Abby had really moved on. Some guy named Turner was a part of her life. Or at least he used to be. Things hadn't ended well between them, and it seemed Turner wasn't ready to let go. A few of the emails were pretty threatening towards both Abby and the kids. Son of a bitch, Chaz thought. If this asshole hurt them or has something to do with their disappearance, he better hope the freaks get their hands on him before I do. Chaz found three airline ticket receipts as well, from Atlanta to Lima, Peru. They were booked shortly after the threatening emails. Why the hell would Abby go to Lima, Peru? Why would anyone go to Lima, Peru? I guess anywhere is better than here when your boyfriend's a creep, the zombies are attacking, and the military blows the shit out of your home town. Lima, Peru is huge; how the hell will I find her there?
Chaz took the laptop, and headed for the front door. There was one more picture in the living room, Chaz noticed. It was a picture of the entire family, Chaz, Abby, and the kids, Caius and Shax, on a beach in Florida. Chaz picked up the picture, and stared at it for just a moment. Surprisingly, he could distinctly remember the trip. It was the last trip they took as a family before he headed out for service. The kids were so much work that trip, but they had loved every minute of it. Chaz barely recognized himself in the picture. It's like somebody else's life, he thought. Then he tossed the picture back on the table. The glass cracked, but Chaz never noticed. He was too busy heading out the door.
Into The Future
Chaz hurried down the steps of the house, and made a beeline for the Humvee. Eddie saw him coming from the front porch. He yelled inside for Edith to come out. As she did, they both walked towards Chaz, inviting him for dinner. Chaz slowed long enough to grab his keys from Eddie, but barely acknowledged them. Eddie looked to Edith. She said, "Couldn't have been good news." Eddie nodded in agreement.
Chaz jumped into the Humvee, and started it up. I need to just get the hell out of here, he thought. This was a bad idea from the beginning. I don't know what made me think I could make things better. You can't unmake the past. All you can do is live with the consequences. Coming here just brought back too many bad memories. Too many thoughts of what could have been, instead of what actually is. Before Chaz left, there was one more thing he needed to do. He backed up the Humvee a few feet, then threw it into drive and hit the gas. He went up the curb this time and around the barricade with no fear of snipers' bullets. I'm Chaz Sheperd, war hero; nobody wants to shoot war heroes. Well, at least the little old couple down the street won't. And for now, that's good enough. He raced down the street, then slammed the brakes on just before driving through Abby's front door. He jumped out of the driver's seat, and propped himself up behind the turret. At point-blank range, he wasn't going to miss a thing. He opened fire on the house. Bullets tore open the front door first, before proceeding to shatter the two big bay windows on either side. Next went the two porch lights, then the mailbox, and finally the gardens in front of the porch. Next, the three dormer windows on the second level were transformed into gaping holes. Shell casings were lying all around him by the time Chaz stopped.
Several armed people came running towards Chaz from the far end of the street. Chaz paid them no heed. Eddie and Edith were moving as quickly as possible to intercept them. Edith was calling to Chaz and waving her arms, but once again Chaz paid no heed. He again turned his attention to the house, and opened fire, this time on the six support beams that held the roof over the porch. He made short work of the beams, and the railings circling the porch. Chaz stopped firing. The porch roof creaked and sagged. Chaz could hear Eddie on his radio, calling off the people charging down the street. Edith was holding her head with both hands, looking disapprovingly back and forth between Chaz and the ruined house. No one said anything; the silence was palpable. Then, with a loud crash, the porch roof came down, followed by sections of the main roof. Abby's house looked like it belonged with the war-torn buildings downtown. Chaz looked over to the elderly couple, and said, "Sorry for the mess." From the looks on their faces, he couldn't tell if they were angry or sorry for him. He didn't care.
Chaz dropped back down into the driver's seat, backed off the lawn, and tore back down the street. He never stopped till he was well clear of Calhoun. On I-75 heading north, he stopped at the first rest area he found. Deciding it was best he kept away from people, he parked the Humvee in the most remote corner of the parking lot. The lot was pretty deserted, but he figured the more space between himself and others the better. He got out of the Humvee, and paced up and down the far perimeter of the parking lot. I really need to clear my head, he thought. Where do I go from here? The army is the wrong place for me now. They're more likely to shoot me for desertion than take me back. Abby's really left me for good. All the way to Peru? South America? I'm sure she would have gone further if she could have. With the quarantine on the Americas, it's unlikely she could have put more distance between them. So where to now? The army doesn't want me, and my family ran as far in the other direction as possible. Hang on. Maybe it wasn't me they were running from. For Christ's sake, stop being so egocentric and assuming the world revolves around you. They were probably running from that asshole of a boyfriend. Given the state of the house, and how many things they left behind, that had to be why they left. But they didn't exactly come running to me for help. They could have found me if they wanted to. Abby would have known who to contact in the military. I wonder if she even considered it? Who knows? So, where to now? South America? Some island in the middle of nowhere? Assuming I could even get past quarantine and find a place to land. There were some rumors of people making it to small, deserted Hawaiian islands. They'd hold up there for a year or so, make sure they were clean of any freak disease, then make a run for the Philippines. How hard could that be? Maybe a chance for a whole new life. I wouldn't be the first, and God knows I wouldn't miss these freaks.
Same Old Shit
Chaz was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of gunshots. He turned and looked in the direction of the shots, but saw only farmers' fields. Off in the distance, but hard to see clearly, there were some wooded areas. Chaz grabbed Private Jones' pack from the Humvee. Like the good soldier he was, Jones had packed a pair of field binoculars. Scanning the tree line, Chaz saw motion. Freaks! It was a big herd. He estimated over a hundred, with more pouring out of the woods. We couldn't go for a single day without visiting my favorite zoo animals, Chaz thought. What the hell are they up to? Looks like they're chasing something. Or someone. A hundred yards in front of the herd were two guys running and gunning. They were taking turns. One would run past the other, then stop, turn and start firing, while the other ran past him. Then the runner would start firing while the other ran ahead. The herd was closing fast.
Shit, thought Chaz. Hawaii will just have to wait. Those two aren't going to make it on their own. Time to earn that hero moniker. Chaz revved up the Humvee, and went tearing through the field. Mud flew from the tires and covered the Humvee. Thanks to his two elderly sniper friends and flying mud, Chaz found visibility difficult. The two humans were losing a war of attrition with the advancing herd. The shooter couldn't knock enough of the freaks down fast enough. Neither one of them could aim worth a damn. They weren't going to make it at this rate.
Chaz sounded the horn to draw their attention. The men were moving as fast as they could from the herd, but away from Chaz. Once they heard the horn and saw the Humvee, they changed direction, and started drawing the herd towards Chaz. The herd gained ground on the men, but Chaz gained even faster on the herd. Impaired visibility caused Chaz to narrowly miss hitting one of the men, but he still managed to place himself between them and the herd. The Humvee took a few errant bullets. Chaz quickly manned the turret and opened fire. Both men ducked behind the Humvee and resumed firing.
The herd thinned quickly, but more kept coming. With Chaz's help, the tide was starting to turn. The carnage of freaks was piling up. They were advancing slower, hampered by having to climb over the bodies of their dead vanguard. Ju
st then, Chaz's gun began sputtering. He stopped firing, and checked the belt of bullets feeding from the hopper. He adjusted it to make sure things were aligned. The herd got closer. Chaz started firing again. The gun partly, then totally jammed. Chaz pulled the belt of bullets out, and found a new one. By the time he got the second belt loaded, the herd had come dangerously close. If those two idiots had better aim, thought Chaz, this would be over. Chaz pulled the trigger, and the turret fell silent. Nothing fired. "Shit! Looks like I'm gonna have to finish this the old-fashioned way."
Chaz dropped back in the Humvee and grabbed his semi-automatic. He popped back up behind the turret, and opened fire. For every three freaks that Chaz dropped, his two comrades were lucky to get one. The herd would have been cleared by now if the turret had continued to function. Chaz was grateful he'd left the engine running. If those two misfits couldn't hold their ground, he still had an exit.
Fortunately for the two men on the ground, that never happened. It took longer than it should have, but eventually, the herd was down to a half dozen very slow freaks. Chaz stopped firing, and exited the vehicle. The other two kept firing, and missing. "Stop firing!" Chaz ordered.
"They're still coming at us," one of the men replied, and kept firing. The second man stopped and lowered his weapon.
Chaz walked towards the man still firing, the shorter of the two. In the time it took Chaz to walk over and yank his weapon from him, not a single freak fell.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing! They're still coming."
Chaz towered over the brown-haired boy. "And they're going to keep coming if we have to wait for you to take them out. This the first time you've ever fired a weapon, kid?"
"Gimme that back, I know what I'm doing," he snarled, reaching to grab the weapon out of Chaz's hand.
Chaz delivered an open-palmed blow to his chest, knocking him into the mud. "I believe what you meant to say was, ‘thanks for saving me and my buddy here. Those freaks would have made appetizers out of us if you hadn't showed up, mister.'" Chaz smiled.
The kid didn't reply. Chaz looked over at the other guy. "What's your name, kid?"
"I'm Alex. My buddy down there is Brock."
"I didn't ask you his name," Chaz said, looking down at Brock. "What were you two trying to do exactly?"
Brock looked down, and spoke quickly. "I was with a unit from Atlanta, making our way north. I got separated from the group during a skirmish with another herd. That was a few days ago. I think my unit headed back to Atlanta. I helped get Brock out of a tight fix with a small group of freaks earlier, and he offered to help me find my unit."
Chaz looked down again at Brock, and offered him a hand up. Brock refused, and pulled himself back up. "So, Brock, looks like you've had to be rescued twice in the last few days. You're quite the victim. How about I give you a lesson in killing freaks?"
"I can take care of myself," Brock blurted out while dusting himself off.
"Perfect, then, let's see you take care of the stragglers here." Chaz motioned to the remaining freaks still climbing over bodies. "Alex, you stay here and watch the truck. Wouldn't want anyone to sneak up on us and steal our ride. Let's go, Brock. You lead the way."
While Brock headed towards the remaining freaks, Chaz reached into Jones' pack, and found his bayonet. He clipped it onto the end of his semi-automatic and marched through the mud, following Brock. The remaining freaks were either old, feeble, or injured. No wonder they were bringing up the rear of the herd. Brock open fire on the closest freak. One shot to the shoulder, and one shot into its chest. The freak kept advancing. Frantically, Brock fired another into its throat. He fired again, but totally missed the target and hit another freak instead. The second freak's head shattered, but the first was within a few feet of Brock. "Nice shot, kid," Chaz remarked. "Let's see ya actually do that on purpose before this fella rips your throat out. I think he might be close enough now."
Brock closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger once more, just beyond the freak's reach. The bullet ripped through its right eyeball and dropped it in its tracks.
"Great job, kid. You're two for two. Only four more of these bastards to go."
Brock didn't respond. "What's the matter there, Brock? Freaks got your tongue? They will soon if you don't hurry." Brock still didn't respond, but instead lowered his weapon. Chaz walked around to the front of Brock. Brock just stared blankly past him. He was pale as a ghost, and muttering unintelligibly. "Jesus. Looks like I'm going to have to finish this party off on my own."
Chaz calmly walked to each of the remaining freaks, and put his bayonet to good use. He slid the blade up under the chin of the first. The blade jammed on the lower mandible, but a few good yanks dislodged it. The second took it through one ear, and out the other. Chaz dodged the third freak's slow and feeble attempt to go for his throat, then cleanly decapitated it. The final one he dropped by slicing its Achilles and crushing its skull with his rifle butt. Turning to a still catatonic Brock, Chaz explained, "And that, son, is how you kill freaks."
Heat Of The Battle
After scraping the brain and skull fragments off the bayonet with his boot, Chaz headed back towards the Humvee. As he opened the driver's door, the engine sputtered, then stalled.
"What the hell?"
Chaz tried restarting it. The engine turned, but never started. Several more tries got the same results. Surveying the instrument panel, he realized he was out of gas. That makes no sense, he thought. I had plenty of gas. Walking around the side of the vehicle, he saw a few bullet holes near the gas cap. Kneeling and checking the ground under the gas tank confirmed his suspicions.
"Alright, which one of you jackasses managed to miss every freak, but still hit my gas tank?"
No one answered. Chaz just shook his head. He stuffed medical supplies and weapons into his pack. He headed for the small highway just past the woods.
"Get your asses out of the muck and move it, boys! You don't want to be sitting on your butts when more of those freaks show up."
Chaz's voice startled Alex as if from a dream. Picking up his rifle, he looked around for Brock. He spotted him pacing back and forth between the bodies, recklessly waving his semi-automatic around. Alex walked towards him. Every once in a while Brock would stop, mumble something incoherent, then fire a few rounds into a corpse. The corpses' only responses were to leak a few bodily fluids, and splatter what remaining body organs and bone fragments they had left back at him. Alex stopped and waited.
From the distance, Chaz lost patience, swung his pack onto his back and headed for the highway.
Brock's semi finally clicked empty. Undeterred, he kept pacing, firing. Sighing, Alex walked up to Brock, and grabbed his arm to stop him. Brock recoiled and swung at Alex with the butt of his semi, narrowly missing Alex's face.
"Shit, sorry Alex," Brock whispered. "I thought you were one of them. Is that bastard gone yet?"
Alex tilted his head in Chaz's direction. "Not yet. I think we should follow him. We'd both be vulture feed in this field if it wasn't for him."
"Yeah, I know. He's still an ass. Someone needs to teach him some manners."
Half smiling, Alex handed Brock some ammo, and said, "C'mon, we gotta pick up the pace if we're gonna catch up and give your newest friend another chance to save your sorry ass. Don't forget to reload."
"I'm not sure. I don't trust him."
"Neither do I right now, but at the moment, he's our best bet for staying alive. He might even be able to help us get the package delivered."
"I wouldn't say anything about that, Alex. Not till we've found out more about him."
"Agreed."
They both grabbed their gear and headed towards Chaz in a haphazard path, avoiding the corpses. Most were recently human, and getting too close meant risking infection or worse, recognizing someone you knew. The road would be a much easier hike than slogging through this farmer's field turned graveyard.
A few hundred yards down the highway, but still a distance
from Chaz, Alex yelled up, "Where exactly did you say you were heading, Colonel?"
Chaz didn't answer. Alex didn't really expect him to, he just wanted to make sure Chaz heard them catching up.
Alex looked at Brock "It's never good to sneak up on anyone that's well armed these days. Unless, of course, you intend to whack them before they whack you."
"And you just assume that I have no intention of whacking our fearless new leader?" Brock smirked.
"You're all talk, buddy, but I understand. It's not like he makes a great first impression."
"Yeah, no kidding. I know I may be green at this, but it's not like I've never shot anything before."
"Hmmm ... hunting squirrels and possums is a little different than killing freaks. These buggers don't know enough to lie down when they're hit, and squirrels won't eat your brains."
"I remember squirrel hunting with my dad. I kinda miss that."
"Yeah, me too."
Quickly walking in silence caught them up to Chaz. "About time you slackers caught up," Chaz muttered.
"Just making sure the flank was covered, sir," replied Alex. "More than happy to have you take point."
"If sarcasm were an offense, I'd have you court-martialed for that attitude."
"Yes, sir ... sorry, sir. So where exactly are we heading again?"
"North," replied Chaz.
"Yes, sir, I know that, just wondering if you had some sort of final destination in mind?"
Endings: Dystopian Post Apocalyptic Zombie Thriller (Parables From The Apocalypse Book 1) Page 4