The End: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller

by P. A. Douglas

  5

  Foster set the cart’s handle down as he opened the door to the outside. Nothing presented itself as an immediate threat—just as he had hoped. He couldn’t see the lab from the door, but knew it wasn’t too far away. “We’re good to go.”

  One thing they did have on their side was the dark. Foster and the others quietly crept through the night shrouded in darkness. In the distance, the sound of waging war carried on. Firepower had diminished, and screams and cries of unrelenting agony floated in the mix.

  Clay said, “The guns sound closer. The firing line is in retreat.” He pushed the back of the cart while Foster pulled and steered.

  Shots rose from the roof of a nearby building.

  “We’re almost there,” Foster said. “It’s the next building over—we just have to cross the parking lot.”

  With renewed vigor, Foster and Clay had the cart rolling faster.

  Gibbs and Billy kept silent as they followed.

  Foster looked back at Clay and saw the chopper was a little ways off to their left. Two figures left the rear of the chopper and jogged their way. They closed the distance by the time Foster and crew made it to the lab entrance.

  “The bird’s filled. We’re ready,” Watts said and heaved for breath.

  George rested his hands on his thighs and fought to catch air.

  “We need to get to medical. He’s lost enough blood. Let’s move,” Foster said.

  Watts opened the door, and the race was on down the hall.

  Gus was in a bad way. Blood trailed behind the cart, evident now in the hall’s light. Though he had been unconscious since they left the hanger, he opened his eyes and let out a ferocious cough.

  “You do realize there are other people here that can fly a helicopter, right?” Watts said.

  “He’s right,” Clay agreed. “We can’t just leave the bird unattended. Someone might highjack it from us.”

  Foster slowed to a halt and looked around. Looking down at Gus then back up at Gibbs, his blank stare told everyone he didn’t know what to do.

  Before he could say anything, Gibbs said, “No. I refuse to leave him here, Rob. I can save him. I know I can. It will just take some time.”

  “What kind of time?”

  “I’m not leaving him Rob, and that’s that,” she said.

  Foster thought a moment, and said to Watts, “Go back to the bird. Can you drop it on the roof of the building?”

  “Yeah, sure thing!”

  “You’ll wait for us, won’t you?” Foster asked.

  A moment of silence passed between them, Foster locking gazes with Watts. “Can I count on you?”

  “Yes… yes you can count on me. What is it with you people not trusting me? I’m a soldier, for Christ’s sake.”

  “You cheat at poker,” Clay said.

  “Well, fuck me,” Watts said and raised his upper lip. “This is life and death, man. It ain’t the same.”

  “Okay, go. And don’t let anyone take our bird for anything.” Foster nodded to Watts.

  He turned and headed back out the lab.

  “Do you think he’s going to wait for us?” George asked.

  “I sure as hell hope so,” Foster said.

  Foster and Clay had Gus rolling again, and after a few turns down the hall, they came to the med center and dashed into the first operating room.

  “Put him over there. Get the light,” Gibbs said as she ran to the sink and started washing her hands.

  George turned on the light. Looking around the white room, he realized that it was just him and Billy now. Cynthia was gone, Seth too, Eric had turned, and Kent—it was awful what happened to him. George stood there thinking of everyone and everything he had lost in such a short period of time. His mind raced with the incident in the bus on the way to the base and how that poor girl died after Willy jumped her unexpectedly. And Tyler, what had happened to Tyler? What was going to happen to them now? He had a bad feeling in his gut, and it was telling him the worst wasn’t quite over yet.

  “Give us a hand!” Foster called out.

  George snapped out of it, stepping over to help get Gus up on the operating table. On the count of three, the three men heaved the nearly three-hundred-pound man onto the metal table in the center of the room.

  “I need you to cut his shirt off and loosen his belt straps,” Gibbs said as she frantically gathered supplies. “As long as his lung isn’t punctured and he didn’t take a vital hit, he’ll be fine. We just need to stop the bleeding and remove any fragments.”

  After removing the shirt and loosening the belt like Gibbs had asked, Foster stood back taking in the room for the first time. He hadn’t noticed it at first because it was dark and Gus was bleeding out pretty bad, but the tile floor had a thick trail leading to the door that couldn’t have been that of the man currently laid up on the table. This blood was dried and clotted. It looked as if it had been in that spot for at least a few hours by now. Looking up and following the darker trail of blood that led past the backside of the table, Foster’s eyes fell upon Professor Taft. The zombie had eaten both forearms and had broken free of his bonds. Foster instantly retrieved his 9mm from its holster and aimed it at the zombie’s head.

  Clay started, “No, don’t. The noise might draw attent—”

  Foster pulled the trigger.

  Taking the round in the side of the head, Taft’s rot infested remains went limp. The bullet exited the opposite end, embedding itself into the wall, spraying it with blood and gray sludge. Taft was no more.

  “You were saying?” Foster said.

  “Nothing.”

  Gibbs stood over Gus now, laying out several surgical instruments at her side. Already wearing a paper face mask and surgical gloves, she leaned over the big man, taking a closer look at his wound. “We’re going to start by removing the easy ones first. None of the hits were critical. Hopefully, they aren’t too deep either.”

  “How long is this going to take?” Foster asked. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “I’m going to move a quick as I can and not kill him,” Gibbs said.

  “I need the two of you to lather up and rinse off. Gloves are in the box next to the sink, and masks are in the cabinet above that. I’m going to clean the entry wounds and then we are going to begin,” Gibbs said.

  As Foster and Clay stood over the unconscious Gus, they watched as the first of several small incisions cut away at parts of the big man’s shoulder. Gus’ breathing increased, suggesting that he felt every inch of pain that Gibbs inflicted with her surgical instruments.

  6

  General Baker leaned back in his leather chair with both legs kicked up on his expensive desk. Baker enjoyed the finer things in life. With a cigar in hand and smoke trailing from his mouth, Baker then brought the fresh glass of scotch to his lips. He had downed several already, and reflected for a moment on memories of the good old days. The pictures on the wall stole him from the present and brought him back in time, away from the undead cannibals threatening to overrun the base.

  The two other commanding officers that had joined him lay dead on the floor. Baker drew his pistol and killed them both after they entered his office. He wasn’t in the mood to play any more games. The two men didn’t even see it coming. The first soldier took a shot to the head right between the eyes, and before he fell to the ground leaving the other officer to react, he too fell to the same fate.

  Baker took a deep breath and pulled from his reverie. He rose from his chair and sauntered to the window, the scotch still in hand. “Won’t be long now.” He’d be safe in the building until tomorrow when a chopper would arrive and take him away.

  The bulk of the horde had gotten past the firing line and at this point was just about everywhere on the base. Every man for himself. Soldiers ran in every direction. Zombies were everywhere. Dozens of ghouls poured into the hanger.

  Men and women lay helplessly entangled in the massively growing crowd of undead. Baker couldn’t hear
the violence from the safety and seclusion of his office, but he imagined it. Watched as his soldiers fell victim to agony. He imagined their final pleas for help but didn’t let that weaken his command. Orders were orders. Whether everyone died from the undead or from bombs, in the end, the results were the same.

  The handset radio on his desk popped with static and then Jesse Watts’ voice. The chopper pilot confirmed he had landed the bird on the roof. First Class Lieutenant Rob Foster answered back.

  7

  “Roger that, over.”

  “Wrapping things up now. It might be a little slow going getting Gus up to the roof. Be ready to meet us at the staircase when I call. Over.”

  Foster handed back the radio handset to Clay. He was happy Watts didn’t leave without them. “Looks like we’re good to go.”

  Gibbs was wrapping things up, and Gus was actually conscious. Everyone was surprised by this, considering what the man’s body had endured. He was definitely in no condition to be walking across the building, let alone up a flight of steps to the roof. Luckily, the bullets hadn’t found any major organs or veins as Gibbs had feared from first glance. Still, he had lost enough blood to make him weak. He was pale and his eyes were dark. With roughly thirty fresh stitches, it was nothing less of a miracle that the man was even as alert as he was.

  Sitting up now, Gus held one hand to his shoulder and the other to his side. “How… how did I—?”

  “Save your strength,” Gibbs said and patted his back. “You’ve been shot, several times. Can you stand?”

  Gus tried to inch his way off the table. “Ohhh… I’m not too sure.”

  “We need to move, Gus. There’s no time,” Foster said.

  “Just give him a minute,” Gibbs said.

  Gus reached down for his hip, the sidearm missing. “I… I feel like Hell warmed over.”

  “When we get out of here, you can rest. You’ll recover just fine. We almost lost you there,” Gibbs smiled turning from the sink. “Here, take these. This should help the pain a bit.”

  Gus took the pills and shoved them into his mouth. He grimaced as the pills went down dry.

  “I need you to try and stand on your feet again,” Gibbs said.

  Gus reluctantly inched forward sliding slowly from the table to the white tile floor. Legs loose and wobbly, he managed to find his footing.

  His shoulder and a portion of his chest were bandaged up hindering mobility. Two small splotches of blood had soaked through the bandages. His lower torso was covered in taped bandages and soaked blood.

  Clay stepped up with Gus’ shirt in hand, motioning for the brute to lift both arms in the air. It was no easy feat, but he did it nonetheless.

  Foster reached for the door. “You guys ready?” No one protested, so he opened the door.

  The hallway was clear and quiet. With Foster in the lead, pistol drawn and at the ready, the others followed.

  Gibbs led Billy by the hand.

  In the rear, Gus staggered along slowly shuffling his feet one after the other. George and Clay were to either side under each arm, supporting as much of Gus’ weight as they could. Gus moved slowly and so far had only taken a few steps from the doorway out into the hall.

  Foster became aware and kept pace of their slowest soldier.

  They pressed forward down the hall toward the corner leading toward the front entrance’s doors. The elevator leading to the top floor was near the main entrance.

  Foster stopped dead in his tracks next to the bathrooms, not far from their goal “Shh…” he said turning to face everyone with his hand in the air. “Did you hear that?”

  Everyone froze.

  “What?” Gibbs whispered.

  “I thought I heard something,” Foster said.

  A shadow bounded off of the floor ahead of them. Someone or something was moving up the hall. It edged around the corner.

  The zombie crept into view heading straight for Foster and the others. With arms stretched out, the young lab assistant still dressed in his white lab coat and khaki pants shambled into view. He was covered in blood from an open wound on his neck and both outstretched arms. With teeth wide and eyes fogged over in a grayish milky-white mist, the reanimated Stately Christopher inched forward moaning uncontrollably.

  The group took Foster’s lead backing up a few slow steady steps as it inched closer.

  “Shoot him already!” Clay said.

  As Foster raised his weapon and sighted the creature for a solid headshot, the door to the bathroom flung open.

  Before anyone could react, a short and heavy creature spilled out, falling on Gus and the two men holding him to his feet. Gus fell backward from the unexpected impact. Gus’ fall was broken by Clay, who got buried in the mess of bodies at the bottom. The impact happened so quick that it jarred his M-4 free. It bounced along the floor, skidding away from him as he fell on his back, Gus on top of him.

  Gibbs yelled, “Benton!”

  George screamed as the overpowering weight of the dead man crushed him, pinning him to the floor. George’s head slammed against the tile upon impact.

  Foster froze for a moment trading glances between the zombie digging its teeth into George’s chest and the one blocking their path ahead.

  Clay still pinned, struggled under Gus’ weight to break free.

  Gus was trying to roll on his side, clearly in pain.

  Gibbs wrapped her arms around Billy—trying to shield him with her body.

  Benton lay on top of George, devouring a large chunk of the man’s now open chest. Initially sinking its teeth into shirt and skin, the zombie quickly worked to expose several ribs. Ripping past skin with its germ infested jaw, the reanimated Benton gulped down a meaty chunk of flesh. Blood covered the fat creature’s lips and hands as it smacked down on the fresh morsels of red and white blood-soaked meat.

  George lay still, a quick growing puddle of blood forming around his body on the floor. The creature reared its head once more pulling up another chunk. George had taken his last breath.

  Clay was finally free, jumping to his feet with the M-4 in hand. He squeezed off several rounds into the fat corpse’s back as it feasted on George. Holes popped splashing blood and goo over the white coated back. One bullet found the head and blew blood and grey matter against the bathroom door.

  Foster sent one single shot from his pistol into the creeping ghoul that stood before him blocking their path. The shot hit dead center between the eyes. The creature fell limp to the floor.

  “Fuck, me…” Clay said throwing the rifle around his shoulder and doing what he could to help Gus to his feet.

  Gibbs stepped up and tried to help.

  Billy’s head hung low, gazing at George.

  “Billy, don’t look. George is gone now. We need to leave. Follow Rob down the hall. I’m helping Gus. Be a little man and lead the way for us,” Gibbs said.

  Billy pulled back a blank stare and then turned toward the hall, running toward Foster.

  Foster inched steadily toward the hallway corner to peek around. “Let’s move, it’s clear.” He turned around the corner, weapon at the ready. This time in a dash, he left the group behind, checking for surprises of any kind. With quiet but brisk steps, Foster opened every door along the way to find each of them empty.

  As the others finally rounded the corner, they slowly inched forward eventually meeting Foster at the elevator.

  Foster pulled out the radio, and said, “Watts, we’re coming up.” He pushed a button and the crew found sanctuary inside the elevator. Another push of a button sent them headed to the top.

  When the doors opened, Watts was waiting for them, the stairs leading to the roof right behind him.

  “Uh… George… I guess he didn’t make it,” Watts said.

  “No, but we still have time. Lead the way. I’m going to help with Gus,” Foster said.

  “You up for this, big man?” Clay asked as Foster traded places with Gibbs.

  Gus simply nodded.

&nb
sp; Gus made a steady climb up the steps. Well ahead of them and already at the top, Watts watched as Gibbs and Billy went through first. The light breeze and sound from the winding helicopter propellers outside reverberated down the stairwell.

  Gibbs followed Billy toward the chopper. Watts waited for the three to pass through the door onto the roof before he bolted for the chopper.

  As Watts put his hand on the chopper’s door, a voice called from behind:

  “Leaving so soon?” General Baker said, his pistol pointed at Foster. “I trusted you, Lieutenant. How could you have betrayed me with treason?” the General shouted.

  Below them, all around the building, chaos was in full swing. Zombies gave chase as soldiers ran, fired, hid, or got eaten alive. The base was overrun.

  Foster and Clay maneuvered Gus around to face Baker.

  “How could you?” Baker shouted.

  Foster momentarily locked gazes with Clay, who was gesturing with closed lips and wide eyes for him to speak the hell up.

  From the helicopter entrance, Gibbs had her arms locked around Billy as they looked on in disbelief.

  “I see you rescued my detainees, Lieutenant. Now why would you go and do something like that? You do realize that she is the cause of all of this? She let them in. She knew that one of those kids was infected, and she let them roam free on our base unattended. It’s because of her, Foster.”

  Foster looked back at Gibbs.

  “That’s right,” the General continued. “Your precious little girlfriend is a traitor, a spy. Now look at what has happened!” The General motioned with his weapon to the carnage that surrounded them.

  From the rooftop, the ground showed a wasteland of disease and festering decay. With the courtyard in plain view from up top, Baker motioned below. Zombies feasted rampantly.

  Foster said, “No offense, sir. But, fuck you!”

  Clay shook his head, and said, “Well, it looks like my two years are finally up.”

  Foster continued, “And the higher ups, sir? Are they aware of what you’ve done here?” He stepped away from Gus, giving a furtive wink to Clay.