Our Undead

by Theo Vigo

  <><><>

  Billy: Maaaaaaaargareeeeeet! Helloooooooo! That's it. On the count of three, you'd better swing or I'm coming over there!

  He doesn't know exactly what he is going to do when he gets there, but he figures the idle threat might work. Margaret begins drifting back into the present where Billy exists, and Roger's voice slowly crossfades into the boy's.

  Billy: One!

  Margaret's shoulders shift up and prepares to descend.

  Billy: Two!

  Her eyes come back from staring into space, and return their absolute focus on to the hockey puck standing in front of her. Her grip tightens on the stick. Billy pulls the goalie mask down in front of his face.

  Billy: THREE!

  Margaret brings the hockey stick down and the blade makes perfect contact with the puck, striking it just above the middle, but slicing it enough to give it a good lift. The puck flies through the air toward Billy in an orange flurry, twirling madly in a topspin while also bouncing up and down, just like in the movie. Up and down, up and down, it flutters like a moth on a mission and then *splat*, it lands in the top right corner of the net, snug inside Billy's borrowed black goalie glove. Billy looks into the big mitt to make sure that he actually caught it. When he sees that it's in there, he nods to himself in affirmation. His reflexes are still in tiptop shape, just as he expects them to be. What he didn't expect was that shot he just had to save. It was flawless, almost flawless enough to have gotten past him.

  Billy: Welcome back!

  Margaret: Heh, yea!

  The next game they play is a bizarre game of baseball. Bizarre, because nine out of ten times, when the ball is hit, it just crashes into the massive shelves that are towering to the left and right of them. Margaret sends one pitch down the aisle and Billy gives it a solid hit that ricochets strangely off the shelf to his right. It soars at Margaret, and she ends up having to duck just to avoid the fate of many a zombie; losing her head. There is literally nowhere for these balls to go.

  Billy hits another one, this time a pop fly that crashes into a light almost directly above Margaret's head. She darts forward, running toward Billy at full speed, screaming as shards of glass fall from above. She stops, out of breath, when she arrives in front of him and stares at him with "WTF?!" written all over her face.

  Billy: Uhhh, sorry about that…

  Margaret: It's my turn to bat.

  Billy hands over the bat, and they switch positions. Margaret doesn't do too much of a bad job considering the conditions of the field. She actually makes a few hits that don't need the shelves for guidance. They fly smoothly over Billy's head.

  Billy: You're pretty good at this.

  Margaret: Hah! I'm sporty. Can'tcha tell?

  Billy: Yes, especially after that knuckle puck.

  Margaret: That was a pretty beautiful shot.

  Billy: I told you relaxing would work. Even though you were thinking about Roger and it pissed you off… Relaxing naturally led you to where you needed to be. It got you thinking of the thing you needed to think of, so that you could accomplish what you needed to accomplish.

  Margaret: Uhhh yea, sure. That sounds pretty smart. How 'bout you throw a pitch there, guy?

  Billy raises his eyebrows at her little snapback, but he half expected it, reminding her as a little test. He knows that just hearing the fat man's name gets Margaret's blood boiling, and he can tell that it's starting to get hot again, just by the look on her face. He winds up and throws his pitch. Margaret hits the ball perfectly with a loud crack, but this time it rides a little lower and travels like a bullet toward Billy. He ducks as to not get hit, and in turn, the baseball strikes Abe, who is standing a few yards behind him, directly in the chest. It sends him reeling back a few steps. After a few seconds, Billy uncovers his head and looks around to see if it's safe to stand up. From his crouched position he looks at Abe and sees that he's a-okay. When he turns back to Margaret, her face is stunned.

  Margaret: Ummmmm…. next game?

  Billy shakes his head up and down in agreement.

  Margaret: Right… Sorry, Abe!

  ETERNITY

  Inside of a jet black UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter, a pilot, co-pilot, three men and a woman in combat dress (no head gear), are flying over an unspecified stretch of dry midday desert. Inside of the cabin sit four stone-faced soldiers paired off on each side, each one sitting face to face with their partner opposite them. A large scary looking fellow, and endearing European man sit of one side, and a rugged American man and spunky African American woman sit across from them on the other.

  The wind rushing freely through the open cabin, combined with the rotary wings and engine, make a thundering roar throughout the entire flying machine. Talking would be pointless so they all sit in silence, looking out on to the sky and desert floor below. The co-pilot is comparing coordinates on the helicopter control panel to a map held in his hand.

  Co-pilot: This looks like it should be the spot.

  Pilot: Yep, I see them.

  The pilot begins easing the helicopter down toward a spot that looks no different than any other location in the dry landscape, but as they get closer, it becomes apparent that two individuals are awaiting their arrival. The helicopter comes to a soft landing on the dusty ground, and it becomes clear that they are the bodies of a man and woman. The man is dressed in high-ranking attire, medals included. The woman wears a white lab coat that falls down to her ankles and black glasses that she takes off and puts in her coat pocket as the helicopter approaches.

  On touch down, the four soldiers in back unbuckle themselves, and all exit the aircraft except the rugged American man. Four large crates have accompanied them on their trip, and the rugged American passes each one down and out to the other members of his team until each soldier carries one, then he exits the helicopter himself. With all of their hands full, the four begin trotting over to the man and woman. The burly one in lead speaks first, when they stop in front of the waiting pair, drop their cargo and raise their hands in salute. The helicopter rumbles on in the background.

  Holden: We are the four special class soldiers sent from Sector 337-4 to assist this compound in its operations! The Mav-Elite. Kush Holden, reporting for duty, sir!

  Erika: Erika Blaze, reporting for duty, sir!

  Kerrick: Matthew Kerrick, reporting for duty, sir!

  Sharp: Denver Sharp, reporting for duty, sir!

  Feleider: General Feleider! This is Professor Gwen Gavine! Welcome to Sector 333-3! At ease!

  The General eyes all four members but takes care to fully absorb the two men he was previously informed about. The first man to introduce himself, Holden, is a large fellow of what looks like Columbian descent, although his strong American accent would never reveal that about him. His face is in a grimace, probably perpetual, and he is still sporting yesterday's five o'clock shadow. To Feleider, he is everything "The Sir" had described, and Feleider knows that he will be a useful Unit for advancing The Conditioning and making sure things run smooth and inconspicuously. Holden too, eyes Feleider up and down when the man introduces himself. To him, Feleider is old, small and weak, not the type of man he will enjoy taking orders from, but he is devoted to the events that are to take place and will carry out the orders no matter what weakling is barking them. Holden rubs his shaved head wearily as he listens.

  To the left of Holden, Feleider surveys the next soldier. Erika Blaze is an African American woman standing about five feet in height. She wears her hair tied up in a short cut pony tail, with bangs trailing down the sides of her face, covering a bit of her forehead and part of her left eye; very cute. It is hard to believe that such an appealing woman could be so dangerous, but Feleider is experienced enough to know not to judge a book by it's pretty smile.

  Matthew Kerrick stands next to her, a European looking guy with shaggy looking bronze hair, standing just under six feet. Although his face is as serious as the others', it holds a more welcoming quality than the rest on his team.
Possibly because of it's clean shave.

  The farthest to Feleider's left is the other soldier he had earlier been informed about, or rather, warned about. Denver Sharp is an American man, about six and a half feet tall. He isn't quite as tall as Holden, who tops out in the seven to eight foot range, and he isn't as bulky, but one would be a fool to underestimate his resolve. His hair is a little shorter and lighter than Kerrick's, and his face not as cleanly shaven. Sharp's gaze is unwavering, and Feleider knows that the stubborn gunman is sizing him up. But the General is no push over. With Holden to help him, this wanna be mercenary would be no trouble.

  Feleider: Let's get these supplies inside the compound, shall we?

  The General and professor turn and begin walking. All four team members pick up their decent sized crates and follow behind. Before them lays miles and miles of dry turf, sprinkles with shrubbery, but no sign of a military compound that could hold thousands of rescued civilians, and professionals comfortably.

  Erika: Uhhh, isn't there supposed to be an external conveyance structure of some sort out here!?

  Feleider: Ours isn't external Ms. Blaze! At least, not initially!

  Feleider and the professor stop, and the General taps one of his worn medals in a peculiar sequence. The ground beneath them starts into a light quake, and a large metallic building like structure begins to erect from the dusty desert floor, ten meters ahead of them. The square building itself is about fifty feet wide and twenty feet in height, with a large door that slides open when the building has completed its ascension. It leads into a large white room. As the little spectacle comes to a close, the helicopter's engine finally cuts off as well. Everyone walks in. Kerrick coughs and sputters, wafting at the dust that flutters down from the top of the oversized elevator.

  Kerrick: Nifty... Now, you see it.

  Feleider: Yes. They've taken extra precautions to keep these facilities well hidden.

  Gavine: There are some very important people here.

  Kerrick: We're flattered Hun, but really, all this for little old us? You may not know this, but staying hidden isn't really our thing.. unless the hiding is a necessary step in a plan that involves some serious gun fire… following the hiding,… which would be a very brief step in said plan.

  Gavine: I'm sorry to burst your bubble, uh, Kerrick, but there are people here that can potentially cure this infection. I can appreciate your part in helping us defend ourselves, but the four of you can only do so much. If the doctors in this building are lost, regardless of the survival of the four of you, there is no hope for this planet.

  Her harsh words push the buttons of each of the four super soldiers, but only Holden smiles at them. He knows that despite this woman's efforts, the cure would never come to be. Her ignorance is amusing.

  Kerrick: Ah, I see. Well, I'm glad you can appreciate what we do. It's hard but… aw, you know the rest.

  Feleider: You're not going to have to worry about hiding right now, soldier, because you and Sharp here are going back out there. We need you two to surveil the surrounding area for any extra supplies or survivors, for one hundred klicks in every direction. Drop those boxes and tell those pilots to turn that black bird back on.

  Kerrick: Sweet. I'm down for that.

  Sharp: Hold on a minute. We just got here. I thought we were needed.

  Feleider: You are needed, just not at this current location at this current time. You're skills are needed elsewhere.

  Sharp: But one hundred kilometers? In all directions?

  Feleider: You're in a helicopter, Sharp. You men should be able to cover everything within that radius in no time. Trust me, you're not missing anything here. It's all medical labs and whiny civilians. A soldier like you will enjoy yourself much more out in the dead-zones, I'm most sure of it.

  Kerrick: You know what General? You make a good point. He makes a good point, D.

  Sharp: Sounds like bullshit to me. Sounds like we're being sent on a fool's errand.

  The General's face becomes harder than it was seconds before. He stares into Sharps eyes with a fiery intensity and walks up to the soldier until they are standing with their faces almost touching.

  Feleider: When I first arrived at this Sector's headquarters, we were ten thousand men strong. Since that time, these dead-zones have eliminated upwards of over three thousand of those men. Now, when I was informed that this special task force was arriving, they told me that they were sending super soldiers; individuals that could not be killed easily by any mere man or beast, men with the strength and abilities of ten soldiers in one.

  Erika clears her throat, but the General ignores her and holds eye contact with Sharp. Kerrick pats her on the arm to comfort her and let her know that someone is listening. She rolls her eyes at him as Feleider continues.

  Feleider: This assignment is anything but a fool's errand, and anything but a cakewalk, even for the two of you. This is ground zero, where this shit came to be, so you had better stay on your toes, and take those things out there seriously. We would hate to lose one of you. Now get going, son.

  Although no one is speaking, both men still stand face-to-face, eye-to-eye. God knows how long they would have stood there had Kerrick not taken Sharp by his shoulder and coaxed him out of the elevator.

  Kerrick: Come on… son.

  Even as he is walking away, it takes a moment longer for Sharp to tear his eyes away from the older man. It takes a tremendous amount of will for him not to knock him out right then and there. Fortunately, his smarts outweigh his rage limit, usually.

  Kerrick: Come on buddy. Turn around. Walk with me.

  Sharp finally begins turning away from the closing elevator door, while Kerrick gives the pilot and co-pilot the signal to start the helicopter back up. The engine punches back into action.

  Sharp: I don't like that guy!

  Kerrick: Aw, relax! He's just a General! They're all uppity assholes!

  Sharp: Yea, but still! If he's sent so many people out there, could there really be anything left to find? And so many have died! We're better than your average soldier, I can admit that, but what does he really expect us to accomplish by going back out there?

  Kerrick: God knows, D! Could be anything! You know how shady this government shit is! I mean, do you really believe that this thing started because of chemical dumping in Crater Lake!?

  Sharp: Like you said, it could be anything! …but no, I don't believe that! And I don't believe that we're being sent out for supplies or survivors either! I smell ulterior motives!

  Kerrick: You did always have a keen sense of smell!

  Sharp doesn't reply as the two men hop back into the helicopter cabin. They buckle in, sitting across from each other beside the same entrance. Kerrick addresses the pilots.

  Kerrick: RS mission for one hundred klicks all around! I say you just fly straight up, and go in circles till we reach the hundred! You know? Like a spiral sort of thing!? (turns back to Denver) Look, let's just go do what we do best; shoot guns! We'll figure all this shit out later! We always do!

  The thought of getting some target practice gets Sharps adrenaline going. The whole situation still troubles him, but his partner's encouraging speech had worked. He nods approvingly at Kerrick as the helicopter ascends. From the air, one half of The Mav-Elite watch the square of the hidden lift descend back into the ground until in disappears, and all that is left are the flatlands.

  Kerrick: Now, you don't.

  The second half of The Mav-Elite are beneath the earth, in a big white room, plummeting toward the underground compound's transportation terminal with the General and Professor Gavine. Erika has noticed that the professor has been eyeing the supply crates since the squad's arrival, and now she's decided to open the ones left behind by Sharp and Kerrick prematurely.

  Gwen: Ugh, guns? Like we need more guns. You two can drop those crates, by the way. I'd like to take a look inside of those ones as well.

  Erika and Holden exchanges looks, and then both glance at the Ge
neral. He permits them to drop the crates with a nod, and they do so. Gwen closes the second crate of weapons and approaches Erika's crate first.

  Gwen: Don't give me those looks. I've been waiting far too long for this delivery.

  She unhinges the locks and opens it up. Inside, it is packed to the brim with medicines, chemicals, and tools, all wrapped in sterilizing plastic packaging. Gwen rummages through the box, checking all the labels and peering through the bags of each individual item.

  Gwen: Ah, good. This is more like it.

  Satisfied with its contents, she closes the crate that stands in front of Erika and moves to the one that Holden had put down. She crouches down, unlocks and opens the crate.

  Gwen: What the hell is this?

  Everyone looks down at her.

  Gwen: More guns!? Four containers delivered, and three out of the four are holding weapons?! (stands up) Is this some sort of joke?

  Feleider: No joke, Ms. Gavine. The brave men and women down here have been running low on certain forms of artillery due to loss, and or damage. We can't have them risking their lives out there with second-class weaponry can we?