Way of the Undead

by Boggess, Michael

  He then began to walk quickly over to the gas pumps, curious as to why Steven was steadily spraying gas from the pump all over the parking lot. Having stopped for a moment to get a sense of everything that was happening, looking around, gas could be seen flowing all the way out into the road. Far off from across the road death could be seen approaching. At a distance, from next to the pumps, a massive mob of the undead was witnessed on their way over, running towards the groups position from over next to a luxury hotel on up. Mark ran up in a frantic, carrying with him a backpack full of weapons and ammo that Thomas had left behind.

  “Where you been? Who are they?” Mark asked, with a slight fever setting in, clouding his judgment. “You need to tell me before you go off on your own again.

  “You never give me credit.”

  Tyler could tell that Mark was visibly showing signs of the infectious virus. “I’m sorry! I found them hiding in the store.”

  As a massive horde of zombies was on its way to the store, Mark quickly handed Tyler some extra shotgun shells. “Hurry up and get your things, we’ve got to go—now!”

  Gas continued to flood out into the road as it poured onto the paved parking lot. Steven held his position for another moment, tying a piece of wire around the handle before setting the nozzle on the ground.

  “Help!” The young female now along with the group screamed.

  “What are we waiting on?” Mark asked as around ten zombies neared the gas station entrance from out in the road.

  Mark aimed one of his Colt .45’s near an approaching group, aiming at a set of zombie feet—shooting the gasoline soaked ground around it. The shot immediately caused a giant fireball—engulfing the entire lot and part of the road in a giant wall flames. The group ran to the side of the store for shelter from the fire. Mark stood cautiously on the side and waited to see where the flames might carry—trying not to get accidently burned alive. Once the flames began to settle—the group decided it was time to run as nearly ten flaming zombies came rushing out of the fiery lot after them.

  Mark and Steven took off carrying supplies through a small patch of grass separating the gas station from a large retail clothing store.

  Chapter 16 way of the undead

  There was no place to go and nowhere to hide. Zombies began to follow with their blood-red eyes dead-set on their pray. The streets were getting foggy, as black smoke poured out of the wrecked vehicles up ahead. Steven’s asthma was getting to him, while Mark continued to tough out an extremely high fever and the on-set of the zombie-causing virus. Each zombie was filthy and covered in blood: some ran, while others walked, staggering and limping. Both types of undead resembled road kill, walking mounds of rotting flesh. With more zombies up ahead and with hordes already following—watching their every move—inching closer in an ever increasing manner, there was no doubt that it was time to find a new path.

  “Over here!” Mark yelled, spotting what looked to be a quiet, undisturbed corridor leading down a dark alleyway next to a top-notch Café.

  Halfway down the corridor, the group had been seen. Upon sight, zombies began frantically scrambling around in the packed restaurant—knocking over tables and breaking dishes while attempting to find their way out. Mark’s eyesight was becoming blurred. Yellow dots began to appear due to his fever. Rounding the corner, the group was now in the middle of a feeding frenzy. Without hesitation, they began firing off rounds attempting to strike first. Cold, sick, and scared, seldom shots connected. Luckily, for some of the shots that had missed, others ignored their presence continuing to huddle over fresh kill. In all of the madness, a hungry few undead withdrew, reluctantly making their way towards the group from behind some crashed vehicles. A few more rounds were quickly fired off before continuing around the all-brick building near a winery. Both sides of the street, chaos and destruction reigned. The first-hand accounts were horrific: broken glass and corks were amongst the mess littering the sidewalk. Broken windows, doors, and smashed locks, all appeared the work of looters, not zombies. Tyler aimed and fired—blasting a zombie away from the teenage girl new to the party as she had been barely able to keep up due to a sprained ankle. Zombie sightings began to increase the further they made their way through town. For every second running down the road, out in the open, their lives were in danger. Coming up on a police –style blockade, flashing blue strobe lights were reflecting heavily off many of the storefront windows surrounding glass. The blockade was in place; however, there was no protection, everyone attempting to help appeared to have met an early demise.

  The group maneuvered around the obstacles, including debris, trying to continue on down the road. Out of nowhere two former policemen, now undead walking corpses, jumped out at them—one grabbing Steven aggressively by the arm. Tyler followed—smashing the backend of his pump-action shotgun into the skull of the beast—leaving behind a nasty scratch up Steven’s arm as the zombie refused to relinquish its grip. Steven applied pressure to the scratch using his shirt-sleeve to stop what little blood from forming. Mark fired off three more shots—hitting their intended targets square in the head just as they had begun to rear their ugly faces.

  Being unprepared was a constant worry. While feeling sort of shaky, tilting his gun to the side, Mark, having dropped a couple of bullets began contemplating how many more were left. With zombies beginning to give chase, there seemed no time to reload. Having put his revolvers quickly back in their holster, Mark drew his katana sword for protection. Within the deadly blockaded town square, many sights could be seen, most recognizably that of the violence that had taken place hours prior: dead bodies lying motionless with an incredible amount of empty shell casings scattered about the ground; smoking craters formed in the pavement as charges had been set off tossing puddles of blood and guts—a now unavoidable sight. At the outskirts of the blockade, a large bus-like vehicle was up ahead, and it was the Sheriff’s Departments mobile command post, a massive luxury bus, reinforced like a tank, housing offices for the forces Lieutenants and Sergeants. It was responsible for carrying many of the officers and supplies to the blockade.

  Zombies now appeared in every direction: many were fallen officers, risen again in the likeness of the undead. Some wore uniforms of high-ranking elite. The group was roughly outnumbered. Tyler was good to go with his shotgun, but with Mark only armed with his sword and Steven a terrible shot, it was time to search for an exit. Over thirty sneering, blood-curdling zombies began making their way over to the group, backing the group up all the way against the outside bushes next to a celebrity wax museum. With nowhere to go, Steven quickly checked the outer doors of the tall brick building. “It’s chained from the inside. And the windows are already boarded up.”

  “What the hell!” Steven barked, angrily shaking the chains—gritting his teeth.

  Surrounded and with the dead inching closer, from atop the mobile command post shots began to fire. A lone figure now stood leaning over the roof mowing the undead down by use of a long-barrel assault rifle. With use of an M-16, the figure unloaded on the zombies, giving Mark time to reload. Tyler had a full barrel and pockets full of shells. With his sight aimed at the closest group of zombies drawing near—a powerful blast backed them away—knocking a few easily to the ground.

  Mark drew his twin six-shooters, precisely aiming for a zombie’s head. One precise shot after another, quickly, the numbers were beginning to wane.

  “Get down!” The lone figure commanded.

  With a flick of the wrist, casually, a grenade was tossed off into the center of an approaching horde—killing a small but vicious number of zombies, instantly knocking down while stunning a handful more. With his back to a wall, Mark fired off a few more shots, after which a loud slam could be heard. The command post door sprung open with a lanky old arm signaling the group inside. The group hurried over to the mobile command post, one at a time entering up the steps. Just as the snarling bloodthirsty zombies were only a few feet away—the door slammed shut.

 
“I’m Luke! That up on the roof bird-dogging is Brian. Why the hell yawl not heading away from town? Are yawl crazy?” Luke asked, raising a very good point as the sound of banging at the door violently increased.

  Mark looked over the tall, lanky country boy, who by the looks was a fire fighter and not an officer. “You’re right… it would take someone crazy to work their way through town. But I’m Mark and this is my brother Tyler and best friend Steven. We’re just trying to get somewhere safe that offers plenty of food, water, and shelter, plus- close enough to make it to the college to check on my girlfriend. I don’t know these two,” said Mark, pointing over at the two teenagers. “We found them stranded, in need of help.”

  “Well you’re safe now.”

  “Yawl hungry? Any of you hurt or need to take a shower? ” A gravelly voice asked, just as a strong, clean-cut, buzz-cut sergeant with a thick bushy mustache climbed down from a ladder.

  Mark could tell that he was a high-ranking officer by his uniform patches.

  “By the way, I’m Sergeant Brian Houser of the Sheriff’s Department.”

  Luke walked back over to the group. “Now let me see, this here is Mark, Tyler, and Steven. What do we call you two?”

  “I’m Taylor and this is my sister Cheryl. We’re twins.”

  Sergeant Houser looked at the young kids with their sad expressions. “Well cheer up… you’ve come to the right place. Luke! Cook us up something good. I bet our new friends haven’t ate in a while.”

  “Everyone make yourselves at home… we have enough bunks for everyone. Get cleaned up. We have fresh non-contaminated water for bathing. We have a fully stocked, walk-in closet, so get yourselves a change of clothes. We also have a lounge area,” the Sergeant said.

  After almost an hour of banging the zombies were still at it. The group had become use to the noise after a while.

  Luke finished up in the kitchen, shouting loudly, “lunch…come and get it.”

  Everyone gathered around the kitchen area to fix a plate.

  “This is awesome,” said Steven, using the prongs to wrestle him a fresh cooked sirloin steak onto his plate.

  Once everyone had fixed their plate, Sergeant Houser made everyone say prayers, blessing their food and giving thanks to the lord from which it came.

  “Alright everyone, let’s dig in,” the Sergeant said, having said grace.

  After dinner everyone gathered around to watch the news out of New York, seeing how all of the local stations were off the air. So far the news broadcasts had been failing to report on the catastrophic events plaguing Tennessee. Once the afternoon news broadcast began to air, the group watched as they went right into telling of the virus.

  “I’m Mat Schrader and I’m here with your news. Reports as of ten o’clock this morning have listed the following countries: Russia, The British Kingdoms, China, Japan, Germany, India, Korea, and a slew of other Middle Eastern countries as carriers of what is now being called the Mclelre-virus. Reports have been inconclusive on just how the virus has made it to these countries.”

  The news anchor looked over the teleprompter before going on to speak. “The virus is now said to be world-wide—with thousands now infected. The Centers of Disease control has placed this virus on their all-time most dangerous list, beating out the Ebola virus and even the West-Nile virus. All airports entering or exiting the United States have been shut down due to the illness.”

  “I guess that’s been what they’ve been waiting on—a cure,” Sergeant Houser said.

  Mark, fighting illness went on to say, “I have proof that terrorists have been planting the virus in other countries water supplies.”

  Mark checked his pocket, realizing that he must have left the blood-spattered letter back at his house. “I might have left it at my house, but I’ve been told from one of my dad’s friend’s that a group of terroristic former CIA agents were at one time appointed by someone in power to do whatever needed to be done, and at any given time to keep America safe. My dad’s friend said that the group had been killing off all of the areas leaders, the Sheriffs, Police Captains, and head Park Rangers.”

  “I haven’t heard any of that. All of us officers have been too busy and overworked lately. I was told our Sheriff just up and jumped ship before all of this went down. But your right, the Knoxville Sheriff and Police Captain haven’t been heard from either,” Sergeant Houser stated, contemplating the possibilities.

  “They got my dad from what I was told. Him and a fellow co-worker. I was told it was to keep the media unaware of what was taken place down here until the right time.”

  Mark thought it over for a minute as the room got quiet.

  “I was contacted by Wild Bill in the Evening and told of how he was now in hiding, due to a disbanded group of CIA agents closing down his radio station.”

  Sergeant Houser’s face lit up. “Well, everyone at the jail has always considered him a crackpot. That’s probably why no one’s mentioned it. It sounds just like one of his conspiracy theories. But, my cell phone isn’t working and hasn’t been for some time now, that tells me you’re probably right for the most part. It just all could be one big cover-up. I just couldn’t see anyone tied to our government acting terroristic. Was your dad Mike Smith?”

  “Yes! He’s been unheard from for a week, along with the Knoxville Sheriff and Police Captain.”

  “Your dad was a great man—I’ve known him for over ten years now. I hope we do hear from him again. I know what you’re going through, my wife and kid, family, and friends are all gone—dead. The only thing that’s made me feel any better is laying waste to these creatures. Causing their damn extinction,” the Sergeant said angrily, just thinking about the past couple of days.

  Mark continued fighting illness. “I was told the fear of this highly contagious virus could have brought on a possible nuclear strike, and just by trying to stop the spread. That’s why it’s all on the hush.”

  Sergeant Houser looked outside the command post with use of a special monitor and camera system attached to the roof. “My men are dead… me and Luke here just barely escaped. Luke wasn’t even a deputy till yesterday morning. One of our captains deputized members of our local area fire department and rescue teams. Every last one of us—dead—turned into one of those things. I’m the highest ranking officer left. I carry the banner of Sheriff now. We’ve had no back up—no Army/National guard even.”

  Mark briefly paused, attempting to catch his breath. “Anyhow, everything that’s been going on has been caused by a defunct and disbanded sect of CIA that has continued to run things, supposedly in the blind eye of our own President.”

  Mark started feeling more woozy.

  “Was I dreaming all of it,” Mark said aloud.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Tyler asked, a little concerned.

  “Nothing… I’m okay,” Mark said, his memory fading.

  Sergeant Houser looked at Mark, noticing beads of sweat running down his forehead.

  “You don’t look so great son. Are you feeling okay?”

  Mark looked up and grimaced. “No! I’m dying I think. I got bit last night.”

  Luke walked over quickly to the table and screamed, “He’s been bit….”

  “Back up! I heard him,” the Sergeant said.

  “I’m fine for now. I know what’s going to happen to me. I just have things to get done before I finally meet my demise,” Mark said as he stood up showing that he wasn’t on his death bed just yet.

  “I’m not going to be cramped up in here with anyone who’s been bit,” Luke said, angered.

  The Sergeant thought about everything for a moment. “Has anyone else been bit?”

  “No! But, I got scratched really good by one of those things. It just barely drew blood. I don’t feel like I’m infected though. I already cleaned and bandaged it once we arrived here,” Steven proclaimed.

  “Luke’s right… we don’t need to be trapped in such a closed off space with you two. We should try to get
everyone somewhere much safer. We need to try to get the keys,” Sergeant Houser told as he started to toggle the command post’s camera system.

  Steven stepped over to the monitor, looking around at all of the uniformed zombies still walking around outside the vehicle. “So where are the keys?”

  “The Captain’s got them. He died sometime yesterday night when a horde of over forty zombies came from nowhere in the middle of the night and overrun us. We’ve been trapped in here ever since,” the Sergeant said.

  “Can we hot-wire it?” Steven asked.

  “No! The keys have a built in microchip… without those keys we’re not going anywhere,” the Sergeant said, meticulously searching the monitor for the Captain.

  The group, using all of the viewing ports, windows, and with the use of the camera monitor finally spotted the Captain. The Captain was just barely recognizable as he had been looked over three times before being identified due to his extra stripes on his uniform’s sleeves. His bloody mangled face was unrecognizable, even to Sergeant Houser who was one of the Captain’s best friends at the department. Once singled out and identified, the group began to devise a plan.

  “Have we tried distracting them with raw meat—like from a cow?” Steven asked as everyone gathered around.

  Sergeant Houser thought about it for a moment. “That sounds like it might be worth a try. Anyone else have a plan?”

  “We could try and lasso him,” Tyler said.

  “Do we have any smoke grenades or anything that might cause a distraction?” Mark asked.

  Sergeant Houser looked to the back of the long vehicle. “Yeah, we have stun grenades, and tear-gas, but I don’t know how effective it would be on a zombie. I’ve never seen a zombie cry.”

  “Why don’t we just go up top and shoot them? Luke asked.

  Relentlessly, zombies continued banging on all sides of the command post. Sergeant Houser stood up next to the table. “We don’t want to waste all the ammo. They’re almost forty of those things out there right now. If we go up top shooting, forty more are just going to be drawn to the area. We need to do something and do it fast, without drawing anymore of those things.”