Way of the Undead
Michael Boggess
Chapters: Way Of The Undead
Mountain town
The Storm
Zombie Soldier
The news
Outbreak on the bank
Haunted house
suits
outpost
dark halls
the escape
museum of madness
the garage
superhuman
the bite
sanctity
the pursuit
safety and security
a madman
last act of kindness
the miracle
a new man
mastery
the breakout
answers
a powerful stranger
traitor
millionaires row
survivors
the ambush
no chance
a new sheriff
final fight
the way of the undead
Michael Boggess lives in Tennessee. He enjoys sports, writing, and spending time with family.
Copyright © 2013 Michael Boggess
All rights reserved.
Chapter 1Way of the undead
Zombies began to scramble, hurriedly reaching their ragged and decaying arms and bloody dagger-like fingers well into the night sky. From high-above within the darkness an unknown aircraft was on approach. The moon’s glow was casted slightly over town, illuminating the rough cracks in the damp cement. And through the streets, a cold gust of wind swept through the valley—carrying with it the foulest stench imaginable. From the Sergeant’s vantage point well above the treetops, little could be made of the town’s existence, somehow he knew it was there. The many experiments to help create “The Perfect Soldier,” likewise, had left his mind troubled. From inside the worn cockpit of a stolen UH-60 Black Hawk, Sergeant Haddock was becoming more familiar with the controls, and navigating by use of its many semi-lit gauges. The helicopter by way of the throttle cut a path around the mountaintop: its propellers carried it over to a clearing. The moon was shining bright and reflected off the frosted over cockpit window. The loud rumble of the engine from high-above was no doubt drawing unwanted attention. The massive horde of zombies waited below. Even of a night, the Sergeant could tell he was somewhere over Tennessee, not very far from Fort Stewart, but where exactly?
Only an hour had passed since the evacuation. It was there that the fences around the military base had started to give way to the slow-moving but vicious horde of undead that had begun to accumulate and clamber beyond the gate. After having ditched the aircraft, and atop safe ground, Sergeant Haddock unfastened his parachute and readied his rifle. He then placed his two handguns securely into their holster. The helicopter was off in the ravine somewhere, burnt to a crisp, charred, and still smoking, but it was soon to be off anyone followings radar. Standing atop a rock-covered cliff, of a night, the town seemed far worse a place to be stranded then any war zone he’d ever encountered. Fire and debris could be seen raging off in the distance, and the territory was unfamiliar.
In the beginning, before the invasion, Gatlinburg was the place to be. The last time Chase Jennings had arrived to go kayaking, the mountains surrounding the valley, delicately cradling the peaceful little town was still lush with green vegetation. As a famous reporter, not enough could be said about a whole town whose purpose was to entertain: a once peaceful community whose purpose was to draw tourists.
Chase had heeded the warnings; unlike most people he readily avoided the water and the mystery surrounding it. Close attention was even paid to rumors of a group of suits in black going around covering it all up (knowledge not easily accessible to anyone outside of his line of work). Word of the twenty-four hour virus that had spread was enough to make anyone want to stay on their toes. It had been two days since the last member of his group had died. Chase was now held up on the dark third story of a high-rise hotel overlooking Gatlinburg. Chaos and destruction could be seen just beyond the thick, dark haze of a somewhat smoldering fire that had been set ablaze only a night prior. The cause of the explosion was unknown, nothing more could be witnessed from his location next to many tall stores, souvenir shops, and buildings occupying main street. Aside from slow-moving zombies, the street was littered with stalled, wrecked automobiles and various other amounts of cumulative debris.
The bite wound on his hand was now festering. In fact, his whole arm had begun to turn blue with a tinge of green as a result. He just knew he was dying. No food or water. The hotel had no working power, which meant no heat. He was now starting to see his own breath. Zombies were undoubtedly lurking on the other side of the door. Since the breach was discovered, allowing hundreds of zombies to enter into the hotel, everyone had perished. Chase was a lone survivor; everyone that had been in his group was already dead. To Chase, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. In his estimation, giving the amount of time that has passed since the outbreak, the zombies outnumbered everyone (5000/1). They could be hiding anywhere, popping out from behind any locked door; they could attack from around any corner throughout the hotel. Contrary to earlier reports the hotel in town was anything but safe. Countless lives were lost securing the lobby alone towards the start of the outbreak. Most took refuge at the beginning: some having rooms already booked up for the week while others began to take refuge inside from off the jam-packed streets.
Chase combed his hair to the side before readjusting his scuffed glasses. From the looks of the vicious crowd of zombies wandering below, the town of Gatlinburg was just too far gone. Seeing how the outbreak originally started in the nearby city, the response to fight was fairly quick. The National Guard hadn’t been back since that first trip. The whole fight had immediately been chalked up as a lost cause. From the hotel roof, only blocks away, once the dead had begun to rise, hundreds of police in riot gear had been heard putting forth a losing effort.
On the other side of the door, a couple of viscous walking corpses undoubtedly were still there, waiting, somehow remembering his location. But how could they retain that amount of knowledge? Before the zombies were aware of his location, no one occupied the dim hall. After Miller had died, and Chase narrowly made it back in, zombies could be heard every so often brushing by the door of room 333, often giving it a good scrape or claw till their fingertips were skinned to the bone. The television began to rattle, slightly shaking along with the large wooden cabinet it was resting on. They were back, scraping and clawing at the barricaded off door. It had been hours since they had seen anyone enter. On the other side, they could be heard, growing in numbers, perhaps even alerting one another: gesturing, motioning, or giving off a vibe that food was near. It seemed that they seldom forgot. For hours it had been like clockwork. The door had undoubtedly taken a lot of abuse. With the exception of a few times, rarely one could hear the zombies knocking, and beating at the wrong door. More times than not, after what seemed to be a brief moment of wandering, they somehow would find their way back to room 333.
They seemed quite intent to get in this time, more violently than before. Chase couldn’t get them off of his mind, their appearances sickened: they were dripping, nasty and deformed, bloody, mangled, and bruised. No one could survive those types of injuries. A whole group now stood in wait. Outside of the hotel, the cold did little to deter the thousand or so zombies lurking about. Town, like the many zombies who were now occupying it was dead. From the mountains above, gravity had taken its toll. And for the town forged between two mountains, the dead found it quite easy to call Gatlinburg’s position in the valley home.
Months before the outbreak, around the start of October, Gatlinburg was just like any oth
er small town, safe and happy. Little did anyone know what was to come? Young Mark Smith, aside from being the son of a local park ranger, he was known as a hard working college student, a tall and athletic young man of twenty-two years of age with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. He was most laughably the kid that could carry a tan year round. Often, Mark would hit the weights, just to stay in shape. Growing up near the mountains and visiting all of the nearby stores and attractions, along with camping out in the lush wilderness would hardly ever get old. Mark and his friends would ride jet skis down by the lake until sundown. In conclusion of warm summer days, hours would be spent at the arcades and go-cart tracks.
Asleep, terrified screams echoed louder throughout Mark’s room. “They’re coming for you!”
As Mark awoke in a cold sweat to horrific screams of agonizing terror, he looked around with a dazed glare in his eye trying to regain a sense of his surroundings. A zombie movie, which he’d watched countless times was on. Still a little shaken, the time was three o’clock. It was dark out; hours had passed since staying up late studying.
Mark quickly cut off the television and stared around in the dark, his heart beat heavily with his pulse pounding. To be awoke in such a manner, compounded by the fact that he was up all night studying had got his mind racing.
“Damn it!” he shouted out into the darkness of his room, angered.
Continuing to lie about in bed, trying to fall back asleep, thoughts of school and thoughts of Stephanie, the girl he’s liked for the past year was beginning to weigh heavy. The big test was just a couple of days away. Although it wasn’t a mid-term, it sure felt important. Trying to maintain a high grade-point-average was something to always strive to for, especially since the competition to enter into the nursing program was something fierce. Only the top students got accepted. And a lot had contributed to the stress over the past few years, like having over forty hours of college credit out of the way, as well as having the majority of classes finished that were required to become eligible. Mark couldn’t even remember the last time he was able to just relax.
Thanks to the brisk, cold morning air, Mark was now fully awake and ready for class. As he stepped from his truck, clutching his schoolbag before hoisting one strap onto his shoulder, he began to walk down the thick, grayly colored stone walkway towards his class. Mark began to kick aside pieces of wood mulch that somehow had found their way onto the walkway from the flowerbeds. Mark was sure beginning to enjoy the not-too-hot and not-too-cold weather of early October. Walking down the narrow walk into his science lab, he was still kind of in a daze from having worked all weekend on the Baylor shift. To work thirty-two hours over two days would leave anyone drained, mentally and physically. But as much as it lingered, the weekend was over and now it was time to get back to his studies. Being an orderly in a nursing home was good work, and one could make a great living at it, but it was definitely not something he wanted to get stuck doing any longer than he had to. As Mark walked along the path towards the science lab, he took one final look around: enjoying the beauty of the shade trees and finely trimmed shrubbery as well as the many beautiful yellow and white flowers that the groundskeeper had undoubtedly worked so hard on to keep looking nice and appealing for all the students and faculty.
“What took you so long?” Stephanie asked, given a slight grin and wide-eyed embrace.
As far as hugs go, it was a hug that spoke volumes about their relationship: it was a quick hug, but one that was all Mark’s own.
“Hey sweetie!”
Stephanie Adams was beautiful! She was all that Mark had ever wanted. Gorgeous, with long curly blonde hair and big brown eyes: eyes that Mark just couldn’t get enough of. He could get lost in them. On this day, she had decided to wear her black tank top and blue jeans that Mark seemed to almost always drool over. She was also wearing her gold-heart pendent—the one piece of jewelry that had been given to her as a gift the last Valentine’s Day.
“Are you okay?” She asked.
“Yeah… I’m fine. Just a little tired from working all weekend and studying all night.”
“The medical field can be quite overwhelming” she said, recalling how often his work and studying had kept them apart.
Stephanie took Mark by the hand; she looked deeply into his eyes. “I got the job at the Haunted Mansion.”
“Wow... that’s awesome! I’ll have to come see you in action. You’re so lucky.”
“When do you start?” Mark asked.
“Wednesday night.”
Mark could tell that she was kind of nervous—just like anyone would be starting a new job.
“I got class in five minutes,” Mark said. “I can call you later.”
After a quick kiss goodbye, they each went their separate way. Monday night lecture was not a time for rest and relaxation. It was definitely not a time to slack off either. Too much to learn and what felt like too little of time to do it. As far as school went, Micro-biology on Monday, and also Micro-lab on Wednesday were surprisingly two of Mark’s favorite classes. Professor McClellan was one of Mark’s all-time favorite instructors—by far. The Professor had a way of making learning about such things as bacteria, viruses, and fungi, seem interesting. The whole disease process, and the study of Epidemiology (an individual similar to a medical detective) to Mark, this was interesting. In his own right, Professor McClellan, besides teaching was considered one of the country’s leading Epidemiologists and had been called in by government officials on numerous occasions to try and investigate such diseases as the Bird flu, Tuberculosis, and also outbreaks of E-coli.
The Professor had talked on numerous occasions about his work outside of teaching and on the hazards of viruses being able to mutate into incurable forms such as nothing seen to date. HIV and AIDS are one such virus that has plagued mankind and has no known cure. Professor McClellan had often warned over the years of impending danger from diseases that will one day arise from a mutation and possibly wipe out the human race. The Professor would talk of all the new drug resistant strains of bacteria, and even of how he thought that in the near future human beings quite possibly could learn to genetically manipulate viruses, if even to make humans nearly superhuman. On separate occasions, the Professor had taught that by manipulating certain viruses then inserting them into the human body, one day, doctors could cause the virus to integrate itself into the hosts cells—over-stimulating the production of chemicals and certain hormones. Such an interaction would change someone’s genome completely, and the Professor often taught that this would not be out of the realm of the ordinary; thus, giving superhuman powers: powers such as enhanced strength, stamina, sight, hearing, and that of smell, intelligence, or even possibly immortality. All of which, to Mark, sounds right out of the pages of a comic-book.
During some of the Professor’s less intense lectures, he had said, “Be afraid of the ever-changing viruses of the world. By mutating… one could take complete control of its host, quite possibly creating what we movie buffs like to call, a zombie.”
Upon arriving at class, it was evident that Steven was deeply involved in a political debate with another classmate, talking about whether we as human beings should have the right to genetically engineer foods, animals, or even people. Having a seat at the small wooden table, Mark couldn’t help but laugh as the debate delved into this week’s chapter. The fight was whether or not cloning is ethical.
Mark interrupted, “Listen, we as people need to do what would be the most beneficial for all. We need to attempt to better the world. Alternative fuel and energy sources…way’s to produce huge affordable quantities of food would benefit society as a whole. Way’s to cure incurable diseases and way’s to better a human being by genetic engineering seems kind of cool,” Mark said, taking out his notebook.
“Alright everyone let’s have a seat,” a well-articulate and well-defined voice called out from the front of the classroom.
Professor McClellan was on time as usual with his briefcase in
one hand, holding a coffee mug in the other while wearing his typical brownish argyle sports coat with high collar and dark tie. The scruffy headed professor, with his well-groomed yet scruffy beard was a very well-respected doctor in the medical field, who’d found his calling as a professor giving him a full paycheck with only the part-time work of teaching at a somewhat Ivy League school. This also gave him the opportunity to pursue other avenues of work. The Professor was also a celebrated author having written three books on Micro-biology. He also would work part-time at the CDC and as a consultant for the FDA at times.
“Alright class we were going to have a test tonight, but I’m postponing it till next Monday,” the Professor said. “I’m going to combine chapter’s eight and nine onto one test. I’ve had something come up and won’t be back into town till Wednesday.”
“The CDC has called for my assistance on some things. From what I was told I just have to drive down to Knoxville to meet up with some fellow Epidemiologists to check on some kind of an ecological disturbance in the area. I don’t know much else about it other than that numerous numbers of wildlife and plant life have suddenly began to die and wash up on the lake shore.”
“I have a question,” Steven stated, raising his hand in anticipation. “Is there any chance that the ecological disturbance will find its way downstream to our waterways by any chance, sir?”
“Well Steven,” the Professor said, discerningly, “If the water is tainted in any way than we could drain the river basin until we got rid of most of the pollutant. Then we’d run only fresh water into the lake: up and down the rivers and lakes trying to dilute what little might be left. Although, I’m not positive, it could be something like red tide, a red discoloration of sea water that is caused by a protozoan that kills off sea life. But, more than likely it’s something like a pollutant, like from someone having been dumping hazardous chemicals into the lake. Have a goodnight…class dismissed!”
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