Way of the Undead

by Boggess, Michael

  Mark began to think about it, taking into account the newest survivors. “We’re around forty, and we’re taking on new survivors daily.”

  “I was going to see if you and some of your people wanted to come with us. We just don’t have enough room for everyone though. And I wish I had more vaccines to give you,” Frank said sadly, looking at the large crowd of survivors that came to watch the spectacle.

  “That’s okay… you have already done enough.”

  Frank bowed his head. “Mark, I do have cause for concern. It’s came to my attention that over the next few weeks there will be another wave of soldiers sweeping through. They are to destroy any and everyone regardless of whether or not they are sure if an infection is present. Their orders are to leave no one alive. Depending on the outcome… if the troops don’t successfully complete their mission, there has been some speculation of low scale nuclear strikes in some of the worst hit areas of the U.S.”

  “Why are they going to kill innocent people? Why would our country do such a thing?” Mark asked puzzled.

  “The President and his people feel that whoever is out around the ravenous creatures—well they would also probably be dumb enough to be carrying the infection. Once the zombies’ numbers are lessened anyone left in hiding will be given a sample of the vaccine. From what my Soldiers of Truth have uncovered, if there are any failures or major loss in troops, the President’s next option is to keep his already weakened army strong enough in case of a foreign invasion or to keep from getting taken over. The bombs won’t be the size of the one’s dropped over Japan—but smaller and more numerous, this until the overall zombie populous has been wiped out,” Frank warned.

  “I thought the Statesman Society was trying to defend us from nuclear strikes on America. What is their stand on that idea by the President?” Mark asked trying to figure it all out.

  Frank looked around at the hotel, unsure what to say. “The President feels that the small scale nuclear strikes at this point is his only option. He feels that if anymore of his troops get lost in this war against the zombies then the U.S. will be easy pickings for a takeover by other countries or other terroristic groups. Japan is feared to now have near capable super soldiers, as well as a few other countries have somehow came across the Anti-virus formula and are said to be in the middle of creating their own Army of enhanced soldiers as well. That’s pretty much the only reason the President would take that official stand. And if not us, the U.N. is said to have a contingency to go after any unknown superbug by all incendiary means.”

  “Is America trying to create their own super Army? Mark asked.

  Frank looked back at his men waiting for him in his helicopter. “It’s said that America’s teams of doctors and scientists are too corrupted by the Statesman Society whose influence stretches into some of the military’s most powerful superiors: although the President is in charge, the Statesmen continue to pull all of the strings. With the world like it is right now, in complete chaos, the Statesmen are trying their best to locate the President’s whereabouts for a takeover. My Soldiers of Truth even found out recently that one of the top-scientists helping the U.S. and the inventor of the Anti-virus is a suspected Statesman himself. We suspect him because we have an informant on the team of scientists who just helped create that first working vaccine I just gave you.”

  “I just wish I could help,” Mark said. “How could all of this happened?”

  “Chaos is the only way to describe it Mark. We are beyond any conventional means of fighting this outbreak. The Statesman Society had their chance to act in a timely manner, but once again they are to blame for delaying the process to respond appropriately, and all for what we the Soldiers of Truth can figure is their own personal aspirations of overthrowing the political powers in charge.”

  “Just take care of yourself and take care of your people. Your dad is fine. Just remember what I told you is to come,” Frank warned, “And I will keep in touch.”

  That same very night, after a hard day of labor, Mark set around next to Stephanie cuddled up next to a warm fireplace in their room, trying to decide on each survivor that was going to get a sample of the vaccine. Mark was afraid to tell Stephanie, as well as any of the other survivors about the formula—instead he intended to give it all some thought before he made his decision. Mark wanted badly to give Stephanie a vial—but knew that if she took the vaccine they would end up getting intimate like countless times before the outbreak.

  Mark feared that if the formula didn’t work like it was supposed to and he somehow infected her, he knew he would have to deal with her death his whole life.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Mark cautiously asked, trying his best to work up the courage to tell her.

  Stephanie’s eye’s got big as she smiled. “Of course… you know you can ask me anything.”

  “Frank gave me five vials of a Vaccine… he said that it was a preventative that works to stave off any infection. I was thinking about giving it to you. I’m just scared,” Mark explained, fearing that Stephanie might misunderstand his concern for her.

  “Why, that’s a good thing. That’s what we’ve wanted this whole time to not have to worry about you getting me sick,” Stephanie said joyfully.

  Mark turned and looked in the other direction, too ashamed of himself to speak.

  “I know that—but I’m positive now that I’m a carrier. The day that Joe had died—he was stabbed dead through the heart. Less than a minute later he was trying to get up and walk around. Death was a trigger for the virus—and I fear that I’m still a carrier. If the vaccines don’t work, and we do get intimate…you could get sick. I couldn’t live with myself.”

  “That’s a risk I’m willing to take. You said it yourself—It’s a working vaccine. After I take it, I’ll be immune. That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time,” Stephanie announced—scooting in closer as she looked Mark passionately in his eyes.

  Around midnight Mark had made up his mind: deciding to give Stephanie a vial—even though it brought on a feeling of nervousness mixed with excitement that just made him feel nauseous. It’s going to work, a little voice inside him considered.

  The other vials were to go to three of his deputies—the men whom come into contact with the undead the most on a daily basis. Mark, having thought it over decided that giving Tyler an injection might do more harm than good in his vulnerable state, deciding to just wait it out like Frank had said.

  With over weeks of peaceful days atop of the mountain, Mark and Stephanie finally shared in their first kiss with months without any signs of infection occurring afterwards. They watched one another nervously for changes—finding only that they were now more inseparable with talks of marriage.

  As weeks went by, right around Christmas, the group all gathered around on the back porch of the Pine View Hotel due to the sound of explosions coming from town. Only hours prior many planes from overhead could be heard and felt as they passed by, dropping bombs. As the survivors watched—hundreds of soldiers could be seen parachuting out of planes as they guided their parachutes towards town and to their various drop off point. From the back porch Mark watched nervously as what Frank had warned him about was now taking place: and the prospect of what was to come only made the sight of the full-fledged gunfire and explosions around sundown worse that much worse.

  “We have to lay low,” Mark warned as nightfall had set in. “If they find our location, they’ll kill us. It’s their mission. It’s an order directly from the Statesman Society leader, Major Bradford.”

  The survivors dimmed all candles and lanterns—turning off every source of light that could make them a target of the fighting. Mark felt confident that they were safe and out of the path of the soldiers sweeping through town. Within the darkness of night—fighting could still be seen and heard.

  “The explosions seem like they’re coming closer,” Mark warned. “The Army has been ordered to kill anyone dumb enough to be out wandering within the pl
ague. They are to be killed on sight,” Mark warned.

  After a few days, the noises had stopped.

  Cautiously, within the daylight, Mark snuck back and forth to put the finishing touches on the bunker. Over a month’s worth of supplies were loaded into the cavern—preparing for uncertainty.

  “I was told that depending on the soldiers outcome against the zombies, there will be multiple nuclear strikes all across over America.”

  Sensei Williams began to think critically. “How much time do you suspect?”

  We need to all be held up in that bunker within the next week.”

  Nights went by. At all times, appointed survivors stood guard. One night, un-expectantly, the survivors were awakened in a panic by use of an air horn. The group frantically grabbed their things—realizing that this was not a drill, and this was not something that they had been practicing on a regular basis. As the survivors evacuated the hotel, they could see what appeared to be a rocket making its way over a northern section of the night sky. The group quickly piled into awaiting vehicles as they drove on over to the bunker. The survivors hurried into the cavern—being followed by Mark and Jake as they carried Tyler on a stretcher from out of the back of an ambulance.

  With everyone safely inside the bunker, Mark and Jake came back outside and watched as the fiery missiles began lighting up the night sky. Over the mountaintop the objects could be seen impacting the nearby city; the bombs blast radius was expected capable enough to rise high back above into the horizon.

  As the impact could be heard miles away, the cast-iron bunker door was sealed off, and closed tight: the thick metal, reinforced walls of the bunker built within the cave were now the survivors’ only source of protection. As the massive explosion lit up the night sky in all directions with the bomb’s devastating blast radius unknown, immense heat and destruction began spreading out over the outer landscape. As the extent of the damage was unknown, the safety of the bunker spoke volumes about its construction. Drops of dirt, dust, and debris dropped from the ceiling. All everyone could do sitting amongst the expanded, reinforced caverns was wait as the force of the atomic blast seemed to reach the area, blanketing everything in droplets of radiation.

  Mark waited faithfully by his brother, sitting amongst Stephanie, and as the shelter’s already dim overhead lights began to flicker just as the walls began to shake. “We’re at ground-zero,” Mark explained. “They want us all dead. The Statesmen are responsible.”

  Moral was at an all-time low. As everyone began to bunk down for the night, it seemed there was no time-scale for when it might be safe to venture back outside. A single day felt like an eternity. Even after a few nights held up in the bunker, a grave sense of vulnerability seemed utterly unavoidable. Well into midnight, somewhere within the first week, a distress call beckoned Mark out of a trying sleep.

  Mark’s CB radio began to squelch. “This is Sergeant Haddock of the United States Army. Me and a few survivors are held up in Gatlinburg. We’re boxed in by a massive horde of zombies, we have no food or water. The air is intolerable to breath. We are sick and dying. We’re in need of medical treatment, food and water. We need to get away from town before we’re exposed to too much radiation.”

  Mark, amongst near pitch-black darkness rolled off his bunk and keyed up on the mic. “This is Sheriff Mark Smith, we’re a large group. We’re held up in a bunker right above you. Up on Lookout Mountain. Do you think you can make it up the mountain?”

  “We’re too badly injured, we got into a fire fight with some soldiers—they were not friendlies. I might can get us to the old trading post at the foot of the mountain, but we have no transportation beyond that point. If at all possible, we need a lift. We’re good people. We’re all uninfected.”

  Mark paused. “How long would it take you to reach the old trading post?”

  Mark waited for a response, but received none. An hour passed. “Sheriff Mark Smith, to Sergeant Haddock, come in, over—”

  “Static,” Mark said. “Guys, I’ve got to go. I can’t just let them die. I’d say they’re already at the trading post waiting.”

  “What about the explosion? What about the bomb?” Stephanie asked, pleading for Mark to reconsider. “What if you die? What if you get sick?”

  Steven finished piecing together a long overcoat that could withstand the radiation, and almost intolerable air outside the shelter. “No matter what you do, do not take this off, that’s if you don’t want eat up by cancer.”

  “Take care of Tyler while I’m gone, and I’ll be fine. I should be right back,” Mark said. “I can’t just let them die.”

  “You’re not invincible, you might think you are, but you’re not,” Stephanie said. “I love you…come back to me.”

  “Of course,” Mark promised.

  Outside the shelter, before closing the thick, reinforced metal door back into place, beneath his crafted protective layers of clothing, and through a pair of tightly fit safety goggles, the sheer magnitude of devastation left him speechless. It was nearly morning—yet seemingly dark as night. Although powerful, the atomic blast alone was not enough to topple the Pine View Hotel; however, a week after the blast a heavy accumulation of thick radioactive clouds had loomed giving way to fallout. An almost radioactive slush rested on the ground, and a thick blanket of snow was continuing to fall around him. Mark knew one thing was for certain, no one in their right mind wanted to get caught out in a full-fledged nuclear winter. Crossing across the hidden exit out, over the secret bridge—the heavy-duty four-wheel-drive military truck was sure to make such a dangerous trek in surprisingly dark, erratic weather. Even without confirmation, Mark knew that Sergeant Haddock and his small group of survivors were going to be at the trading post, waiting. Mark realized there was some truth revealed from the brief conversation he’d had with the desperate military man. To Mark, something about Sergeant Haddock’s arrival in Gatlinburg just didn’t add up, although the Sergeant seemed someone to trust.

  Mark drove calmly amongst an almost luminescent snowfall. Outside the frosty window, framed within the dark by his headlights, nothing but snowfall.

  Nearing the foot of the mountain, after a relatively uneventful trip—Mark stomped on the gas as the military truck sped up—a couple of shambling creatures were knocked hard to the iced over, cracked concrete pavement. Mark eased the large military-green transport vehicle up next to the large cabin’s entrance. Amongst a thick dark-haze consuming the windshield, a strong irritant. Under Mark’s homemade protective face covering, he began to cough uncontrollably. He began to cough up blood. Mark began to feel weak. There was no doubt that the effects of the radiation had begun to take its toll over his once super-enhanced body chemistry. Mark fought the ill-effects, wiping the spit from off his lips before covering his face and stepping out reluctantly into the dark loaming overcast. He searched the confines surrounding the old wood and log trading post located at the foot of the mountain. One step at a time, pain began to take over his weak body: his muscles felt acidic, his lung capacity felt low. Mark kicked an approaching zombie hard to the ground and watched the undead beast skid backwards on the icy pavement. Mark made his way over to the front door and delivered a powerful kick—even in his weakened state—somehow able to break the lock. A harsh dark-haze of smoke seemed to follow his every step until he closed the door quickly back behind him.

  “Hello!” Mark shouted, gravelly voiced. He then began to cough up blood. “Sergeant Haddock…anyone?”

  Throughout the day, the entire town was unusually dark. Those clouds aren’t going away, Mark thought. Mark remained held up in the large wood and log trading post. He battled sickness, unsure if Sergeant Haddock and his group would ever show. Mark’s skin was ice-cold and moist to the touch, he had dark bags under his eyes, yet the accompanying fever seemed as hot as fire.

  A few hours later, and from down the road, having lost everyone in his group, Sergeant Haddock arrived at the trading post on the brink of death. The former Arm
y Sergeant was hurt. He was sick. Just like Mark, Sergeant Haddock’s strange symptoms were getting the best of him, almost as if the radiation was somehow responsible for weakening him. Cautiously stepping into the cabin out of the weather, the door with its busted lock opened right up, it squeaked loudly as he entered in. To be out of the sickening downfall that had been concealed by a still loaming darkness over town seemed not enough. In light of a steel lanterns flicker, Sergeant Haddock now stood face to face with Sheriff Mark Smith. It was obvious Sheriff Smith wasn’t the man he once was. Sergeant Haddock soon realized that his soon-to-be fate, much like the now blistered, black and bruised Sheriff’s badge-wearing zombie was going to be the same. Sergeant Haddock could tell as the undead zombie began to salivate at his own sick and dying site, some sort of mutation must have occurred. Sergeant Haddock raised his handgun and shot Mark square between the eyes, and before the now festering zombie sheriff could react any further to his presence.

  “Damn it,” Sergeant Haddock shouted, fighting the pain as his once super powered genome was slowly, and inevitably being replaced by slow-firing, innate zombie-like instincts. “Damn it!”

  “Well Sheriff Smith, I guess that radiation out there must have kick-started some latent form of gene mutation. Unfortunately, I feel it too. I’ll soon be undead, just same as you.”

  Sergeant Haddock knelt down and collected the badge from off the dead zombie lying on the floor. He could tell that the air outside had done something far worse to his health than it had to any of the other survivors a mile back up the road. Everyone in his group had seemed in far better health at the fork in the road before dying gruesomely in an ambush by a horde of undead. Sergeant Haddock knew little of where Sheriff Mark Smith had come from, more so he knew little of where the heroic man’s friends and family were held up waiting his return. But as Sergeant Haddock coughed up his last mouthful of blood, moments before taking his final gasp for breath—he somehow knew he would never truly be dead until someone was to come along and end his soon to be undead existence.