“The Minority”

By

Max Booth III

Prologue

Dexter Santana was playing the X-Box 360 sand box game, Dead Rising, when the zombie outbreak occurred.

He was an obese man. He was thirty nine years old and still lived in his mother’s basement. He always wore the same clothes over and over, without them being washed. There was the blue elastic gym shorts, the blue basketball tank top, and the blue head band. You cant forget the blue wrist bands, too. He had glasses, also.

His mother’s basement looked like some sort of nerd’s utopia.

He owned every single video gaming system known to man. Along with all the games to them. Star Wars posters, Lord of the Rings posters, Star Wars statues, game posters. Every nerd’s wet dream.

Well, Dexter was playing Dead Rising. A game about a photographer named Frank West and he gets trapped in a zombie infested mall for seventy-two straight hours. And you just have to…survive.

Dexter was basically the King of Dead Rising. He had the most levels up than any body else in history. It was sickening to other people.

Dexter always thought about what he would do if a real zombie outbreak occurred in Lake Station. And the answer he always came up with was give out a can of whup ass. Dexter was the almighty Zombie Slayer, man. Nothing could get in his way. He would quickly rise in the ranks and rule this apocalyptic Earth. It would be just like Road Warrior all over again.

Oh, wouldn’t it just be sweet?

Dexter heard his old mother screaming from upstairs. Then before he knew it she was tumbling down the steps. She was all bloody and dead. The zombie stumbled down the stairs after her.

The zombie was an African American. He was in a bloodied up blue police uniform. His badge had the word Williams.

Excitement rushed past Dexter. This is what he had always been waiting for. He lived for this kind of stuff.

Dexter quickly scanned the basement for anything he could use as a weapon. He reached below the coffee table and brought back some kind of metal stick.

“You will not defeat me, young padawan. For my skills are way greater than yours and I carry the force. Try to attack if you will, but you will never destroy my precious Death Star.”

The zombie looked at him oddly, then charged forward.

Dexter hit some button on the metal stick and a red plastic stick came sliding out. It was a toy Lightsaber.

Dexter, the master Jedi, twirled the Lightsaber around in his hand and then swung with all his might at the zombie’s head. The plastic toy snapped in half, doing absolutely do damage what so ever to the zombie.

The zombie stared at Dexter, strangely.

“Mommy! Help me!” Dexter cried.

But it was too late.

The zombie grabbed the metal handle of the Lightsaber and shoved it down the nerd’s throat. Then, well…the zombie began to feast.

For years it was the blacks who were the Minority, and the whites were the Majority. Then it was the punks that were the Minority, and every body else the Majority.

Yeah, well, none of that mattered any more.

Because the zombies would be the Majority.

And we would be the Minority.

Chapter One

Jake Rollins sat hunched over in the driver’s seat in his crappy jeep that was sloppily parked at Don’s Liquor. His dirty black hair (which was in a need for a hair cut) hung over his dark blue eyes. He had a dark stubble of a beard. He hadn’t shaved today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. His white tank top glued to his sweaty torso. This was a hot day, a humid day. His blue jeans with the holes at the knees stuck to his muscular calves. In his right hand he clutched the black revolver his father gave him ten years ago, (right before he died of the big C). Jake Rollins had one thing on his mind and one thing only; Rob this joint.

He sat there, too scared to do the ugly deed, on that Saturday. The hottest day in Indiana history. He had to do this. There was no other way around it. Samantha needed it. Sweet ole Sammy. He had to do it for his Sambo.

Jake reluctantly turned his car stereo on. Maybe a good tune would cheer him up. Or at least pump him up for the hold up. Another Brick in the Wall by Pink Floyd was the first song that he came across. Good song, but not what he needed. He needed something fast paced and loud and angry. Then he found it. He wasn’t particularly a fan of the band but a fan of the song. Cowboys From Hell by Pantera. He cranked the volume up and continued to stare blindly at the liquor store.

Jake’s mind drifted off to Samantha. Oh, his sweet Sambo. Christ, it wasn’t even three hours ago that he dropped her off at Kate’s.

So, when Jake Rollins came charging in Don’s Liquor with his black revolver in one hand and his pride slipping away from the other, he slipped. Revolver soaring out of his hand. He went sprawling on his back. Cracking his skull on the hard wet floor. Luckily there was no blood or anything.

Lloyd’s loud shout filled the liquor store. “Ty! Help!”

And before Jake could put one and one together Tyrone was turning him on his stomach and handcuffing him behind his back.

“Let me go! I didn’t do anything!” Jake yelled, but it was no use.

“Shut the hell up,” Tyrone said. He turned to Lloyd. “What’d he do?”

“He came running in here with a gun and slipped on the goddamn floor,” Lloyd said.

“Then where’s the gun?”

Just then the white cop, Jim Bocard, came strolling out of the bathroom. He looked at his partner, then Lloyd, and then Jake. “What’s going on here?”

“This joker just tried to rob this place. Dumb **** must not have seen the black and white out front, huh?” Tyrone laughed.

“I guess not.”

“Well, help me find his gun. He slipped on the floor and it flew outta his hand.”

“Okay.”

Tyrone lifted Jake to his feet. “What kinda gun you got?”

“A revolver.”

“Color?”

“Black.”

“What’s your name?”

“Please let me go. I’m sorry and I wont do it again.”

“I asked your name. What is it?”

“Jake.”

“Jake ‘what’?”

“Rollins. Jake Rollins.”

“Well, Jake Rollins, you are under arrest for attempted armed robbery.”

“Oh, ****. Please don’t do this man.”

“Tough ****, dude. You’re under arrest.” Tyrone turned to Bocard. “You find that gun yet?”

“Yep,” Bocard said. He held up the black revolver. “I found it by the bread aisle.”

“Well, goody-good good. Lets take a trip to the station, shall we?” Tyrone smiled.

The squad car was driving along a long road that was surrounded by a forest, (the woods were nicknamed Monster Oaks. It was supposedly haunted.) Bocard was driving. Tyrone was riding shotgun. Jake was sitting in the back with his hands handcuffed behind his back.

Tyrone started telling Jake his Miranda Rights.

“You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer any questions. Anything you do or say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you before any questioning if you wish. If you decide to answer questions now without an attorney present you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney. Knowing and understanding your rights as I have explained them to you, are you willing to answer my questions without an attorney present?”

“Yeah.”

Silence then. “You gonna question me?” Jake asked.

“Don’t have any. You’re guilty as ****,” Tyrone said.

“What? That isn’t fair.”

“Tough tits.”

“Will I get my gun back,” Jake asked.

“Nope. Its evidence now.”

“Bullshit.”

“Hey, shut the hell up back there,” Bocard said.

“Where are you guys taking me?”

Tyrone burst out laughing. “Where the **** you think, Disney Land? You’re going to a cell.”

“Please let me go!”

Bocard turned around in his seat and said, “I thought I told you to shut up. This is your last ******* warning. One more peep and I’m gonna bust you goddamn head open with my--”

“WATCH OUT!” Jake screamed.

Bocard turned back around to see a woman, covered in blood, standing in the middle of the road. Bocard slammed his foot down on the brake peddle, but it was too late. The girl standing in the road went tumbling over the cherry top. There was a big crack in the windshield. She rolled off the trunk and back onto the road. Blood all over the windshield and back window. And probably on the top of the car, too.

“Holy mother of God,” Bocard said.

“Da hell was she doen in the middle of the road?” Tyrone wondered.

“I don’t know. ****, you think she’s dead?”

“If not that’s one tuff girl. I guess I’ll go check. You coming with me?”

“Yeah.”

“Stay here, Jake,” Tyrone said, and chuckled.

The two officers got out of the cherry top police cruiser and walked behind it to the possible dead body. Jake turned around in the back seat to view what was going on. If only he had some popcorn. Tyrone bent down and tapped the woman on her bloody shoulder. “Hey. Hey, lady, you alright?”

The woman didn’t move.

Tyrone turned to Bocard. “She’s dead, Jim.”

“I cant believe I killed her. What the hell was all that blood doing on her anyways? She was like that before I even hit her,” Bocard questioned.

“I don--”

Before Tyrone could even finish his sentence the woman lying on the ground abruptly sat up and sunk her teeth into his right forearm. Tyrone screamed in shock and pain.

“Get da hell off of me!” Tyrone screamed. He punched the bloody woman right between the eyes and she let go of him and fell back down. Everybody then got a clear picture of the woman. She had short blonde hair and dark red eyes. Pale skin and long knife-like finger nails. But those weren’t the important parts. The woman opened her mouth again. The mouth wider than humanly possible. Like when a snake extends it’s mouth when they’re about to eat its prey. But even that wasn’t the most important part. Inside her mouth were thousands of razor sharp teeth. No, fangs.

The woman (monster?) spat out a chunk of Tyrone’s flesh and it splattered against the pavement of the road. She turned her red eyes to Bocard and smiled, revealing her thousands of fangs. She jumped up and started to run toward Bocard. She was almost to him when Tyrone whipped out his service pistol and shot the woman in the back. She fell to her stomach, but within a blink of an eye was back to her feet.

Now Bocard had his gun out, too. Both cops firing at the monster woman. Then, one of the bullets found its way into her head and it exploded. Brains and skull fragments splattered all over the two Lake Station Police Officers.

“Holy crap,” Jake muttered, from the back of the cherry top.

“What the hell was wrong with her, Ty?” Bocard asked.

“I don’t know, Jim, but the little ***** bit my arm and it hurts like a son of a *****,” Tyrone said.

The two officers had covered up the dead woman with a blanket from the trunk of their cruiser. They were walking back to the squad when they stopped dead in their tracks. Jake Rollins sat in the back seat, looking at the cops, puzzled. Why had they stopped? What were they looking at? Jake turned around in the seat and jumped back. Standing right in front of the car was a giant black man. He must have been a body builder or something. Blood was dripping from his mouth. He had both of his dark red eyes fixed on the two officers.

“Oh, man, is he crazy like that other guy?” Bocard wondered.

“Looks like it,” Tyrone said.

“Well, what should we do?”

“Hell if I know.”

Tyrone raised his service pistol with both hands. “Don’t come any closer, buddy. I mean it, I will shoot you down.”

The black bodyguard continued to stare at them. Then, he a loud moan and charged them. Tyrone pulled the trigger until the clip was empty. He ended up hitting the bodybuilder only two times; one in the chest and one in the computer. The rest of the bullets went wild. The bodybuilder laid on his stomach, dead.

“Let’s get the hell outta here, Jim,” Tyrone said.

“Problem with that,” Bocard said.

“What’s that?”

“You shot both back tires out.”

“I did? Aw ****!”

“Another problem.”

“Huh?”

“I think you shot that guy in the back seat, too.”

Chapter Two

Anthony Chambers sat at his desk in his bedroom. It was a small room. There was a twin sized bed, a dresser, and a brown desk inside this room. The desk had two drawers. The left one contained comic books, (mostly Morbius: the Living Vampire and X-men.) The right drawer contained a stack of plain white computer paper. On top of the desk was a black cup that was filled with color pencils, pens, and Number 2 pencils.

Anthony was thirteen years old. He had short dark brown hair and hazel colored eyes. Today he was wearing his little league uniform, (he had a game later in the afternoon.) The uniform consisted of black and white cleats, long red socks that went up to the knees, black baseball pants with a pocket in the back and the legs rolled up to the edge of the socks, a red jersey with number 10 on the back and on the front in big white letters: LAKE STATION EAGLES, and a red cap that had LS on the front and a black bill.

Anthony was sitting at the desk, drawing. He made different kinds of comics that he sold at school for a quarter each. Most of them were about this vampire hunter named Draven. Anthony would draw, color, and write the comics. Then he would use his dad’s copy machine in the office to make fifty copies. Sometimes even a hundred, if it was a especially good issue.

Anthony was just finishing up on a part in the comic where Draven is battling his arch enemy, the Executioner, when he heard a loud static noise coming from the living room. He put his Number 2 pencil aside and exited his bedroom. He walked down the short carpeted hallway and found himself in the living room. On one side of the room was the silver color TV. On the other side there was the brown sofa, (Anthony’s father, Ray, always called it the **** couch.) And on that **** couch sat Anthony’s seven year old little brother, Cooper.

Cooper had dark blonde hair that ended just past the shoulder blades. He had green eyes and his height was just up to Anthony’s chest. He was wearing a orange tee-shirt and light blue jeans. He was watching The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy on the television, the Saturday Morning Cartoons. Cooper was eating a bowl of Captain Crunch.

“Hey, Coop. Where’s mom and dad?” Anthony asked his little brother.

“They went out to get my birthday present. Tomorrow’s my birthday, did ya know?” Cooper asked.

“Yeah, I know.”

“What’d you get me?”

“A box of turds.”

Cooper got in a laughing fit. Finally, after he settled down, he said, “Come on, Anthony, I’m serious. What’d you get me?”

“I’ll never tell,” Anthony said. He sat down beside his younger brother. “What else is on, Coop?”

“Just this.”

“Give me the remote. There has to be something better on than this.”

“Oh, come on, Anthony! This is almost over. Please let me finish it?”

“Fine.”

“Hey, Anthony?”

“Yeah?”

“Before you go to your game do ya think we can play catch?”

“Sure. Wanna play right now?”

Cooper sat up. “Yeah! Let’s go!”

“Finish your cereal and then we’ll go.”

“Okay.”

Cooper sat back down on the **** couch and finished his cereal.

Anthony and Cooper were in the front yard, each with a mitt. Anthony held the white, red-stitched baseball while Cooper jogged twenty feet ahead of him. As Anthony held the baseball, he thought of something his father always told him. He always said that Anthony’s right arm was a gift from God. Anthony could throw a sixty-five mile an hour fast ball. A gift from God? Anthony didn’t think so. He had seen kids his age on the Little League World Series throwing over eighty.

“Come on, Anthony!” Cooper shouted, his mitt ready.

Anthony lightly tossed the ball to his younger brother. It bounced off his mitt and rolled across the newly mowed grass.

“Not so hard, Ant!”

“Sorry, Coop.”

Cooper quickly picked up the baseball and threw it at him. It dropped down in front of Anthony, but he managed to scoop it up in his mitt. Anthony was about to throw the ball again when he saw the dark blue mini van pull up in the driveway.

“Sorry, Coop, I gotta go to my game. We can play catch when we get back,” Anthony said, as they both entered the mini van.

“Okay, Ant,” Cooper said.

Anthony Chambers wiped the sweat out of his hands. He straightened his Little League baseball cap on his head. He stared at the catcher’s glove and threw the baseball. It zipped right past the batter and into the glove.

“Striiike one!”

Anthony looked around at the bleachers. Sitting on the first bench were Ray, his mother Liz, and Cooper. Cooper was munching away and a thing of nachos.

Anthony smiled and threw the baseball again.

“Strriiike twooo!”

Van tossed the ball back.

Anthony was in the windup to pitch when the umpire suddenly stood up and called ‘time out’. The umpire made his way to the outfield fence. Standing on the opposite side was a man, wandering around. “Hey. Hey, buddy. You need to move out of the way. If one of these kids hit a home run it could bonk you right on the head. I know they‘re kids, but some of them are pretty good,” the umpire said.

The man ignored him.

“Hey! Are you listening to--”

The man suddenly turned his head to reveal the blood-shot eyes and the monster fangs. Then, he leaped over the gate and landed on the umpire. Before anybody could even think, the man tore the umpire’s throat out with his mouth.

Then…there were screams of horror.

Everybody on the baseball field ran for their lives. Everybody except for Anthony, who was frozen in a state of fear.

The man who killed the umpire stood up and looked straight at Anthony, and moaned. The man began to run at full speed toward him.

“Run, Anthony! Get away from him!” somebody yelled.

But, by the time Anthony snapped out of his daze, it was too late to run. The man was twenty-five feet in front of him.

Without realizing what he was doing, Anthony brought his right arm back and whipped the baseball as hard as he could. The ball connected right in the middle of the man’s forehead. There was a loud CRACK! and the man fell straight to the ground. Anthony looked at him in awe, until somebody (he wasn’t sure who) dragged him away and off the field. Nobody approached the body laying in front of second base for five minutes.

Anthony looked down at his right arm. A gift from God, eh?

Stephen Myers and Dan Doomsday approached the crazy man laying on the dirt in front of second base. Stu Memo and Ray Chambers went up to the bloody corpse of an umpire. Everybody else cowardly huddled up together on the bleachers, after they were done puking, of course. Anthony was still staring at his gift from God.

Steve and Dan turned the crazy man over on his back. His entire forehead was caved in, his mouth and red eyes were still open, (creepy little fucker, Steve thought to himself), but there was no doubt about it; he was dead as a door nail.

Dan put both hands on his hips and sighed. “Damn…how fast do you reckon that kid threw that ball?”

Stephen bent down on his knees and picked up the baseball beside the dead psycho. Like the man’s head, the baseball was all dented up and covered in blood. “Pretty damn fast, that’s how fast,” Steve whispered.

“Oh, Lord,” Ray Chambers croaked.

The umpire laid on his back with his throat ripped open and strings of gore hanging out and streams of black blood leaking down the neck and onto the outfield grass.

The umpire was out of there!

“Oh, Jeez, what’re we going to do with him, Ray?” Stu Memo asked. He was on the threshold of vomiting.

“I don’t know. I guess we could cover him up with a tarp or something, until the cops get here.”

“That’s a great idea, Ray, but where the hell are we going to get a tarp at?”

“Are you really that stupid, Stu?”

“Umm…”

“There should be a tarp in the equipment shed. This is a baseball field, ya know. They cover the field up with tarps whenever it rains.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah, I knew that. How heavy are they?”

“I think me and you can handle it okay. It shouldn’t be that heavy.”

“Then what are we going to do, Ray?”

“I dunno….I guess wait until the cops get here.”

“Okay…good idea, Ray.”

“Thanks. Let’s get to it then.”

“Alright.”

Ten minutes later the newly departed umpire was covered with a green tarp. Stu and Ray caught their breath afterwards and then went over to the bleachers, (nobody bothered to help them put up the tarp. They all just sat there.)

“Where the hell are the cops? They should have been here by now,” Ray said.

“Lines are busy,” Lucas Mellon said.

“What? That’s impossible. How the hell can all of the 911 lines be busy, huh?” Ray snapped.

“Calm down, Ray! The lines are busy. All of them are. We tried on five different cell phones. He’s telling the truth,” Liz Chambers said.

“What are we going to do?” Mike Salem inquired.

“Are they both dead?” Eric Pilkins asked.

“I’m scared. There’s blood everywhere out there. Why won’t the police answer the phones?” Diana Hillstone asked.

Ray ignored the questions and walked over to the very edge of the bleachers, where his two sons were sitting. He knelt down beside Anthony.

“Hey, Ant, you alright?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Anthony muttered.

“How do you feel?”

“I don’t know…weird, I guess. Did I kill that man?”

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Ant. Yeah, he’s dead. But it was you or him. I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

“Why did he eat the ump’s neck, dad? Why?

“I…I don’t know.”

“Was he crazy?”

Ray smiled. “Yeah, he sure was.”

“He was cookoo for cookoo puffs…right, daddy?” Cooper asked.

“Yeah, cookoo for cookoo puffs.”

“Dad,” Anthony said, “what are we gonna do? How come the cops won’t answer the phone?”

“I don’t know why, Ant, but I think I’m gonna find out.”

“How?”

“I’m going to take a drive up to the police station. I’ll bring back help.”

“No…don’t leave…please?”

“Everything will be okay, son. I’ll be gone at the most an hour.”

“Can I come?”

“No, I need you to stay and be with your younger brother and mother. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Be careful. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Ant.”

“I love you, daddy,” Cooper announced.

“I love you, Cooper.”

Ray went back to the others.

“Well, what are we going to do?” Mike Salem asked.

“I’m going to drive up to the police station and find out what the hell is going on down there. I’ll bring back help.”

“I’m going with you,” Stu Memo said.

“Dad, no!” Van Memo cried out.

“Van…just stay with your friend, Anthony. We’ll be back in a jiffy.”

“You sure you want to come?” Ray asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Ray and Stu got in the brown Sedan and drove off. Nobody at the little league park ever saw them again.

Most of the civilians went in the concession stand. They snacked on pretzels, pizza, and nachos. Some of them just went in there to talk, to try to get over the fact of what they just saw twenty minutes ago. Some of the little leaguers went to the tee-ball field and started a pick-up game, (they liked playing there because it was easy to hit homeruns.) Anthony Chambers stayed where he was, right on the bottom bench of the bleachers. He sat there, not staring at anything in particular, just sitting there. He still couldn’t get over the fact that he killed a man. A man that ate the throat of the umpire, (a umpire who was making some good calls, he might add.) Anthony had killed somebody…with a baseball of all things! An object made for fun was used as a killing machine, who could have thought?

Cooper walked out of the concession stand holding his third thing of nachos, (God, he sure does love those nachos, Anthony thought.) Cooper sat down beside his older brother. “You want some, Ant?”

“No, thanks. How can you eat, Coop?”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s two dead bodies out there…doesn’t that disgust you? How can you eat that right now?”

“I don’t know…just hungry, I guess.”

“Heh, isn’t that your third box?”

“Fourth. I had one at the beginning of your game.”

“Jeez, Louise, Coop. Your stomach is gonna explode if you keep on eating that way.”

Cooper spat out a nacho chip from laughing. “Hee ha heh heh! That’d be funny!”

“What would?”

“My stomach exploding. Ka-boom! Ha ha heh ha!”

Anthony looked at his brother, strangely, and than burst into laughter himself. A second later Cooper stopped laughing. “Hey, Ant, I thought when you die you don’t get back up again.”

“You don’t get back up again, that’s right.”

“Well, how come your umpire is sitting up?”

Anthony turned his head to the out field. The umpire, sure enough, was sitting up. The tarp had fallen off his head to reveal a gory mess at his neck. His skin was very pale. His eyes…red as fire. “Holy ****,” Anthony muttered.

“What, Ant? What’s wrong?” Cooper asked.

“Go in the concession stand, Coop. Quick.”

Cooper didn’t need to be told twice. He dashed into the open door of the concession stand, holding the white box of nachos with both of his trembling hands.

Anthony stood up, but didn’t go anywhere. He wanted to see what happened. The newly woken umpire was on his feet, staring back and forth. His eyes were carefully searching for something. His teeth gritted together and blood was spilling out of his neck. Fortunately, the umpire’s eyes came along the tee-ball field before he spotted the staring Anthony Chambers at the bleachers. The umpire let out a lout moan and dashed like a bullet toward the tee-ball field. Some of the kids saw them until it was too late.

The gory umpire leaped over the fence like a cougar. The kids in the outfield saw him and began to run in the infield. The umpire grabbed the centerfielder and snapped his neck. The umpire left him on the ground and continued toward the other food; he would he the centerfielder later, maybe for a snack. He tackled another boy and sank his new fangs into his neck.

That was enough for Anthony. He ran in the concession stand and yelled, “Help, he’s killing everybody! The umpire’s killing everybody!”

“Yeah, good joke, kid,” Eric Pilkins said.

“That isn’t nice, Anthony. Shame on you,” Liz Chambers said.

Anthony was astounded. “I am not lying! He’s killing them, just like that other guy!”

“But the umpire’s dead…” Mike Salem begun, but then he saw the look in Anthony’s eyes. He abruptly left the concession stand and looked out at the tee-ball field. “Holy mother of God,” he whispered. All of the kids on the tee-ball field were dead. The umpire stood on the middle of the infield, face full of blood, staring at Mike.

The rest of the folks in the concession stand began to pile out. “No, go back!” Mike tried to warn, but it was too late. The people saw the dead children and freaked. It started getting even more crazier when the dead kids stood up.

The zombies ran towards their prey.

It was a massacre.

Chapter Three

She sat at the edge of her bed. Her long black hair hung over her face. Her black eye lash makeup was smeared due to her tears. She was wearing blue panties and a big white tee-shirt. The double barrel shotgun laid on the bed beside her. She sat there, thinking if she really just did what she thought she did. Did she really just murder her husband?

No, was the answer she finally came up with. This wasn’t called murder, it was called justice.

She was somehow able to put up with years of verbal and physical abuse from that bastard, but when he started hitting Sean it was the last straw.

So, on that Saturday afternoon, she sent six year old Sean to the babysitter, Kate Miller, and came back home and got the double barrel shotgun out of the closet. David put it there, said that it would protect them. Yeah, well it would protect two of them all right.

She sat on the bed and when David came home on his lunch break, KA-BOOM!

Her name was Chloe Valentine. She was thirty years old. Chloe stared across the room, at the door. David laid halfway in the room and halfway out. There was a giant hole in his stomach. His stringy guts were splattered all over the hallway wall behind him.

Chloe sat up, she had to pick up her little Sean and get the hell out of Indiana. Maybe even Mexico. She took her shirt off and tossed it in the corner of the room. Then Chloe strapped on a blue bra and pulled a black long sleeved shirt on. And lastly the tight light blue jeans and white tennis shoes.

She walked over to her dead husband. Chloe dropped her wedding ring on top of the bloody mess.

“I want a divorce.”

“Hey, man, you alright?”

Both LSPD cops had already opened the back door and now they were staring at Jake in the back seat, who was laying on his stomach…silent as a mouse.

“Hey,” Tyrone repeated, “you okay?”

Jake Rollins didn’t move.

Bocard gave him a hard shake and yelled, “Hey! Goddamnit, answer us!”

Then, Jake asked, “You guys done shooting?”

“Yeah,” Tyrone replied.

Jake sat up and said, “Good, because you almost shot me you assholes.”

“Shut up,” Tyrone said. “Hey, Jim, why don’t you call for backup.”

“You shot the radio out,” Bocard said.

“Son of a *****!”

“So…now what?” Jake wondered.

“We walk,” Tyrone answered.

“You serious?”

“Yep.”

“Well, don’t you guys even wonder about those two maniacs?”

“They were crazy…end of story.”

“Okay, fine. But before we go you guys need to get my revolver.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get my gun. My father gave that to me ten years ago and I don’t want to leave it here for some crack head to steal. Comprenday?”

“Yeah, alright,” Bocard said. He got the black revolver and a roll of bandage tape out of the glove box. He tucked the revolver in the back of his pants and tossed the bandage at Tyrone. “Wrap your arm up, Ty, or it’s going to get infected.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go,” Tyrone said.

Five minutes later they saw a pickup truck heading their way. Bocard stepped in the middle of the road and pointed his service pistol. The truck skidded to a halt. Bocard walked up to the driver’s window. Inside was a woman with long black hair. She appeared to be in her early thirties. “Ma’am, I’m gonna have to commandeer this vehicle.”

“What? No way,” said the woman.

“I’m not asking you. Get out.”

“No.”

“Get out or I’ll blow your ******* brains right out of your skull. I’m not messing around, lady.”

“Shoot me then. But then you’ll be sitting in my blood, and I don’t think you’d like that now would you? Besides, there isn’t no way for you to be sure that I don’t have AIDS or not.”

“ Fine…I’ll just drag you out then.”

“I’ll bite.”

“What?”

“I’ll bite you. I don’t care, I’ll bite you and I’ll break the skin.”

Bocard was getting frustrated. “Damnit. Okay…then we’re riding with you.”

“Do I have any choice in the matter?”

“Nope.”

“Fine…hop aboard.”

Bocard sat in the passenger’s seat. Tyrone and Jake sat down on the bed of the truck. Nobody noticed the double barrel shotgun hiding behind the spare tire. “What’s your name, lady?” Bocard asked.

“Chloe.”

“So, right before I picked you guys up I saw a cop car. Was that yours?”

Without looking at Chloe Valentine, Officer Jim Bocard said, “Yep.”

“I also saw a dead guy and something covered up with a blanket. What’s that about?” Chloe asked.

Bocard turned to her. “It’s about none of your ******* business.”

“Okay. So…what’s your name? Or is none of my ******* business?”

“Call me Bocard.”

“Well, Bocard, I have another question.”

“And what’s that?”

“Is that guy in the back of my pickup the one who killed those people?”

“None of--”

“--my ******* business, yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“Good.”

“Hey, man, you alright?” Jake Rollins asked. He was looking at Tyrone Williams’s bloody right forearm. Tyrone had wrapped it with the bandages, but the blood nearly soaked it up already. His skin was white as a ghost and he was sweating profusely.

Tyrone was also looking at his arm. “It just won’t stop bleeding. Why won’t it stop bleeding? Oh, God, it hurts so bad. I feel so dizzy…I think I’m going to faint. Oh…God…son of a ***** ******* ******* bit me…it hurts so goddamn bad!”

They made it to town; Lake Station, Indiana. They drove along Main Street, but Chloe soon stopped the pickup truck. “What the hell?” she whispered.

Everybody in town were running amok all over the streets. They were breaking windows. They were lighting things on fire. They were attacking each other. They were stabbing each other. They were shooting each other. They were biting each other.

“Why are they doing this?” Chloe asked.

“How the hell should I know?” Bocard said.

Alarms, frenziedly screaming, and the sound of breaking glass filled the Lake Station streets. People laid dead on the sidewalks and roads. Puddles of blood leaked from under them. It was total chaos.

“I need to get to Sean,” said Chloe.

“Who’s that?” Bocard asked.

Chloe turned to Bocard and smiled. “Why, it’s none of your ******* business.”

“Ya know what? **** you, lady.” Bocard got out of the pickup and went to the back. “Hey, Ty--what’s wrong with him?”

Tyrone was unconscious.

“I don’t know,” Jake said. “He was complaining about his arm and he just passed out in mid sentence. Hey, what the hell is going on here? It’s total anarchy.”

“I dunno. I’ll ask somebody.”

Bocard yanked the collar of a woman passing by. “Hey, lady, do you know what’s--”

The woman elbowed Bocard in the gut and screamed, “Get the hell away from me, you creepy fucks!” She ran off.

“I do not have luck with women today,” Bocard whispered. “Screw this ****. I need to get Ty to a hospital.”

Bocard got back in the pickup and ordered Chloe to drive off.

Dick Harris was running along the sidewalk when somebody leaped at him and bit him in the shoulder. Dick pushed the crazy woman away and began to run again.

Andrew Wilkes was hiding behind a dumpster when a gang of psycho little kids jumped on him and ripped open his stomach. They began to feed on his guts.

Bill Rome threw a gray metal garbage can through the front show window of ‘Collectibles’. He crawled in the building and began to stuff jewelry and valuable coins into his pockets. He just grabbed a diamond ring when a man with long black hair came out of the back room. His mouth was dripping blood and his eyes were bloodshot. The man grabbed Bill and sank his teeth into his neck.

It was feeding time.

The pick-up truck got about half a block and then Chloe Valentine hit the breaks. “Hey, what the hell do ya think you’re doing?” Bocard asked.

Chloe turned to Officer Jim Bocard. “Do see any way to the hospital? This road’s for ****. There are way too many people in it.”

Bocard thought about it for a moment. “ **** it,” he finally said, “run them over.”

“No, I’m no murderer, Mr. Pig. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to turn around and pick up my son at his babysitter’s.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, lady.”

“Get out of the truck, then, piggy. I don’t care. I’m going to get Sean.”

Bocard raised his service pistol.

Chloe smiled and said, “Oh, you’ll threatening me again. Well, I still ain’t gonna get out of the--AHHHHHHH!” Bocard pulled the trigger and Chloe’s right thigh exploded with a volcano of gore and blood. “AHH SONOFABITCH YOU SHOT ME!”

It was Bocard’s turn to smile. “I’m gonna do it again unless you get the **** out of the truck.”

“Bastard.” Chloe reluctantly got out of the truck. A couple seconds later Bocard sped off and began to run over the people who got in the way.

Jake sat in the bed of the truck. He saw Chloe get out and then they sped away. He heard loud thumps and screams and the front of the truck collided with random rioters. He watched Chloe get smaller and smaller as the truck got farther away. Then he saw a man jump on top of her. “No!” Jake screamed. He stood up and dived out of the back of the truck. When he landed on his stomach he rolled twenty feet. Oh God, Jake thought, that would have been a whole lot easier if my goddamn hands weren’t cuffed behind my back. Jake slowly made his way to his feet. Without thinking, he ran at full speed toward the woman named Chloe. There was a man lying on top of her. He was trying to bite her, but Chloe was blocking. Jake ran and drop kicked the man in the side. The zombie tumbled off of Chloe and onto the bloody road. Chloe jumped to her feet and grabbed a brick lying near by. When the zombie got back up, Chloe smashed it into his head. The zombie fell back down…dead. She helped Jake to his feet and said, “Thank you so much. I thought I was a goner.”

“No problem. Did that pig really shoot you?” Jake wondered.

Chloe nodded to her thigh.

“Ah ****, that ******’ bastard--”

There was a sudden sound of breaks being released and then a crash. Jake and Chloe turned to their left and saw that the pick-up truck had wrecked into a light pole a couple hundred feet away.

When Chloe and Jake got to the truck the driver’s door was wide open. Black blood was leaking out. Bocard and Tyrone were missing. So were the car keys. “What the hell’s going on today?” Jake muttered. He turned and saw Chloe was in the back of the truck. She bent down and came back with a double barrel shotgun. “Whoa, where’d you get that?” Jake asked.

“It’s been in there the whole time. Do you know how to shoot one of these?” Chloe said.

“Yeah, but I can’t really do anything until I get my hands un-cuffed.”

Chloe got off the truck. “Turn around.” Jake turned around. Chloe shot the chain of the handcuffs to pieces and Jake jumped in fright.

“Holy ****! Next time tell me when you’re gonna do that! You could have blown my goddamn hands off!”

“Calm down,” Chloe said. She handed the shotgun to Jake. Then she gave him a box of shells. “Here ya go.”

Jake looked at the gun and ammo. “Where did you get this stuff?”

Chloe smiled. “As that cop Bocard would say, ‘none of your ******* business’. Now, I need to get Sean.”

Chapter Four

The SWAT helicopter made it’s way to it’s destination; Gary, Indiana. Inside were eleven people; two pilots, one captain, and eight soldiers. The pilots were Dean Green and Bob Barskee. The captain was Jordan Maxwell. The soldiers were Joe Sheets, Alan Hooker, Gunner Rockwell, Tim Chug, Alex Kruise, Ian Dante, Darius Washington, and Marcus Fisher.

Maxwell was standing up, in front of his soldiers.

“Alright, you all need to listen up now!”

Everybody stopped talking and looked at their captain.

“Good. Now, I’m gonna briefly remind you all of what we’re doing. Earlier today in Gary, Indiana, the town folk began to riot. The riot teams were sent in, but nobody’s heard from them in two hours. You guys have permission to open fire, but only if the town’s people neglect to follow instructions. You guys must control this problem. Any questions?”

“Yeah, anybody got a cigarette?” Marcus Fisher asked.

Captain Maxwell just sighed and went to the front of the helicopter.

“So…does anybody have one or not?” Marcus asked.

“Yeah, I got one,” Ian Dante said. He took a Mud Creek out of the package and handed it to Marcus.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, man.”

Marcus lit the Mud Creek cigarette up with his silver zippo lighter.

“Hey, Gunner, why don’t you tell one of your jokes?” Joe Sheets said.

“Okay,” Gunner Rockwell said.

“It better not be one of those black jokes, though,” Darius Washington announced, (he was the only black person on the team.)

“It won’t,” Gunner said. “Okay, so God gives this white dude wings. The white guy asks ‘am I an angel?’ God says ‘yep’. Then, God gives this black guy wings. The black guy asks ‘am I an angel, too?’. God says ‘no, nigga, you be a bat’.”

All of the soldiers (well, except for Darius) fell into a laughing fit.

“Oh, you ******* *******,” Darius said, full of anger.

“Take it easy, man. It was just a joke,” Gunner said.

Before anybody else could say anything, Captain Maxwell came up to the SWAT soldiers. “We’re here,” he said.

Marcus Fisher swung the M4 Carbine Assault Rifle over his shoulder as he slid down the rope that was connected to the SWAT helicopter. He landed on the roof of a three story Super 8 hotel. Marcus was the only sniper on that particular SWAT team.

Marcus quickly made his way to the edge of the roof. He got out his M4 Carbine and looked through the scope. He saw at least fifty abandoned vehicles all over the street. Some helmets laid on the streets and sidewalks and even some bean bag loaded shotguns and bullet-proof shields.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

Then he watched as the rest of his team slid down the rope and onto the deserted street. The helicopter flew away. Each team member began to alertly move forward down the road. Each SWAT member held a Heckler & Koch MP5 9 mm submachine gun. Captain Maxwell was in the lead.

Marcus scoped out the end of the road again and saw something he missed before, (although he had no idea how he could have done it. His jaw dropped.

Suddenly, the walkie talkie on his hip came on. It was Gunner.

“Hey, Mark, any signs of life? Over.”

Marcus picked the walkie talkie up and said, “Nope. Over.”

“Damn…any idea of what happened? Over.”

“Nope. Over.”

“Damn…over.”

“Hey, Gunner, you see that? Over.”

“See what? Over.”

“Look at the end of the street. Over.”

There was a pause, and then, “Holy ****, is that an air plane? Over.”

“Yep. Over and out.”

Marcus saw a quick glimpse of a shadow on a wall. But then it was gone by the time he took a second look. Oh God, now he was hallucinating. Man, he could sure go for another one of those cigarettes. He sat down and rested the M4 Carbine Assault Rifle next to him. He grabbed his canteen off of his hip and pulled half of it over his head. Then he drank the rest of it.

Marcus sighed and stood back up. He grabbed the rifle and looked through the scope. The only signs of life were the only ones he had seen before; the rest of his SWAT team. His mind began to drift off to Roger and Sarah.

Sarah was his ex-wife. She had left him six months after the tragic death of their four year old son, Roger. He had wondered into the street to retrieve a red kick ball when a drunk driver collided into him and knocked Roger twenty feet into the air. Marcus remembered running out of the house and to his son. He was laying on the road with his hip completely the wrong way and blood leaking out of his ears. Marcus remembered the way Roger’s eyes were wide opened. Like he was staring directly past you and into space. Marcus remember a tine stream of blood dripping from his dead son’s eyes. Marcus was holding Roger in his arms, sobbing, when Sarah wondered out of the house to see what all the commotion was. She saw Roger dangling in her husbands arms, gave out a loud yelp, and fainted. Six months later she wanted a divorced. Marcus felt that Sarah blamed him for the death of Roger. He--

Okay, Marcus definitely saw something that time. He grabbed the walkie talkie and held down the button. “Hey! I just saw something down there move. I’m pretty sure it was a human, but it was too fast to be sure. Be careful down th--”

A man (or woman, Marcus wasn’t sure) with long black hair jumped out from behind a abandoned SUV and tackled Alex Kruise. They went sprawling to the road and the man (or woman) ripped Alex’s throat out with his (hers?) hands. He (she?) quickly put the gore from Alex’s throat into his mouth, like a starving child in a third world country eating for the first time in weeks.

Marcus was focusing his aim when five loud piercing reports filled the area. The man (woman?) tumbled off of Alex. Gunner lowered his Heckler & Koch MP5 9 mm submachine gun. His eyes widened as he saw Alex’s throat ripped open, and rivers of blood spraying out. There was only one other time Gunner Rockwell had seen something this gruesome. It was five-years ago, (his rookie year), he and team (a different team than the one he had now) had to escort a group of Iraqi prisoners from Miami to Washington D.C. They were almost there when a helicopter came out of nowhere. Somebody had a RPG and had fired it at the prisoner-transportation truck. Only the driver (Wayne Vaughn had died, though. Gunner had been riding shotgun at the time. Gunner remembered seeing Wayne laying by a pile of glass. Gunner remembered seeing that Wayne was missing his body from his hip all the way down. Gunner remembered seeing layers and layers of thin and thick and gooey and bloody strings of gore. Gunner remember crawling his way over to him and telling him to hang in there, every thing would be alright. He remembered Wayne’s last words (which made absolutely no sense whatsoever to Gunner). They were, “Tell Mom that it was me who broke Daddy’s urn. It wasn’t Dwayne, it was me.” Then Gunner remembered Wayne looking right at him, but he wasn’t looking at him. He was gone. Wayne’s soul had went looking for a new ride to hitch. Gunner also remembered three weeks later when he visited Wayne’s family. He had told them his last words, and Christina Vaughn (Wayne’s mother) fell into a fit of tears. She later explained that when Wayne was ten the urn of his father had tipped over and broken. Wayne had said that his little brother Dwayne (who was five at the time) did it. Christina had given Dwayne one hell of an ass beating. Wayne must have felt guilty all of those years until his tragic death in Washington D.C.

Because Gunner was so deep in thought of the memory of Wayne Vaughn, he didn’t even notice that other crazies were attacking the rest of the SWAT team. Most of the crazies were being shot before they got super close, but for Alan Hooker and Tim Chug…they weren’t so lucky. The crazies sprung on Alan and Timothy like wild animals and began ripping their guts and intestines out of their stomachs. Gunner also didn’t notice that the crazy man (woman?) that he had shot earlier was now standing up. He didn’t notice him (her?) running at him.

What did snap Gunner out of his day dreaming was the man’s (woman’s?) head exploding and blood and brain splattering all over his face.

Marcus pulled the trigger and the man (woman?) running at Gunner’s head exploded. He focused on the next target and the same thing happened. He didn’t think, he just did his job; this is what he was trained to do.

He got thirty down and then had to reload. He was a quick reloaded, but by the time he looked back through the scope Alex Kruise and Joe Sheets were laying on the ground with the crazies on them. They were….they were eating his flesh.

“Jesus Christ,” Marcus muttered, and killed the maniacs on top of Alex and Joe, (all them were head shots. Snipers were trained to kill.) But after the crazies fell off of them, Alex and Joe weren’t moving. They were dead.

Ian, Darius, Gunner, and Captain Maxwell ran for it. They entered a small restaurant. Moments later, Marcus’s walkie talkie kicked up. It was his captain.

“Marcus? Marcus!”

Marcus picked up the walkie talkie and pushed down the button. “Yeah, I’m here. You guys okay?”

“Well, as you may know, no. Most of us are dead.”

“What the hell are those things? They weren’t human.”

“Yeah, I know. Hey, thanks for the cover fire. If it wasn’t for you, we’d all be dead door nail.”

Marcus was started reloading his rifle. “How’s you ammo over there?”

“We’re okay…for now. Ian and Darius are blocking off the front door with tables right now.”

“Yeah, I can see that. You call for backup yet?”

“You’re not gonna believe this, but nobody’s answering me. Not one ******* person.”

“What? That’s impossible. Somebody is always ready to answer.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Well…do you think people went crazy over there, too?”

“No…no way that happened. There isn’t no cause for them to riot over there.”
“Umm…Captain?”

“Yeah?”

“What caused these people to riot? What the hell caused them to eat human flesh?”

Marcus Fisher was getting worried.

It’d been a fifteen minutes and he still hadn’t heard anything from the rest of his team. He tried to reach them on the walkie talkie a dozen times but no one answered. It wouldn’t have bothered Marcus so bad, but there was something else, too; they were nowhere in sight. He used to be able to see them inside the restaurant, but not anymore. Just the empty chairs, deserted breakfasts, and the dark puddles of coagulated blood on the hard cement floor…but no team.

It’d been five minutes and no more crazies were in eyesight. Marcus grabbed his walkie talkie again. “Hey-o, this is Marcus Fisher, anybody out there? Captain Maxwell? Ian? Darius? Gunner, ya there? Over.”

Marcus waited another moment and then put the radio back to his mouth. “Well, I’m coming over there. So…don’t shoot me. Over and out.”

Marcus hooked the walkie talkie on his hip and sighed. “ ****…this ain’t my day…”

He stood up and swung the M4 Carbine Assault Rifle over his right shoulder and headed for the door that led inside the hotel.

The hallways were a mess. A gruesome, gory, repulsive, mess.

Men, women, and children laid against the walls. Some of them dead…most of them alive. The unfortunate ones who were still alive were covered in blood and very weak looking. Like drunken bums resting against a wall. They all cried out for help as Marcus made his way through. Marcus wasn’t sure whether they were crazies or just injured civilians, so he held his rifle up the whole time.

He was on the first floor, and there still wasn’t any trouble. But…it didn’t stay like that.

As Marcus was about to turn a turner when a small girl jumped at him. She cried, “Oh, please hel==“ Marcus shot her. Shot her dead.

After that there were cries of disgust and anger. “Oi! What the hell is yo problem man?”

“You just killed a little girl, you son of a *****!”

“Oh my Gawwd!”

“You killed my daughter!” A black man jumped at Marcus, but he soon exploded in a hail of bullets from Marcus’s Carbine.

Another man stood. He was British. “So ******’ typical. Pig has to take control of everything. Doesn’t give a **** of who he kills.” The Brit turned to everyone else. “Come on, I say we take this wanker on. What do you all say?”

“Yeah, let’s kick his ******* ass!” somebody else yelled. Soon, everybody in the hall way that wasn’t dead were walking towards Marcus Fisher.

Marcus pointed his Carbine. “Hey, just stop where you are. I didn’t mean to shoot them--they just scared me and I accidentally pulled the trigger. Come on, give me a break…please?”

The Brit pointed at Marcus and shouted, “GET HIM!”

Marcus thought about shooting them, but at the last second decided against it. So, he ran for his life and dove through a plate glass window, and landed in the parking lot. He was surrounded by blood and gore that had splattered on the pavement. Marcus shot to his feet and dashed toward the restaurant. He opened the door and closed it. He pushed a table in front of it just as the angry mob arrived. They banged on the glass and shouted curse words and made obscene jesters at Fisher.

Marcus sighed and scanned the rest of the room; no team…just lots and lots of blood. But then he heard a noise. Another one of those crazy cannibals walked in from the kitchen. But something was different this time. This zombie was wearing a SWAT uniform and had a Heckler & Koch MP5 9 mm submachine gun strapped around his shoulder. Marcus Fisher knew this animal. He knew him since his rookie year at SWAT. This man had been his boss for thirteen years. He was Captain Jordan Maxwell.

Chapter Five

“Who’s Sean?” Jake Rollins asked as they made their way through the rioting crowd. If someone tried to attack them he would knock them out with the handle of the shotgun.

“My son,” Chloe Valentine answered.

“You have a son? I have a daughter. Name’s Samantha. She’ll be twelve in a couple of weeks. How old is Sean?”

“Six.”

“Six…that’s a good age. Where is he, at your house?”

“No, at the babysitters.”

“Really? My daughter is, too. Staying with a girl named Kate Miller.”

Chloe stopped in her tracks. “You bullshitting me?”

“No, why?”

“Sean’s at a babysitter named Kate Miller, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh…wow. Well, I guess we’re going to the same place then. We can stick together. Better way to survive from…whatever those ******* things are.”

They were still on Main Street when Chloe said, “Umm…Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think anybody is rioting anymore.”

“What makes you say that?”

Chloe grabbed Jake by the arm and turned him around. “Look,” she said.

She was right. The rioters had stopped rioting. Nobody laid on the pavement dead anymore. They all had their ominous eyes fixed on Jake and Chloe. They all slowly walked toward them.

“I guess this is the end,” Chloe said.

Jake spun around. “Not for you it ain’t.”

“Jake, what are you talking about?”

“There’s no need for us both to die, now is there?”

“Jake…”

“Just listen, okay. As you know my daughter Sam is at the same babysitter that your son is. Please go there and make sure she’s okay. And if you go to leave, make sure you take her medication with her--”

“Jake, what medication?”

“Sammy has cancer, and the medication is the only thing that keeps her from passing out and going into seizures. Make sure she’s alright. Please?”

“You’re talking crazy, this is suicide--”

“Oh, and another thing, if you come across me again I’ll be one of those bitey fucks in front of us. Do me a favor and shoot me in the head. You should have a gun by then.”

“Jake, what--”

“You know, Chloe, I haven’t known you that long--fuck, I just met you. But I think I’m in love with you. I love you, Chloe.”

“Uhh…Uhh…” Chloe couldn’t hide her feelings. “I love you, too, Jake. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your daughter.”

They kissed. The long kiss goodbye.

Finally Jake had to push her off him. “You gotta go now. Bye.”

“Bye,” Chloe whispered, eyes full of tears.

Chloe began running down the street. When she turned to a next street she stopped and peeked around the corner at Jake Rollins. He was shooting them in the head; each shell taking out at least three of them at a time. He was reloading at an amazingly speed. But as he was reloading for the maybe the thirteenth time a zombie bit his arm.

That was all Chloe Valentine could take. She began running again. Although it was kind of hard with a bullet hole in her right thigh, which was hurting like hell. Toward the direction of Kate Miller’s house. A twenty minute walk. She could still hear gunshots from Main Street as she made it to the next road.

The road of no return.

By the time Chloe Valentine made it to Wovernton Road she was gasping for breath. She bent over and vomited onto the newly mowed lawn of a two story blue house. Not much running would make somebody puked, she guessed. Especially if the last time you had a good run was back in high school when you had to run track for gym class, and there was blood leaking down your leg.

She stood back up, okay…please God let everything be alright.

The front door was wide open…a bad sign. Chloe searched everywhere, but couldn’t find anyone…a bad sign. There were blood splatters all over the walls…a bad sign.

Her jaw dropped and tears rolled down her cheeks. No…it couldn’t be. They couldn’t be dead! She fell to her knees and shouted, “Goddamnit!”

Then she heard a moan and Kate Miller walked into the room. She was completely naked and soaking wet, like she had just gotten out of the shower. Her right cheek on her face was missing. Just a disgusting glob of gore. Red eyes, sharp fangs.

“You…you let them kill Sean. You *****!” Chloe jumped up and charged the naked zombie of Kate, tackling her to the ground. She pounded her fists into her head until she saw a marble ash tray lying next to them. Chloe picked it up and repeatedly smashed it into Kate’s skull. She kept swinging it until her brains started leaking out the top of the undead babysitter’s skull.

Chloe whipped the broken ash tray against the wall and laid down on the sofa…crying her eyes out.

The man tapped Chloe’s shoulder and she instantly became awake. She sat up and looked at him. He was wearing a dark green bandana, a SWAT uniform, and held some kind of sniper machine gun.

“You okay, ma’am?” the man asked.

“Do I look like I’m ******* okay?” Chloe snapped. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Marcus. Yours?”

“Chloe. What are you doing here?”’

“I was ri--”

“Are you bitten?”

“What?”

“Did one of them bite you?”

“Oh…no.”

“What are you doing here?” Chloe asked for the second time.

“I just rode into town on a Harley. My whole team’s dead. I’m looking for survivors. You’re a survivor.”

“That I am, although my son wasn’t so lucky. Or Jake. Or Jake’s daughter. Or everybody else in town--wait, they’re crazy outside of Lake Station, too?”

“Well, I know for sure its like that in Gary. Might be all over the United States. Nobody will answer my walkie talkie, and somebody is always on the line to pick up. It’s illegal for them not to be.”

“So…what do we do now?”

“Well, you may think me sick, but I’m starving.”

Chloe smiled. “I could go for a bite.”

Chapter Six

“Ant…have to stop…can’t run anymore…out of breath…”

Cooper fell to his knees and began breathing heavily. Anthony stopped running, too. He said, “Okay, but just for a couple minutes.” He sat down on a log beside his brother.

They were in the middle of a forest. A haunted forest. It was called Monster Oaks, and it was right next to the Little League park. It was rumored that Monster Oaks was haunted because of Misty Sandra.

(Back in 1993, hikers found a pair of severed feet. The feet belonged to fifteen year old Misty Sandra. Of, course, nobody knew that until later that year. You see, every month somebody would find another body part of Misty in Monster Oaks. Like somebody was dropping the pieces off one-by-one. Nobody ever caught the person who did the horribly deed to Miss Sandra. The rumor, though, that at midnight all of the body parts of Misty Sandra form together and she hunts down the children that sneak out after dark.)

Cooper’s face was full of tears and he and his brother sat on that log. Anthony had his arm around him.

“They’re dead, Ant. Mommy …she’s dead!” Cooper sobbed.

“I know…Coop…she’s dead. So is everybody else back at the field. But we will be, too, Coop…unless we get moving again.”

“But I’m scared, Anthony! I want Daddy!”

Tears were dripping down Anthony’s eyes now. “I know, that’s where we’re going, okay? Come on, lets go.”

“BUT I DON’T WANT TO, ANT!” Cooper croaked.

“Cooper, you have to. I’ll grab you if you start to fall, okay? But you have to, or else those monsters will get us. Please…you have to be a big boy, Coop.”

They were standing at the edge of a swamp. They had to get to the other side, but the only kind of bridge were trees and the branches. Anthony leaped to the first tree and then helped Cooper on it.

“See,” Anthony said, “it ain’t so bad.”

They were halfway across the swamp when Cooper said, “I’m scared, Ant.”

Anthony sighed, “Now what are you scared of?”

“The dead people in the water.”

“What…?”

Anthony looked down and almost fell out of the tree. Sure enough, thousands of dead bodies floated under the swamp water. But then their blood-colored eyes opened.

“Holy ****!” Anthony exclaimed. He picked up his brother and shoved him higher in the tree. “Climb, Coop, climb!”

Crying, Cooper did what he was told, and his older brother followed. Pretty soon they were the highest they could get. They looked down and watched as the zombies tried to climb the tree, but they couldn’t do it. It was like their brain couldn’t function this demand.

“What do we do now, Ant?”

Anthony couldn’t answer. He had no clue. For all he knew, they were already dead.

“Okay, Cooper, I got an idea.”

“Y-you do?” Cooper asked, snorting up a line of snot.

“Yeah, but you might not want to do it.”

“I don’t care, I’ll do whatever.”

“Okay…I warned you. We’re gonna run across the zombies. To the other side.”

“What? No way…I’m too scared! They’ll get me!”

“You gotta trust me, Coop. I promise you, everything will be okay.” Anthony didn’t like to make promises that unless he knew for sure he could do it, but it was either this or sit up in this tree and wait for certain death. Then re-animation.

“Oh-oh-okay. I don’t know if I’m fast enough, though,” Cooper said.

“Alright, we’re gonna jump on top of them, and then run like hell to the other side. I love you, Coop.”

“Love you too, Ant.”

“Okay…” they held each other’s hands “ready…set…jump!”

They leaped. The leap towards death. They landed on the zombies, but before they even had a chance to run something horrible happened. One of those bastards got a hold of Cooper’s left ankle. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” he screamed in agonizing pain.

You know, you hear in the news and the newspapers about how people overcome great difficulties. Like somebody is trapped under a car and her mother lifts up the car. Or a little boy runs off in the middle of a busy highway in the city to recover a ball but only to discover a giant semi truck heading his way, but then someone comes out of nowhere and tackles him aside. In moments when somebody you love or just somebody you never even met before is in grave danger you’ll sometimes get powers you wouldn’t normally have. Powers you wouldn’t have dreamed of. Super strength, super speed. Fighting skills even though you’ve never been in a fight in your whole life. You do stuff like they would do in a Hollywood action movie. And that’s just what thirteen year old Anthony Chambers did.

“Coop!” Anthony yelled, at the sight of the zombie munching on his brother’s leg. He rushed over and lifted Cooper on top of his shoulders. Then he started running on the zombies. They were like some kind of bridge. When he made it to land Anthony kept running. He knew the zombies would be on his tail, he’d just hope he could out run them.

When Anthony and Cooper jumped out of the tree, it excited the zombies. And when that happened they started attacking each other to get to their meal. When Anthony and Cooper left the flesh eating mountain, the zombies didn’t know it. Instead they fought for food that wasn’t even there anymore.

Fifteen minutes later Anthony collapsed to the ground, with Cooper still on his shoulders. Cooper laid on the ground, crying. Anthony laid there, panting and wishing for some more breath in his lungs. Finally he crawled over to his younger brother.

“Coop…oh, Coop…I’m so sorry…”

“It hurts, Ant…it hurts so bad…you promised it would be okay…you promised…”

“I know I’m sorry. Oh, God I’m so sorry.” Anthony got to his feet and yelled, “Fuuuuck! Goddamnit sonofabitch!”

He looked around and realized he was making a fool of himself. He turned back to his brother. He looked at his brother’s ankle. There a big gash with black blood oozing out. Anthony took off his cleat and then his long red sock. He then tied the sock around Cooper’s wound. He put his cleat back on.

“That’s all I can think of to do, Coop. Now we have to get moving. Can you walk?”

“No!” Cooper cried.

“What if I carry you again? Would that be okay?”

“Yeah.”

Anthony picked his brother back up and began walking again.

They were in the backyard of a tan house. There was a red shed in the back if that tan house. Anthony laid Cooper down on the grass.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna look in the shed for weapons. If you see a zombie be silent as a mouse, but if he sees you yell like hell, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

The door to the shed was unlocked. Anthony walked in and found a light switch. He flicked it on and saw what was inside; work bench, a wheel barrel, a work table, giant tool box, lawn mower, and a bunch of bags of dog food under the work table. Above the work table; chainsaw, hammers, axe, nails, wood, screwdrivers. When Anthony got closer to the table he saw something that made him jump, an eyeball. It was under the table, in between the dog food. When Anthony moved the food beside he saw what the eyeball was connected to; a human body. And next to this human body was another body. Each of them children. A boy and girl. The girl looked older. They weren’t dead. They weren’t undead either.

“Hello,” Anthony said. “Don’t be scared…what’s your names?”

The girl was the first to speak. “Samantha.” She motioned toward the boy with her head. “And his name is Sean.”

“Hi,” Anthony said again. “My name is Anthony. What are you guys doing under here?”

“Hiding,” the girl named Samantha answered. “What are you doing in here?”

“Looking for weapons.”

“Can we come with you?”

“Yeah, sure. Do you live in that house out there?”

“No, my babysitter does.”

“Oh…where’s she?”

“Dead.”

“Oh.”

“Do you guys like have some kind of book bag?”

“Yeah, I do. But it’s in the house,” Samantha said.

“That’s okay, I’ll go…where is it?”

“In the living room…by the couch.”

“Okay. Listen, I have my little brother out there. I’m gonna bring him in here while I go out there, okay?”

“Okay.”

Anthony exited the shed and approached his brother. “Hey, Coop.”

“You find anything?”

“Yeah, I found some people. Some more kids.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You mind staying in there for a minute or two? I have to go in that house for something.?”

“I don’t care.”

“Great.” Anthony picked up his brother and took him in the shed. He laid him by the other kids. “Okay, this is Cooper. Cooper, these are Samantha and Sean. I’ll be right back.”

Anthony picked up the axe and left the shed, closing the doors tightly.

The inside of the house smelt really bad. As soon as he walked in Anthony almost vomited. The first room he came upon was the living room. He saw the book bag sitting right next to the couch. He also saw a dead body laying by it. It was the first live naked lady he’d ever seen, and it had to be a dead zombie naked lady. Anthony stared at her for a couple more seconds, then grabbed the book bag (dumping everything out of it in the process) and a pillow, and went back to the shed.

Everybody was still inside the shed. “Okay…just let me pack a couple things and we’ll be on our way.”

Anthony went to the work table and loaded the book bag with nails, some screwdrivers, a hammer, and as much wood as he possibly could. Then threw the pillow in the wheel barrel and lifted Cooper into it.

“Wow, this is cool,” Cooper said.

“Could you hold some of this wood, Coop?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, when we find a good place to stay we’re gonna have to board up the windows, right?”

“Yeah, but why can’t we just stay here?”

“It’s kind of too hard to breath in here, Coop.”

“Okay, lets go.”

Anthony piled a couple things of wood on his brother and then he gave him the axe. “Hold this. Anthony looked at the two other survivors. “You guys ready?”

“Yeah,” Samantha said.

“Okay, you two stay ahead of me. I want to be able to see you at all times.”

“Okay,” Sean said. It was the first time he said something.

They actually had good luck. They didn’t come across any zombies on Wovernton Road. Or the next road. Or even the next one. Then Samantha asked, “Where are we going?”

“I don’t know,” Anthony replied. And he really didn’t know. But he did know that if they stayed out here much longer, being zombie bait, they would die.

“I’m hungry, Ant,” Cooper said.

“I am, too,” Sean said.

Anthony stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t realized it, but they walked all the way back to his house. “Okay, this is my house. We’re gonna stay here.”

The house was zombie free. Anthony made everybody peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Then he boarded up the windows and doors. He grabbed a baseball bat and handed it to Samantha. “Here, if they try getting in here bash ‘em in the head with it.”

“Where are you going?” Samantha asked.

“I have to go out and find my dad.”

“What?” Cooper snapped.

“Cooper, you’ll be okay here. Everything’s boarded up. They can’t get you. I have to find dad, Coop. Do you understand?”

“Yeah…I guess so.”

“I love you, Coop.”

“Love you, too, Ant.”

“How are you gonna get out? Everything’s boarded up,” Samantha said.

“I’ll go through the crawlspace. Bye.”

Anthony opened a trap door and made his way to the crawlspace. He took the axe with him.

At first Anthony couldn’t think of where to go, but then he remembered that his dad and Stu Memo were heading to the police station. So…he headed toward Main Street. When he got to the street he discovered that it was completely deserted. Just lots and lots of blood. As he made his way toward the police station he had many thoughts but I’m not gonna bore you with a whole chapter of someone’s thoughts. I mean, what kind of cruel hearted bastard does something like that?

He got to the station and still no sign of trouble. He opened the door and walked through to find even more blood.

Going against everything Anthony had ever learned from slasher movies, he yelled out loud, “Hello! Anybody here!”

Not really expecting an answer, he was surprised to hear, “Who is it?”

“Umm…I’m looking for my dad. Is he here?”

“No, I’m the only living thing in this station. Well, except for you. Who are you?”

“My name is Anthony. Where are you?”

A police officer stood up from behind a desk. “Right here.”

“What’s your name?” Anthony asked.

“Bocard.”

“What’s going on here? Why are everybody…”

“Everybody what? Go on say it.”

“Zombies.”

“Zombies? Stupid ******* kid. Zombies aren’t real. Goddamn video games got to your head. Those people are crazy, not zombies,” Bocard said.

“Well, why are they crazy?”

“ **** if I know. Watched too much American Idol maybe. What are you doing with that axe? Little boys shouldn’t be playing with weapons. Give me that.”

“What? No, I need it.”

Bocard started laughing as he slowly walked toward Anthony. “What the **** is a little brat like you gonna do with something with that?”

“I need it for protection.” Anthony thought if this pig got any closer he would swing the axe. The cop was scaring him.

“Little ***** boy.”

“Why are you doing this? I thought cops were suppose to be the good guys…not the douche bags.” Anthony could heavily smell some kind of liquor on Bocard’s breath. He was drunk as a skunk.

“Why you little…” Bocard leaped at him, but Anthony swung the axe. The blade sunk into the cop’s gut.

And that was the death of Lieutenant ******* Jim Bocard.

There was nobody else in the police station. There were plenty of guns, though. Anthony searched the dead cop and found a gun he really like. It was a black revolver (he didn’t know it, but it was the newly departed Jake Rollins black revolver). He found a duffle bag and loaded two shotguns, a Beretta 90-TWO Type F 9MM, two Browning Hi Power Pistol 40 Matte Finish MKS, Jake’s black revolver, and a lot of ammo.

Anthony realized he needed something new to wear so he left the station and went next door to a drift store. He found a pair of black and white camouflaged jeans, a black Misfits tee-shirt with the white Crimson Ghost logo on front, black and white converses (Chuck Taylor’s), and black gloves with the finger holes cut out.

Thirteen year old Anthony Danzig Chambers grabbed the bag of guns with one hand and the blood splattered axe with the other. He left the drift store and began walking down Main Street. He was ready to rock n’ roll.

Chapter Seven

Anthony was really starting to enjoy this zombie killing business. His kill count was thirteen already. All with that sweet beautiful axe. He arrived back at his house and crawled through the crawlspace. He opened the trap door and scared the survivors, who were sitting on the **** couch and watching television. He was surprised that anything was still on.

“Anthony!” Cooper shouted in joy. Still alive, but pale as hell.

“Hey, Coop, I missed ya,” Anthony said, doing all he could to fake a smile.

“I missed you, too.”

Anthony sat down next to his brother and looked at Samantha. “How were things? Everything was okay?”

“There was something trying to get through the front door earlier, but we stayed extra quiet and I think it left. So yeah, everything was basically alright. What’s the plan? Are we gonna stay here?”

“No,” Anthony said. “I have to go out and look for more survivors. You guys stay here. I just came back to get some sleep. It’s getting dark out and in all horror movies the freaks come out at night more often. So, in the morning I’ll leave.”

“We’re coming with you,” Samantha said.”

“What?”

“You don’t know how scary it is in here.”

“Yeah? Try outside.”

“I don’t care. I hate being trapped in here.”

“Fine.”

“So lets go,” Samantha said.

“At night? You’re nuts.”

“It’ll be harder for them to see us, right? So lets just go now.”

Anthony knew she had a point. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll go, but first me and you need to learn how to learn how to use a gun.”

Anthony was a bright, so he learned how to work the guns in no time at all. He loaded them all up and handed the Beretta to Samantha. “Here, its loaded. The safety’s on the side. Just flick it up and pull the trigger to shoot, okay?”

“Okay,” Samantha said, and stared at the gun in admiration.

He looked at Sean. “Do you want a gun?”

Sean shook his head ‘no’.

“Okay, then. Just stay close to me.”

Anthony took the now empty book bag and filled it with ammo, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Coke cans, a couple flashlights, and a bag of potato chips. He put the book bag on his back, the two Browning Hi Power 40 Matte Finish MKS in each of his front jean pockets, and Cooper in the wheel barrel. He handed him the two loaded riot shotguns and the axe.

“Just hold them, Coop. Make sure they don’t fall. And whatever you do, do not pull the trigger. Okay?”

“Okay, Ant,” Cooper said.

Anthony picked up the axe again and broke all the wood off the front door. He put it back in Cooper’s lap. “Alright, lets go.”

The moon had risen and the sun had went down. The street lights and the store lights of Lake Station were completely out. There was no more power. As quiet as they could, they made their way down endless roads. They had not a clue of where they were going. They just figured they should keep moving. It wasn’t a good idea to stop and they knew that.

Somehow, they found themselves on Main Street again. There were no zombies or survivors in sight.

“Ant, I’m tired,” Cooper whispered.

“Well go to sleep. Its okay,” Anthony said.

“But I cant. What if I go to sleep and wake up one of those monsters?”

“I-um…I dunno, Coop.”

“Shhhh,” Samantha said all of a sudden.

“What?”

“Do you hear that? Somebody said something? It wasn’t neither of us, either. I could have swore it.”

They waited in silence. And sure enough, Samantha wasn’t crazy. They all heard a woman’s voice silently whispering, “Sean! Sean! Get over here, its Mommy!”

“Mom?” Sean whispered, and ran toward the voice.

“Hey, kid, wait!” Anthony shouted, and the rest of them followed the voice. They made their way to a Antique shop. At the door way there was a woman with long black hair and was wearing a black long sleeved shirt and tight blue jeans. She was in tears.

“Oh thank God!” she shouted in glee, and hugged her son.

“Chloe?” Samantha asked. She had only seen Chloe Valentine a few times when she dropped off Sean.

“Yeah, its me!” There was a group hug. Anthony and Cooper were left in the dark.

Chloe looked at them and asked who they were.

“I’m Anthony, and this is my brother, Cooper.”

“Well, welcome. Lets come on in before we’re spotted, shall we?”

“Yeah,” Anthony said. “Good idea.”

They went to the back of the Antique shop and there sat a man in a SWAT uniform.

“Who are you guys?” he asked.

“Marcus,” Chloe said, “this is my son Sean. I found him.”

“Really? Awesome. What about the rest?”

“Well, this is Samantha. Jake’s daughter.”

“You know my dad? Is he alright? Where is he?”

“And this is Anthony and Cooper. Don’t really know them but still, they’re alive,” Chloe said, ignoring Samantha’s questioning.

“Hello? Where’s my daddy?” Samantha asked.

The look Chloe gave her told everything.

“So let me see those guns, boy,” Marcus Fisher said.

Anthony emptied the wheel barrel and book bag at his feet and said that was all he had.

“Jesus Christ, kid. What are ya doen, raising an army?” he laughed. “Where’d you get all this stuff?”

“The police station.”

“Good thinking, kid. You know how to work these?”

“I manage,” Anthony replied, “but I like the axe a whole lot better than the guns,”

“Yeah? That’s cool,” Marcus said, while lighting up a cigarette.

Samantha was crying in the corner of the room and Chloe was rubbing her head, telling her everything would be okay. Chloe would take care of her. Please stop crying.

Sean was fast asleep on the ground. Cooper was leaning against a wall, tired but eyes struggling to stay open.

Marcus’s watch started bee