The End

by P. A. Douglas

  “Outside of the dead zone,” Gibbs said.

  “Exactly. Grech has enough equipment down there to monitor the whole world, or so he says anyway,” Gus said

  “That means the blockades we had set up have failed,” Foster said, staring off into space.

  “And that isn’t even the bad part,” Gus said after a moment of silence. “Grech said the ones behind the whole thing is our very own government. He said they enlisted him and a team of scientists to work on the project for military gain.”

  “Oh, and you’re just going to believe that horse shit?” Foster said.

  “Yeah, actually I am. Like I said, the guy had the biggest sat-com system I’ve ever seen. He played back radio chatter between some of our people and who knows who else. That’s how we found out General Baker has been kept in the dark about the real situation,” Gus said.

  “It’s true,” Clay said from the platform. Next to him, a five-gallon container was half-full and filling. The running fluid sloshed within the container.

  Foster, George, and Gibbs looked back at Gus, as if questioning if he knew what he was talking about.

  “Well, if Baker doesn’t know what’s going on, what does he believe and what is the truth?” Gibbs asked.

  “That is what I was about to get to,” Gus said. “Baker believes the airstrike comes in two days. He knows the base will be treated like any other infected area and will be bombed. But he plans on skipping out tomorrow. What he doesn’t know is that the airstrike got pushed to sunup tomorrow. The government plans to kill everyone and leave no witnesses.”

  “That’s ludicrous.” Foster grimaced with disbelief.

  “Foster, I know you don’t want to believe this about Baker or our government. It’s a hard pill to swallow. But it’s true. We came back to warn everyone and to evacuate as many as we could. With the base overrun, looks like we’re the only ones who’ll have a chance,” Gus said, his eyes widening.

  Foster looked at the ground for a few dead moments. “How we coming, boy?” Foster said to Clay.

  “Two down, one to go,” Clay said.

  “Grab one of those empties from over there. Let’s take one extra one just for good measure,” Gus ordered pointing at the stack of gasoline jugs in the corner.

  *

  Foster wasn’t sure what to believe. One thing he knew, Baker had definitely become distant and was acting strange—stranger than normal. Then there was the incident with locking Gibbs away with the civilians.

  After a moment when Foster hadn’t spoken up, Gibbs said, “I believe you, Gus. What do we do?”

  Gus looked up high to the large bay window overlooking the metal arch. The sun had gone down and it was getting dark, quickly. He glanced down at the watch on his wrist. “If what we heard is for real, I would guess we have something like ten hours or less before they start bombing. My vote is we make for Jacksonville again and get the hell underground with Grech. There’s enough food and supplies to feed a small army down there.”

  Instantly, the reality of their situation crashed on Foster’s shoulders. “Nukes.”

  “What?” Gibbs said.

  “Nukes! Why else would Grech be held up underground with enough supplies to stay hidden away for so long? The bastard knew something like this was inevitable and prepared. He plans on holding out for a long fucking time, which tells me the bombers might be dropping nukes.”

  “The old geezer did mention something about having a few radiation suits on hand,” Clay said. “But there’s no way the President would allow nukes dropped on American soil. Radiation takes thousands of years to dissipate. Humans—all life would die.”

  “At this point, I don’t know what our government is capable of. How do you know you can trust Grech?” Foster asked.

  “We don’t have any other choice other than to trust him. Besides, you got a better idea? I for one don’t plan on moseying down to that battlefront to help out. I don’t know how far the next safe zone is, and I’m not about to radio anyone to ask. We might be lied to or they might even send out a jet to prevent us from leaving the area once in the air,” Gus said.

  4

  From the rooftop, he had watched as the war below raged on in a pure and violent fury of horror.

  The massive line of soldiers let out an onslaught of relentless firepower. With over a hundred guns blasting in unison and a seemingly endless supply of ammunition for the various types of weaponry, the undead fell one after another. Shots pierced flesh and blew it to bits, cutting away tendons and rupturing ligaments, each met their end with the one shot that counted. Ears disappeared and necks busted, bleeding out with gaping holes. Teeth shattered as metal met bone flying through the air. Eyes ruptured in an explosive pop of pus, blood, grey matter, and meat. And still the dead inched forward, closing the gap between them and the poorly commanded band of soldiers. For every zombie that fell, five took its place, closing in inch by inch.

  The war had been going on for what felt like well over half an hour. Little by little, they grew closer to the firing line, treading on fallen corpses as a stepping stool to reach their prey.

  From the rooftop, he had also witnessed the unexpected. He watched as General L. S. Baker fled in secret. Once the firing started, which is what drew him to the roof to begin with, he watched as Baker and a few of his men quietly crept from one of the parked Humvees. With limited stealth and the torrent of endless gunfire covering his escape, Baker and his small posse of men skittered away unnoticed from the defending troops.

  Baker and his group fled into a set of buildings not far from the commander’s office. As he had sat on the rooftop watching this entire thing take place, he couldn’t help but think that the General had simply left his cigars and scotch unattended and needed to get back to them before it was too late. The last thing the man needed on his hands was a guilty conscious. Leaving such nice commodities to waste away after the apocalypse unappreciated would have been the General’s worst mistake. Baker couldn’t have that, now could he?

  In the end, he was glad to have made his way up there to witness these things. More important than the war waging and the General’s lack of protocol, what made it all worth the while was seeing that chopper land. As it had flown overhead, his heart began to pound with a passion. He owed it to himself, and there was no denying him that. He watched as the three soldiers exited the helicopter. What was even more surprising was the bunch he witnessed running to the bird from the holding cells.

  Through his binoculars, he witnessed it all.

  He was somewhat surprised the group quickly broke for the hanger. Perhaps to get fuel? That was the most logical answer. But where to next?

  Anywhere but here, he thought. It has to be done. It has to be done.

  Looking back at the firefight below on the other side of the building, he couldn’t blame them. It was only a matter of time before that line was overrun by the undead and devoured in a pool of relentless cannibalistic madness. He didn’t even want to think of what would happen to him once that line did break and he was left helplessly trying to defend himself against hundreds and hundreds of the walking dead.

  “I guess I better make it on that chopper if I want to have a chance,” he had said from the rooftop of the barracks. “If anyone deserves retribution and to get out of this alive, it’s me, but more so Megan fucking Linkouscie deserved it!”

  It has to be done.

  Luke Beal hurried his way to the ground and made it to the hanger. He followed the path Gus and his band of escapees took through the side door and figured to meet them any minute. The thought of running into Gus excited him, making him very happy he hadn’t ended his life in that bathroom. Although he had come close, his finger on the trigger, Luke owed it to his lover to get even. Settle the score.

  “Where the hell are you, Gus the bus Stanford?” Luke mumbled under his breath.

  He leaned with his back to the wall, 9mm at the ready, safety off.

  Gus was going to pay—pay with his
life for what he did. He had killed his Megan in cold blood, and as a result, he was going to get what was coming to him. A bullet to the head, same as his true love had died, was the only proper justice that could be served. But not before taking him to the ground and having a few words of course. With sweat pouring down his brow, Luke stiffened his back, waiting for the moment. The anticipation grew within him, his heart beating faster and faster.

  Thoughts of Megan flooded his mind. The images burned into his head with a fiery passion. Her tender kiss, sensual touch, that laugh, those eyes, it all just came crashing in. He quickly became lost in his dream of her.

  They were sitting in the car at the edge of a dock watching the sea crash into the dock’s edge. The birds and seagulls flew wildly around them. The wind smelled of salt, love, and the scent of her hair. Oh, her hair, it was like blueberries in the summer. His mind wandered to a meadow of wild berries ready to be plucked. He imagined the two of them dancing in the field of wild fruits picking and tasting the tart sensations of love and lust. Her hair blew freely in the wind. It would never do that again. She was gone and he was never going to get her back. He clenched the grip of his handgun cringing at the idea.

  That man was going to pay!

  It has to be done. It has to be done.

  Suddenly, his mind was lost again in a dream-like state of past and hopeful futures never to come. Megan was holding their newborn child in her arms. She had just given birth and her cheeks swelled with pride while she held her baby in that hospital room. The baby was so beautiful and looked just like her mother. Her eyes and everything about her was exactly the same, innocent, pure, and thriving with life. Luke was holding her now. She was so small, so sweet.

  Steps approached from the hanger. It was them. They were coming, and he was ready.

  The voices rumbled in the distance, then became clearer. It was Gus, all right. His grip tightened on the pistol, his teeth clenched.

  “—I’m telling you, the guy was nice, and I assure you he will accept us with open arms.”

  Someone else said something, but it was too hard to make out.

  Another unfamiliar voice joined in with the other two. Luke cocked his head toward the door.

  “Look, Foster, I know that this is hard for you. Yes, if the rest of the world is okay, then we’re all in big trouble for abandoning ship, but who’s to blame us? I don’t want to try risking it out here. I believe Gus and Clay. There is no one else. It’s over. We need to think of ourselves and get somewhere that will give us the opportunity to start over. Regroup. And if we’re wrong and this thing is contained, we will cross that bridge when we get there. We need to—”

  “I get the point, George,” Foster said. “I just don’t like the idea of fleeing when there’re people here that need our help.”

  “How the hell do you plan to help, Rob?” Gibbs said.

  A moment of silence passed, and Luke knew that the instant was swiftly approaching. He readied, holding his breath, the sweat pouring out from his forehead down his head and onto his face. The perspiration of angst blotted itself along the underarm and chest of his shirt.

  The doorknob jiggled. Luke leaned forward quietly on his toes, ready to spring at just the right moment.

  The door swung open. Gus entered, the others following behind. Gus carried a five-gallon fuel container.

  Luke brought up his pistol, his vision blurred from the sweat in his eyes, and he let the bullets fly.

  The first shot went low. The next shot was a successful hit, puncturing Gus in the side. Two other shots were more focused and went higher, hitting the big man’s collarbone and shoulder.

  *

  Wide-eyed with shock, Gus dropped the fuel at his side. The pain left him dizzy. Falling forward on one knee, he watched helplessly as Luke blocked the hallway with weapon drawn. He instantly knew what was happening and registered it for what it was. Luke’s mind had snapped, much like a lot of others had done in the last few days. The last thing Gus heard before blacking out was the shouts and demands of Luke Beal waving his gun around. Gus fell face first to the floor, blood bucketing out from his wounds. A pool of crimson quickly formed around him as he lay there, unconsciously beginning to bleed out.

  *

  Luke stared for a moment at the big man lying on the floor. Justice was done. Just like that. Megan, though, was still gone.

  He looked up in time to see Clay shoulder his rifle. Luke spun around and dove through a nearby office door.

  A hail of fire rained down the hall.

  Luke took refuge behind a desk, and the rifle’s barrel poked in through the door. The contents of the room danced about in a wind of gunfire. Papers and office supplies popped and danced, the desk split and splintered.

  Beside Clay, Watts and Rob Foster joined in with semi-automatic military issued handguns. They rained down terror on the room.

  In the middle of the unwelcomed volley, Luke smiled in his victory. He got that son-of-a-bitch, he did.

  It had to be done.

  Luke reached his hand up over the desk and pointed the gun toward the door. He fired five shots without looking. The return fire ceased. Luke took the opportunity to make his last shot count. He jumped up for the briefest of moments and aimed before shooting the final shot. It blasted at head level, splitting a seam in the framework of the door. The shot missed Clay’s head by only a millimeter.

  And just like that, Luke was back down under his cover reloading as fast as he possibly could. Metal against metal sounded at the release of the empty magazine and a new one replaced it.

  Instantly, Clay, Rob, and Watts unloaded a shower of gunfire at the desk. The desk ripped apart with the torrent of lead.

  Again, Luke reached out taking shot after shot without looking, planning once more to take that final shot at the end. This time, he didn’t plan to miss. He was better than that. He was a true marksman and there was no excuse for second shots.

  *

  Clay and the others jumped back clearing the doorway. They ducked low at each side of the door as the shots rang out. Clay glanced across at Rob and grimaced.

  Foster said, “Do you—?” He stopped midsentence when Clay brought up a grenade in his hand.

  Clay motioned for them to get Gus. When they left, he chucked the grenade into the room, right on top of the gunner’s desk. Clay slammed the door closed and sped off.

  The explosion was big, despite being behind a wall.

  “Let’s get Gus and get out of here!” Clay said and shouldered his rifle.

  Gus felt like he weighed as much as a bus, Clay thought as he, Foster, and George dragged the unconscious, but still breathing man, down the hall.

  “Shit,” Foster complained as he stumbled forward.

  “He’s too heavy,” George said.

  Gibbs set Billy to the side and ran in to help. Together they struggled, but managed to get him moved. Gus’ torso was covered in blood, and a huge trail of what he had already lost smeared the floor as they dragged him in.

  “Who was that trying to kill us?” George asked.

  “Didn’t get a good look. Doesn’t matter. That guy has got to be in a million bits by now,” Clay said. “Guys, let’s stop. We need to check on Gus.” In his haste to escape, Clay had refused to consider his teammate might be dead. Now, with the chance to escape, they didn’t need to carry out a dead man with them if that was the case.

  Everyone looked down at the immobile Mr. Stanford. Silence filled the small space as they all just stared.

  *

  Foster knew who had fired on Gus Stanford. Gus had made himself very clear about Luke’s behavior after losing Megan. This couldn’t have been anything but revenge. There was no point in telling the others. He never saw reason to provide useless information, and right now, it was definitely useless. He was still beside himself and a little on the shocked side to see that Luke had actually taken it this far. It wasn’t Gus’ fault Megan got bit. She had to be shot—she was already dead.

&
nbsp; Gathered closer and still trying to piece together what had just taken place, Dr. Gibbs reached up and checked for a pulse. He had one. “He’s still alive,” she said with a heave of surprise. “Flip him over!”

  Between Clay, Rob, and George, they managed to get him on his back. “I think it’s bad. We won’t know until I can examine him. We need to get him to the med station. It’ll have everything we need that might save him.”

  Watts raised his hand. “We’re crunched for time. Our best chance to make it out of here is to leave now.”

  Gibbs said, “Leaving him is just like killing him. Do you want to be responsible for that?”

  Watts looked down and bit his lip. “How do we get him to the med station? The guy must way a ton.”

  Foster said, “There’re pull carts in the hanger. I’ll go get one.” He sped out the door and shortly returned with an oil-stained yellow cart with big air filled tires. “It’s a little small, but he’ll fit on it.” He let the cart’s handle drop as he came to a stop. “Help me get him on here.”

  The four of them managed to lift Gus high enough to lay him on the cart. Gus’ feet hung off the end, but at least didn’t touch the floor.

  “You guys bring him to medical. I’m going to fuel up the bird and check things out. We’ve lost a lot of time,” Watts said.

  Foster said, “Clay and I can handle Gus. George, I want you to go with him. You’ll need to carry the other two fuel containers.”

  George nodded.

  The two men grabbed two fuel containers each and turned to leave the hallway.

  George stopped and looked back.

  Gibbs said, “Billy will be fine, George. He’s with me. Just go! Get the chopper ready to fly and then meet us at medical. And for the love of God, don’t leave without us,” she said, turning narrowed eyes at Watts.

  George nodded, and the two men headed out.

  5