by Jon Athan
Hill opened his eyes, then said, “This is an emergency broadcast from your acting President, former Secretary of State Kenneth Hill. To the American people fighting this atrocious plague, I regret to inform you: we have failed. The virus has overrun our remaining military and medical facilities. We are a cornered animal. We are trapped and surrounded. In order to salvage the human species, we must make a painstaking sacrifice. It's not what you want to hear, but you must listen. For the future children of our species, we must annihilate this virus by any means. With that said, this is my final goodbye. Nuclear warheads will hit all major cities across the United States. You can find shelter, but it may be futile. Rest assured, I won't escape the consequences of my actions. I will be duly punished. Goodbye, my fellow Americans.”
Hill shut his eyes as he finished his final broadcast. Jensen turned the knob and retrieved the transceiver. Booker sniffled as he nodded in agreement and acceptance. As the flames stopped crackling, the bus slowed to a leisurely roll. The school bus hopped as it drove over the sidewalk and rolled towards the stone partition separating the vacant parking lot from the beach.
Kash turned towards the disheartened trio, then said, “I'll... I'll run ahead and board a ship.” He weaved and bobbed his head towards the shore, then pointed at a white speedboat with a blood-red frame. Kash explained, “I'll need a little time to get reacquainted and settled, but I can only wait for so long. Send your goodbyes, your nukes, or whatever, but please hurry. I don't want to be out here anymore. I want to leave.”
Hill nodded and said, “We'll be there. We only need a few minutes to send the codes and... and finish up our business.”
Booker warned, “Don't you dare leave without us, Kash. Don't even think about it.”
Kash nervously smiled as he nodded. He bolted out from the front door of the bus, then hopped over the stone partition. The remaining trio watched as Kash trudged through the sand and trekked into the falling sun.
***
Hill retrieved the sturdy emergency briefcase beside him. He placed the black textured briefcase on his lap, then opened it with his key. A secured laptop awaited within. With sorrowful eyes, Hill gazed at the computer – a tool of unnecessary mass destruction. His hands trembled as he glided his fingertips across the keyboard.
Hill faintly whispered, “A weapon for our enemies used on ourselves... A weapon for global stability used to stop instability... A weapon of certain destruction for the uncertain... Such a powerful, savage weapon...”
Jensen interrupted, “Sir, I think we can do this on the boat. I'm sure we'll still be in range and it'll be much safer. We must go and we must go now.”
Booker nodded and said, “I agree. If not, we can always find a safer location. For now, we must get on the boat and regroup. We have to recompose ourselves. We should hurry. We don't know how many are around here and how many we didn't kill with the fire.”
Hill snapped out of his contemplation. He slowly nodded and said, “You are correct. Let's leave. We'll find somewhere safer to do this.”
The trio quickly scampered off the bus and scurried onto the beach. The group tromped through the sand with heavy, sluggish steps. Booker tightly gripped his pistol as he led the way. Hill closely followed behind with the emergency briefcase clenched in his arms. Jensen hesitantly trailed the duo. Suddenly, Hill stopped as he looked towards the endless ocean.
Hill said, “Booker... Booker, there's someone out there. Another survivor.”
Booker stopped, then glanced towards the ocean. A burly shirtless man hopelessly rowed against the waves as he attempted to escape. Booker looked over his shoulder, cautiously searching for any undead wanderers. The coast was clear.
Booker glanced back at Hill and asked, “Should we help him? Should we take him on our boat?”
Hill nodded, then turned towards the man. He shambled towards the water and shouted, “Hello! Hello! Sir! Sir, we can help you!”
Jensen scrunched his face in anger as he loudly whispered, “What the hell are you doing?! You'll get us all killed!”
Disregarding Jensen, Hill pointed towards the speedboat and yelled, “Sir, meet us at the white motorboat and you can join us! Stop...”
Suddenly, Booker pointed down the beach. Red-eyed zombies sprinted across the sand, then scurried down the rickety dock. Without any hesitation, the zombies leaped into the ocean, then swam towards the man. Within seconds, the man's puny boat was overrun. The zombies chomped into his face, neck, and arms as they pulled him overboard.
Hill gasped, then said, “They can swim...”
As more zombies approached from beyond the horizon, Booker pointed towards a beach-side diner and directed, “Get in there. Now. Don't let them hear or see you.”
A blood-curdling screech echoed through the open sky. Ghoulish groans and monstrous grunts quickly approached. Hill sprinted towards the diner, stumbling over himself with every step. Booker followed behind, keeping a keen eye on the pursuing undead.
Teary-eyed, Jensen shook his head and said, “I can't...” He bolted towards the water and said, “I can't do this. I can't die here, I can't. I'm going to the boat. We're leaving. I'm leaving, whether you like it or not. I'm surviving...”
Booker shook his head and said, “You old fool...”
Jensen trudged through the water, then leaped into the ocean. He frantically swam towards the white speedboat. The saline water loudly splashed and rippled with each stroke. As he approached the boat, a nude red-eyed zombie with a grisly shark bite on his stomach leaped out of the water and latched onto Jensen's back. Jensen's eyes widened as he was pulled under the water. He pulled on the zombie's resplendent beach blonde hair as he tried to keep him away, but to no avail. The zombie lunged forward and bit into Jensen's neck, dragging Jensen deeper into the dark ocean.
The door chime echoed as Hill staggered into the desolate diner. The diner had white tile flooring and white textured walls. The walls to the left and right from the entrance were mostly comprised of pristine windows. To his right, there were six booths with crimson-padded seats. To his left, there was a bar with twelve wooden stools. The kitchen and employee area awaited beyond the bar.
Between breaths, Hill whispered, “Christ... This can't... This can't be happening...”
Hill staggered forward, then tumbled behind the bar. On the verge of hyperventilation, he attempted to recompose himself by shutting his eyes and breathing heavily. Sweat ticklishly oozed out of his glands like lava out of an erupting volcano. His body was soaked by his anxiety-induced perspiration – a cold, damp sweat. His eyes widened as the door chime rang again. His bottom lip quivered as fear swelled in his timorous body. He clenched his chest and tightly shut his eyes in anticipation.
Suddenly, Booker shouted, “Hill! Mr. Hill! Are you in here?”
Hill sighed in relief, then peeked over the counter. He said, “I'm over here, Booker. I made it.”
Booker fired a round, then explained, “I don't think we'll be getting out of this one, old friend. We're... we're surrounded. They're everywhere.” Booker fired another thunderous round, then continued, “If you're going to do this, you have to do it now. We don't have time to frolic about. I'm sorry.”
Hill shook his head and said, “Don't apologize, friend. We did our very best to fight them off. We lasted longer than most. It's quite the accomplishment. And, we'll see New Year's Day come with a bang. A bang that will eradicate these monsters once and for all. Hold them off a bit longer. I'll follow the protocol, I will execute Code Red.”
With narrowed, determined eyes, Booker nodded and said, “Quickly, Hill, quickly.”
Hill nodded, then staggered to the floor. Over the earsplitting gunshots and grotesque groans, Hill opened the emergency case and turned the laptop on. The computer booted to a livid-colored screen. The screen simply asked for a password. Hill's eyelids flickered as he delved into the deepest crevices of his mind to find the intricate password. Key-by-key, Hill typed: d0n8?b30d39U0Cw. The type box vanished
, then a 60-second timer materialized. Hill shut his eyes as he placed the emergency briefcase aside.
Hill whispered, “I'm sorry, my fellow Americans... my fellow humans... I'm so sorry for everything. Forgive me.”
Booker's excruciating cries echoed through the diner as he was quickly overrun by the vicious undead. Shattering glass and monstrous bellows reverberated over Booker's agony. Hill opened his eyes and glanced at the timer – 30 seconds. A red-eyed zombie wearing tattered rags hopped over the counter, then glared at Hill. He growled at Hill, then lunged towards him. The zombie brutally chomped into Hill's neck.
Hill grimaced from the unbearable pain, but sat in absolute silence – acceptance of the inevitable. Another zombie leaped over the counter, then chomped into Hill's forearm. As the undead gnawed on his limbs, Hill heard a peculiar sound in the kitchen – the sound of a refrigerator opening and closing. Hill shook his head as he dismissed the thought. He glanced towards the laptop as his body shuddered and his teeth chattered.
As woeful tears streamed down his blood-smeared cheeks, Hill whispered, “Goodbye...”
The timer ticked down... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1...
Day 10 - January 1 st, 2016
The Aftermath
The buzzing white noise and inconsistent clipping distorted the broadcast: “This is an emergency broadcast from your acting President, former Secretary of State Kenneth Hill. To the American... this atrocious plague, I regret to inform you: we have failed. This virus has overrun... military and medical facilities. We are a cornered animal. We are... In order to salvage the human species, we must make a painstaking sacrifice. It's not what you want to hear, but... For the future children of our species, we must annihilate this virus by any means... This is my final goodbye. Nuclear warheads will hit all major cities... You can find shelter, but it may be futile. Rest assured... the consequences of my actions. I will be duly punished. Goodbye, my fellow...”
The hissing and discordant broadcast repeated, reverberating through the razed city. The sturdy and sooty vault door squealed and howled as it flung open. The black ash and dust scattered, dancing in the air as the particles majestically settled. Marcelino Gonzalez slowly climbed out of the bunker. His head protruded from the round opening on the ground as he cautiously inspected his decimated surroundings.
In his raspy voice, Marcelino whispered, “No...”
There were molten bodies scattered around the bunker's entrance, zombies and survivors liquefied by the blistering nuclear heat. Cadavers and the sparse human survivor shambled about in the vacant streets until they disintegrated or crumbled into ash and chunks of flesh. Crackling flames and ghoulish moans echoed from beyond the visible horizon.
The neighborhood's houses were obliterated by the violent blast. The black smoke from the smoldering homes blended with the red sunlight barely seeping through the dense clouds to create a vibrant portrait of agony and destruction. The murky day was dominated by a crepitating orchestra of delicate racket, rattling over the agonizing groans and croaks whooshing with the soft breeze. The region was drenched in an achromatic gloom.
On the verge of tears, Marcelino carefully lifted himself out of the bunker and muttered, “This can't be happening. It can't be real... How... How could they do something like this? Why did they do this to us? Why?”
Marcelino stood six-one with a sturdy figure. He had curly black hair and wiry stubble on his jaw. His lustrous brown eyes glimmered with dolefulness. Blood trickled from the top of his dome, streaming down his brow and cheeks like sweat on a blazing summer day. He wore a begrimed white t-shirt with holes punctured throughout, filthy blue jeans, and scuffed black boots. He adjusted the black sling pack dangling over his shoulder as he stood from the vault.
Marcelino staggered three meters away from the bunker in the blackened backyard. A vibrant pink cloth protruded from beneath the bones and ash. Somber tears streamed from his bloodshot eyes as he trudged through the smoldering bodies. The bodies sizzled, squished, and crunched under his boots with each lumbering step. The flimsy cloth tore with ease as he pulled it from beneath the heavy sack of bones and remaining clothes.
Marcelino stood and gazed at the cloth as he whispered, “Alyssa... Alyssa, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was... I was trying, I really was...” He placed the cloth to his sooty face as he wildly sobbed. Tears trickled from his eyes and gooey mucus dribbled down his lip. He shouted, “Why didn't you run faster?! I told you to run! I told you! I told you this was going to happen! I warned you about this... I really did...”
His bellows of anguish and torment echoed through the melancholic sky, reverberating through the ruins and flattened land. He shut his eyes and inhaled deeply as he recomposed himself. He tied the cloth around his right hand, like a glove fitting over his palm – the last remnant of what once was.
Marcelino looked over his shoulder, then to his right. He hopped into the demolished home harboring the bunker. The emergency broadcast continued to play from beneath the rubble. He shuffled through the splintered wood and bits of remaining furniture until he found the cracked radio.
From the speaker, the broadcast said, “...the consequences of my actions. I will be duly punished. Goodbye, my fellow...”
As soon as the broadcast finished, Marcelino ferociously stomped on the radio. The sleek black plastic radio snapped into bits and pieces as the dilapidated floorboard rattled. Marcelino proudly marched off the leveled home, maneuvering over the debris until he found himself on the crisp front lawn.
He glanced over his shoulder towards the home as he scoffed, “Duly punished? Right, I'm sure you're not relaxing on some uncharted island, Mr. President. Some help you were...” He gazed at the falling sun to his left, then said, “I have to get out of here. I have to escape before it's too late. For myself and for Alyssa. I have to survive.”
Marcelino nodded as a newfound sense of determination surged in his damaged body. He grimaced from the physical and emotional pain swelling within as he trudged forward. Gazing into the fuliginous sky, he walked towards the sunset down the center of the cracked road. He sniffled as he swiped at the tears and blood dripping on his sullen face. His pudgy nose wrinkled from the pungent stench of chemicals, death and smoke staining the air. Yet, the calming scent of the sea lingered – a strand of hope, heaven in hell.
As he absently walked forward, Marcelino said, “I have to reach the beach...”
***
Marcelino trudged down the road, walking through the pain and destruction. Mere ruins awaited at each side of the roads. Homes and commercial buildings flattened by the nuclear explosions' ruinous effect. Vehicles of all shapes and sizes were littered on private property, flung from the streets like toy cars during the devastatingly powerful boom. Marcelino gasped and tightly gripped his bag upon spotting a wandering zombie.
Marcelino whispered, “No, no, no... Please, don't come this way... Please...”
The undead woman was nude. Small pieces of burnt cloth lingered on her petite body. Her blackened and bruised skin drooped and sagged. Her hair was mostly disintegrated, only few strands of her frizzy brunette hair protruded from her dome. Abruptly, she groaned and turned towards Marcelino.
“God...” Marcelino murmured.
The zombie's jaw was completely removed. Her tongue dangled and slobbered on her bloodied throat. Her blood-red eyes pierced through the soot. As she ran six steps towards Marcelino, a bone-crunching pop echoed through the chaos. The zombie's right leg detached at the knee as she tumbled forward. As her head collided with the ground, her neck violently snapped and her body began to disintegrate.
As he approached the perishing corpse, Marcelino said, “The threat has been neutralized. It really worked, but at what cost?” He glanced at the pink cloth wrapped around his hand and asked, “Was it really worth it? Was it really our only option? Could we have done anything else?”
Crackling flames and distant groaning dominated the air. Marcelino shrugged off his contemplation as he continued his
strenuous trek through the wreckage. As he approached the beach-side parking lot, Marcelino hopped on the remaining piece of the stone partition. The falling sun barely pierced through the dense smoke and clouds. Yet, he could see far into the endless ocean.
From afar, he could see several zombies swimming in the sea. Their monstrous groans and growling echoed over the clashing waves and rippling water. The zombies swirled and moaned in a circular motion, creating their own maelstrom of death and decay.
As he sat on the stone partition and watched the zombie-infested ocean, Marcelino nervously chuckled, then said, “These things survived and they can swim... They can actually swim. What the hell have we gotten ourselves into? Why did we let it get this far?” He shook his head and whispered, “Maybe it wasn't worth it...”
As he absorbed the eerily majestic view, Marcelino caught a glimpse of an overturned school bus floating in the ocean. Only a narrow line of yellow remained on the blackened bus. Marcelino shook his head and frowned, then hopped off the partition. He trudged through the sandy beach as he approached another demolished building. The building's walls floated in the water nearby. The white tile flooring beneath his mucky boots was covered in soot. Pieces of splintered wood and metal pillars remained. The bar's structure was dilapidated-but-recognizable.
Upon inspecting his surroundings, Marcelino nodded as he said, “I remember... This is Deborah's Beach Diner.” He nodded and said, “Great memories... Would've made more memories today if this shit didn't happen. Spending time with family, drinking beer until we vomit, setting off some fireworks, watching...”
Suddenly, Marcelino was interrupted as a man stumbled into the diner. Marcelino quickly retrieved a bloodied hammer from his bag, then cocked it over his head. The intruding man gasped and hopped back. He waved his hands like if he were waving a white flag – I come in peace!