From the command post’s windows—the mud covered, drenched and sopping-wet murderous zombies brought a surreal feeling of dread and despair to each survivor. Old-country shops and stores were teaming with the undead. Dead, but undead bodies could be seen entering and exiting at will. A gathering of zombies began to spill out of one of towns many arcades, yet Mark knew the only way to survive would be to stay focused on the task at hand. With the weather continuing to worsen, the road up ahead was barely visible from the Sheriff’s perspective. Rain and fog continued to raise concern. “Looks like some kind of road-block up ahead,” the Sherriff said, keying up on the radio mike. “You guys stay back.”
The command post began to slow. Sheriff Houser stared wearily up the road ahead, trying his best to make out the obstruction. “We’ve got what appears to be a road-block about fifty yards. It looks like someone’s parked some old cars in the middle of the road.”
Mark keyed up, “It could be Joe and his gang. It could be a set-up.”
“They’d have to had known we were coming,” the Sheriff said, trying to decide on the best course of action.
Mark waited patiently as the rain continued to pour down and as the gathering zombies began to swarm violently around his truck. “There’s no way we can get turned around now. We’re just going to have to make some room and hope for the best.”
“Copy that!” Sheriff Houser replied, giving the command post some gas while at the same time plotting his point of impact.
Mark in one truck, and Private Samples in another, each began to follow in closely—smashing zombies away and onto the rain soaked ground.
“Yep, it’s a trap,” the Sheriff said aloud for all in the cab to hear. “We’re picking up speed. Everyone hang on!”
“It’s Joe. It’s the Outlaws, I just know it,” Mark said.
From the Sheriff’s perspective as he came up quick onto the curb, the only thing needed to clear the roadblock was going to be a nudge. “If I can knock this van to the right…it should be enough.”
Smashing into the front-end of the van—swerving hard to the right—the command post powered on by. The Sheriff quickly veered back to the left. The sides of the steel, reinforced command post grinded past the moving van given way to the front-end of its reinforced bumper.
Speeding past the debris, the porch of an old country-western clothing store seemed unavoidable. “Guys, brace for impact.”
Clearing the obstruction became difficult due to the increasingly wet conditions. Soaking wet zombies began to accumulate as the command post became stuck. To make matters worse, out of nowhere, bullets began to fly: impacting not only the bullet-proof command post, but also onto the two delivery trucks following. Each shot echoed loudly. Pinging sounds seemed to almost tap at every square inch, up and down each font of the two delivery trucks, impacting, as well as ricocheting off the hood and roof.
“Get down!” Sheriff Houser yelled in a panic.
The non-relenting shots began to shatter each and every window out of the two delivery trucks. As Mark ducked for cover, the shots were noticed to be coming from all different directions. “There’s snipers on the rooftops,” said Mark, keying up on the radios’ mic. “I believe we’ve got snipers on every building. They’re all around us.”
Mark pulled out his pistol.
“We’re almost through… just hold tight,” the Sheriff proclaimed—throwing the mobile command post in reverse.
Leaning forward in his front seat, Mark could feel large droplets of water hitting him as rain water now trickled through the many large holes and areas of shattered glass. Mark waited for a break in the gunfire, even if all he could do was wait. While hunched over and leaning against the dashboard, many scuffed, bleeding, ghastly hands could be felt and then seen reaching in through the areas of shattered glass. Mark aimed his pistol—blasting a zombie dead as it reached through the passenger-side-window after him. Then from behind, through the large shards of shattered glass, more zombies began to force their arms into the truck after him, getting cut up further while reaching in. Mark setup and turned—blasting out what was left of the glass as a couple of shots precisely knocked the zombies away and to the street.
“I got nowhere to go,” Private Samples shouted.
The private pulled out his handgun, making his way out of the drivers- side-door. With danger all around, he began doing all that needed to be done for survival. The young Soldier began unloading on each and every zombie that got within a few feet. Amongst the downpour of rain, in desperation, a few sporadic shots were fired wildly at the surrounding rooftops. With Private Samples out of his vehicle, Mark quickly exited his—immediately having to fight for survival as zombies mindlessly made their way near.
Mark banged on the backend of one of his handguns. “It’s jammed.”
Aligned in a row, partially up on the sidewalk, Private Samples and Mark had little room to hide. “We’re trapped,” Private Samples said, almost resting against the nearest building.
Private Samples guarded his and Mark’s cramped position, blasting a few zombies maliciously drawing near. After a few shots, amongst the rain, the private received an M-16 blast to his right shoulder, causing him to scream out in pain. “Damn it.”
Having backed the command post out a little—the Sheriff hit the gas, building up some steam while making some much needed room. Over the speaker system, Sheriff Houser said, “Back in your vehicles.”
From inside the command post, the group listened closely as the M-16 shots began to ricochet all around. The reinforced command post was built to withstand almost any kind of regular gunfire; thus, protecting the survivors as they watched Mark and Private Samples fight for their lives.
With Joe’s gang still unloading, Sheriff Houser felt he had no other choice. Climbing up to the roof, the Sheriff, concealed halfway up the ladder—stuck his M-16 out of the hatch and began firing blindly towards the rooftop he believed contained at least one of the snipers.
Mark and Private Samples continued to fight off approaching zombies. Sheriff Houser, trying to level the playing field, scanned the rooftops for more gunmen. At first sight, and right when one of the Outlaws appeared from hiding, Sheriff Houser unloaded about twenty-rounds. On the rooftop, just before the Outlaw could get down—the gangster took a clean shot to his thigh and then one proven fatal shot to his chest.
The Sheriff, having shot one of the snipers began looking over the edge. From atop, he began lending assistance to Mark and Private Samples the best he could. More Outlaws remained in hiding with their guns drawn: with the survivors just out of range of Joe and Vince, another gunman waited nearby, almost directly over the command post aiming at the group from a building across the street. With the action alluding Joe’s plain sight, he waited impatiently with Vince sipping on a bottle of liquor. As Joe’s gang, the Outlaws, continued to fight, he downed a whole bottle by himself—keeping his eye set on his M-16’s site while perched from the downtown movie theaters loft. With a loud scream from the back room, Vince, in a drunken haze while tiringly trying to keep up with his buddies drinking habit, staggered and stumbled his way into the next room to see what was going on.
Stepping through the dim-doorway, he was met ferociously by Jocelyn and her friend, where he was savagely mauled at. Jocelyn and her friend (now killer zombies)—viciously attacked Joe’s best friend—biting and clawing at him—right before finally killing him as he drunkenly failed to fight off their attacks.
Just as the Outlaw’s continued to unload their arsenal, Sheriff Houser, after helping clear a few zombies, took an M-16 shot to his back. The sharp pain tore through, causing him to immediately roll for cover. The Sheriff reached his arm around his back and through his bulletproof vest, felt warm blood trickling out amongst the cold rain. From a crouched position—Sheriff Houser raised his weapon and began firing towards the rooftop—firing on the enemy location across the street. With the Sheriff having helped thin out the zombie horde and now keeping one of the
main sniper’s occupied—Mark and Private Samples signaled to one another just before jumping back into their trucks.
Almost as soon as the young Soldier set down in the driver’s seat, the truck began to take heavy, concentrated gunfire from above. Bullets tore through the roof, entering into the truck’s cab. Through the heavy barrage of gunfire, all that could be done was duck for cover, and pray that one didn’t end up hitting him. As Private Samples started the trucks engine—a loud pop was heard; one of his front tires had gotten shot out by a stray bullet.
The soldier killed the engine, putting the key back into his pocket. With bloodthirsty zombies gathering around—Private Samples fired a few shots out of the trucks window as the undead inched closer. Private Samples opened the driver’s side door, waiting briefly as rainwater began pouring in. Kicking a zombie away, the young soldier remained cautious of any gunfire that surely would be coming his way. Private Samples fled out into the rain and made his way back over near the rear of Mark’s truck.
Sheriff Houser continued to fight the gang without the use of any cover, fearlessly staying out in the open to cover his men. And from the roof of the command post, he continued to risk his life for his friends, trying his best to keep the snipers ducking for cover, and also to keep the zombies at bay. With Private Samples now ducking from a few close shots, the Sheriff chose to stay and fight until there was no more fight left in him. As the blood began to run down his uniform shirt from the rain continuing to fall—the Sheriff began to feel feint. He crouched down atop a puddle of his own blood to catch his breath.
Somehow, a barrage of bullets narrowly missed Mark’s position. All the while an ever increasing amount of zombies continued to draw near. In fear for his life, Private Samples quickly climbed onto the back of Mark’s truck, taking cover under some of the groups’ supplies that had been loaded on the back.
Mark started his engine, then honked his horn, prepared to roll on out, but with danger all around and still continuing worsen, everyone was unaware that Sheriff Houser was on the verge of becoming unconscious. As the Sheriff slowly made his way over to the hatch, a gunshot hit him square in the chest and then another in the back of his bulletproof vest, causing him to collapse motionless down into the hatch.
Tyler jumped behind the wheel of the mobile command post, starting the engine. “Are you following?” Tyler yelled out over the microphone traveling down front of the old movie theater.
Mark forced his truck through—dragging a couple of zombies—just as they reached their undead hands further into the cab.
Easing up next to the command post’s bumper…. “We’re okay… right behind you.”
With the commotion in the next room, and upon checking, Joe found his best friend and girlfriend were now both zombies. And with the command post almost directly under the theater—Joe quickly put three bullets into his former gang members heads stepping back over to the window. In anger, Joe aimed his M-16—unloading a full clip onto the armored, reinforced command post as it passed bye.
Together with the command post, Mark continued to follow closely behind with Private Samples in the back.
Chapter 30 way of the undead
Back atop Lookout Mountain, the group of survivors hurried back to the hotel. With Sheriff Houser having been shot, the survivors unstrapped his bullet proof vest and began checking the wounds. Pulling up next to the large wrap-around porch at the Pine View Hotel, the group of survivors quickly rushed Sheriff Houser into the lobby—resting him comfortably on the sofa. Gathering up each and every item of medical importance, each survivor huddled around as Steven, the only member of the group trained, besides Mark with any medical experience looked over the wounds. Running out of time, it was realized quickly that the Sheriff had lost a lot of blood, and that he was in need of an immediate blood transfusion. Quickly searching through each and every piece of medical equipment they had at their disposal—Steven reluctantly found that they just didn’t have the means for a transfusion. Aside from not having the equipment necessary for the procedure, with the Sheriff unconscious—they just didn’t have any idea of his blood type.
From Steven’s two years of medical training, he knew that introducing the wrong blood type into the Sheriff could kill him just as fast as the blood loss he’d already suffered, an adverse reaction his immune system would have with the foreign blood. “Let’s pray,” Mark said.
Standing beside their fallen friend and leader brought tears to everyone’s eyes. Sensing his inevitable death, everyone wept. With the Sheriff on the brink of death—he fought with everything he had as the group cleaned and bandaged his wounds, placing warm quilts and blankets over him. “He’s gone,” Mark announced, hanging his head. “There was nothing any of us could do.”
The fighting in town had been insurmountable: with each side having taken casualties.
Back at the once safe confines of Fort Stewart Army base—a fire continued to burn out of control. Accidental munitions explosions had rocked various locations along the bases cargo holds. With the perimeter continuously being breached by the undead, from some accounts, up to a hundred zombies an hour were breaching the once strong military base, making the whole area a deathtrap. The length of the armory was now being fought over, with the undead continuing to gain ground. Hungered zombies continued to ease, pressing forward in non-relenting waves. In defense, soldiers began to place barricades, posts consisting of bags of sand and barb-wire.
Throughout the base, generators, unattended were finally beginning to burn out from neglect, causing the weakened backup generators to kick in on their own. Back in the lab, as the lights flickered on and off, the team of doctors began to thoroughly search the lab for clues concerning Professor McClellan’s disappearance—yet to no avail. For the past week, the team had been in complete disarray, with many questions left unanswered. Although the team of doctors and scientists felt they deserved some sort of explanation, the Army felt no need to answer any of their questions or concerns, even threating their very lives. Worse than the uncertainty and threats, the Army now seemed to be hiding something, almost covering it up. To the team, the actual timing of the disappearance in a lot of ways had come as no surprise: having almost known that the Professor was going to get himself into trouble.
The team continued to pack their bags as something just didn’t add up. Plenty else around the lab had already drawn suspicion: for one the importance of the Professor’s work, especially with him being on the verge of a breakthrough in helping map Sergeant Haddock’s genome, this was one of many reasons that Professor McClelland would not have abandoned his post without telling his new friends and colleagues. Sergeant Haddock, the sole survivor of the Anti-virus experimentation, sensed the Professor’s death. He alone didn’t know how, but he did. With his new found abilities, he began to sense the corruption throughout his once proud military: somehow sensing the deceit in each of his superior’s unspoken voices, along with feeling the wide-spread dissention amongst the ranks. The corruption was a shock to the patriotic Army Sergeant; never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined his superiors could be so corrupt.
Sergeant Haddock, having been taught to harness his sixth sense, listening to his gut instincts, felt that the corruption was coming from someone high up in the military, it just wasn’t known quite who. The whole situation had left the team withdrawn, wanting to focus on their work, yet beginning to pack their bags for fear of the invasion to come. Even though the base had thousands of trained soldiers at its perimeter, all the team could do was wait for word from Captain Collins concerning the evacuation measures. With the United States and now the world in shambles, the Statesmen Society felt it was almost the right time for a complete takeover. Congressman Cooper, being the leader of the Statesmen was next in line for the Presidency, but even he was unaware of Major Bradford’s intentions to eliminate him from the bigger picture.
After weeks of corruption, the plague grew, sweeping across America before the troops had even been
strategically placed; and through the deceit, thousands of vials of vaccine were only now being flown in and administered nation-wide.
At around 1800-hours as the devastation grew, the call came in from the President himself, stating, “Let the pigeon’s loose.”
Once the call came in, the orders from the President to start evacuating was now fully underway, with the Soldiers quickly packing up any and everything of use onto awaiting C5 Galaxy transport planes. Furthermore with the order from the President initiated, this meant that the troops were to rendezvous at a predisposed location for a briefing, at which point job assignments would be issued and carried out. The Soldiers complied with the Presidents' orders, gathering up supplies and equipment, at the same time continuing to fight to keep the zombies from overrunning what was left of their base. Explosions continued to echo loudly; thus, with the base on high alert, the process of evacuating all of the doctors and scientists, along with the thousands of newly vaccinated soldiers became more and more difficult with the first set of departures now only five minutes away.
With the Army’s corps of engineers looking over the aircraft, assuring that they were in proper working condition, they began to check thoroughly that the C5’s 4 TF 39 turbo-fan-engines were also running correctly. The awaiting C5 Galaxies were considered the largest aircraft in all of the Air Force, with front and rear cargo ramps; the plane could fit over thirty-five pallets of supplies, yet still have room for almost two-hundred soldiers, giving a flight distance of over five-hundred miles per flight. After all supplies had been loaded, a non-supply filled C5 could become packed full of troops, transporting almost eight-hundred soldiers at any given time, making them idea planes for this type of evacuation.
Way of the Undead Page 25
