started tearing into the bullet-riddled holes in the plastic walls.

  The camp alert had been sounded; the National Guard unit began heading to the medical area of the quarantine. Cautiously the unit arrived outside, expecting a possible gunfight. They set up a small blockade around all sides on the tented area till everything was deemed non-hostile.

  “Come out with your hands up!” the Sergeant said, loudly over his bullhorn.

  The unit leader knew of all the possible civilians trapped, also of the chance of infection.

  Given the order, a group of soldiers stepped over to the tented area—slashing holes into the sides with their combat knives. They each then took out a canister of sleeping gas to throw into the cuts. After a minute, the team put on their gas-masks and began to go in. The unit began drawing their weapons, getting ready for anyone that might be hostile. The unit, one by one entered into the changing room—immediately noticing the remains of one of their own. The unit reached down and placed a towel over the face of the dead guardsman. A huge tear in the tent with blood all around it was flapping in the wind. The Sergeant immediately called for another unit to hurry and surround the quarantined off camp—fearing an escape attempt had been made. The entire camp was on high alert. Professor McClellan, set patiently in his makeshift office awaiting word of what was happening. Two National Guardsmen began standing guard outside of his office.

  The Professor set patiently as the guardsmen stood outside his door watching for any kind of threat. The Professor began contemplating what could be happening. He began thinking about who or what could be involved. The consensus around camp earlier was that the missing National Guardsmen or even the fishermen could be some sort of terrorist, that maybe they faked their own deaths, with the story of a supposed attack just to cause some sort of chaos.

  The professor was beginning to worry. His surroundings made him feel uncomfortable. The thin plastic walls were no protection from gunfire and weren’t quite easy to escape if need be. As he began pacing back and forth, something could be felt crawling around underneath the thin platform that was laid out as floor. Something was definitely moving around underneath, brushing up against it.

  “Hey! Get in here! Something’s moving underneath the floor here,” the Professor yelled out in a panic.

  Chapter 5 Way of the undead

  The Professor stood patiently in the back corner of his office, listening and praying that nobody other than the guardsmen came walking through the door. Within the dark tent, he stayed hid, fearing what was to come. After a moment, once peace could be felt—no peace remained. A blood-covered zombie began to violently thrash around at the corner of the room—lifting up on the floor as it tore through the tents’ plastic walls. From underneath, the gut-wrenching zombie stood strait up and shot a menacing look at the Professor. It was Dr. Jennings undead corpse. The Doctor was now a revolting mess—covered in blood and missing an ear.

  The killer zombie let loose a loud roar—swiping towards the Professor, barely missing its target. Almost at a loss, the Professor quickly took a step back. After a second, and with his heart pounding, all he could do was watch in horror, anticipating the beast that continued to swat. The zombie was stuck: trapped partially at the point in the room where the floor canvas and wall were adjoined. All efforts to climb the rest of the way out had failed. The Professor, in almost a relief took another step back, bumping into someon
e or something.

  It was indeed another blood-covered, bullet-filled zombie wearing medical scrubs, drooling right as it began to extend its arms outwards.

  “Enough is enough! Help!” He yelled at the top of his lungs.

  Falling to his backside, it was realized that the zombie was slow to act, and slow to move: evident in the fact that it had a bad limp and only one eye.

  “I damn you to hell!” the Professor yelled scornfully as he kicked the gimpy leg of the beast out from under it with the force of the strike breaking the fractured leg cleanly in two. Upon exiting the tent, a pair of zombies ignored his actions, hovering over the half devoured corpse of a fallen National Guardsman.

  “My god they’re just ignoring me… they have absolutely no desire to chase me,” he muttered. The Professor assumed they were already full as he begun to jog easily around them. The Professor, in a panic continued to run as fast as he could away from the besieged camp—venturing out into to the woods without even looking back for a second opinion. To have seen a real life zombie had changed all that he knew about the virus, and as the Professor began to breath heavy—he began to realize that the monster had arisen from the virus that he had discovered.

  With the Professor escaping, running for his life, back at camp, the team of National Guardsmen were about to storm the next room as they cautiously began to enter into the medical area. The rooms were still smoky from the tear-gas that had been administered. Sergeant Harris was hoping the culprit had already escaped through any one of the many holes torn in the canvas of tent—if only to avoid any unnecessary close-quarter-combat.

  “Someone has to move in first,” the Sergeant said. “Private… I need you to find out what’s in that room.”