Way of the Undead

by Boggess, Michael

  Chapter 2 Way of the undead

  “After mine and Ted’s karate tournament we’re going to finally get our black belts—and once we bring the championship home for the third straight year—we’ll finally be eligible to move up in rank. Then me and Ted were thinking after high-school we might try out for the Olympic National Team.”

  “Well Tyler, as hard as you and Ted’s worked for it over the past seven years, I feel you’ll accomplish whatever you put your mind to.” Mike said. “Also, you two might even think about opening your own karate studio someday... you two have my backing and support all the way.”

  Mark, sitting around and listening thought about mentioning how Tyler and Ted had come in from partying at five in the morning the other night. “You two have my support, little brother.”

  “Thanks! You’re definitely going to have to be there to see me fight in the tournament… I’m going to whip some major but this year!” Tyler said anxiously.

  Mark smiled. “I know you will. Just remember what all you’ve learned from Sensei Williams. Don’t be goofing off with Ted too much and be sure to practice your kata and I bet you’ll do just fine.”

  Tyler shook his head as he began to clear the table.

  “How’s school?” Mike asked.

  Mark thought back. “Class was canceled. The Professor said that there was some kind of ecological disturbance near Lake Ocoee. He said that something made all of the wildlife in the area die-off. We were told that if the lake isn’t drained, that the pollutant might make its way downstream to us and poison our water supply. You haven’t heard anything, have you?”

  Mike’s eyes became narrow, squinting. “That’s strange… I haven’t heard anything about it. If whatever’s killing the wildlife makes it to my town, than were going to have problems. The last thing I need is the stink of dead-fish in my park. I wonder why no one’s mentioned it. I figure one of those egg-head EPA agents would jump at the chance to make it known.”

  Mark recalled what was mentioned at lecture. “It sounded like it might be pretty serious. Miles and miles of lake were destroyed.”

  Mike considered the path of the sickness. “Well if the Ohio River feeds into Lake Ocoee and eventually turns into the Tennessee River, than that branches off eventually feeding into Old-Parksville, then we probably have about two or three days at best before something like that spreads. I’ve got to get on the horn and see if anybody else has heard anything.”

  “I’m not sure if we need to be concerned or not,” Mark said. “You are the head park ranger, if you haven’t heard anything by now, then more than likely there’s no need to worry.”

  Tyler interrupted. “I’m headed out for the night,” he said, clutching his bag of gear in one hand, already attired in his karate uniform.

  “Alright little bro, you and Ted be careful,” Mark said. “You heard dad, stay out of trouble if want to make something of yourself.”

  “Dad’s right,” Tyler shouted as he exited the house and stepped out to meet at Ted’s fire-red sports car.

  Larry Williams was a local celebrity with television ads airing daily. Sensei Williams, as his students would call him, had also been in two Hollywood blockbusters as a fight coordinator and had also been utilized in such films to do motion capture work. He had even once been on the cover of Black Belt Magazine as the first African-American ever to do so. Larry Williams, with his late 70’s early 80’s afro was a tall 6’2, and around 235 pounds of pure muscle, and had the brains to become a successful dojo owner over the years. His skills had been honed with well over twenty years of training in the arts. As far as teaching goes, there is nothing he would want to do more. Sensei Williams was also a close personal friend of Mark’s family. Having trained Tyler since the kid was only nine-years-old.

  Along for the ride, Ted and Tyler then hopped out of the car, and grabbed their training gear. The two entered onto the front sidewalk before hanging a right as they walked into the brightly lit dojo where a class was in session. A group of ten young beginner students aligned into two groups of three and one group of four trained: punching, kicking, and shouting “hay yah!” Sensei Williams was in control of his student’s movements, directing their kata and training. Once the sensei saw that Tyler and Ted had walked in, he motioned to his class to carry on with their training as he stepped over to the door.

  “Hey, I’m guessing by the way you two are dressed that you’re here to use the training room.”

  The Sensei gave a quick chuckle. “You go right ahead,” he insisted, going back to training his young recruits.

  Just as it was beginning to get dark outside with the automatic street lights starting to come on, the massive sign for Larry Williams Karate Studio began to glow with all of its Japanese words and symbols of connotations. Over a decade of trophy’s and championships stood near the window’s interior in a proud display of excellence. The class could be seen from the street as the brightly lit dojo illuminated the darkness of the outside parking area.

  Earlier the next morning, after a long drive, Professor McClellan had been planning for all the ways he could stop the spread of the dangerous, unidentified toxin. The Professor knew that whatever was happening in the water, that it was definitely a first of its kind and was no laughing matter. It had left no living creature in the entire lake alive, including all nearby plant life. It had also began to kill any animal unlucky enough to get too close to the water’s edge, evident by an unusual amount of dead animal carcasses on up. Professor McClellan, after arriving came down hard on the unsafe and unprofessional nature of how everything was being handled—immediately calling for a quarantine of the entire Lake and quite possibly the whole surrounding area until further notice. The Red Cross volunteers, although wearing protective clothing and safety equipment, there was still concern that they had been exposed. The professor immediately called for medical teams to quarantine the individuals along with the area. Around the same time, the Professor had brought in the National Guard to help enforce his quarantine of a fifty-mile stretch of land, this was to be done as quickly as possible due to the storm clouds that had formed in the sky above. To the trained individual, the dark gray rain clouds in the area were perhaps the result of steam that had risen from the apparently depleted lake days prior, but who really knew?

  Around noon, the National Guard had arrived in full-force setting up patrols as they continued to quarantine the entire perimeter. The rain finally began to pour making the area muddy and the terrain even less visible. The storm was harsh and unrelenting and had shown no signs of slowing down anytime soon. Upon patrolling the area for any breaches along with anything out of the ordinary, a few National Guardsmen came across what appeared to be a dead body washed up on to the bank. His clothes looked to be that of a fisherman that had been reported missing a few days prior. The fisherman was said to have been missing around the same time that all the fish had started to wash ashore.

  The two National Guardsmen continued on their patrol through the muddy, wooded area of land as the rain continued to pour down upon them with thunder beginning to crash, and as lightning had begun to crackle. As the pair of National Guardsmen preceded to walk up the muddy, grass covered embankment, the body of the fisherman became more evident. Slightly hidden in the shadow of an old oak tree, and resting on the bank next to the lake, lied the remains of the fisherman. The pair spread out as they walked up the mud covered yet grassy hill, noticing that the grass closest to the water’s edge was now a revolting greenish sludge. In full view, it was noticed that the body began to twitch as they got within a few feet.

  Private Reynolds got on the radio, calling in the coordinates of the body. “We need a medic!”

  The second guardsmen, Private Sanders kneeled down beside the convulsing fisherman and felt the coolness of his skin. He then brought his arm around to the side of the fisherman’s neck, gently turning the man’s injured head for a closer look, cradling it. By surprise, unmistakable, he noticed the mud covered and b
ruised face of what appeared to be only a corpse. As Private Sanders held the possibly diseased in his arms—momentarily—he was shocked to see the cold, dead body appear to be twitching. In an instant—the fisherman’s blood-red eyes sprang open and the undead snapped violently—clawing and biting viscously. Immediately, the undead corpse took bites out of Private Sander’s heavily muscled arm. Chunks of flesh were tore right off the bone.

  The pain was unbearable. “Ah!” the wounded guardsmen screamed, deathly in fear for his life. “He bit me!”

  Protecting his partner, Private Reynolds grabbed his weapon—aiming directly at the only shot he had—hitting the undead fisherman in the center of its forehead, putting an end to the terror. Private Sanders staggered away, wounded. He had been bit on the forearm and had got his radial and ulnar veins as well as both major arteries completely severed in the attack. He was bleeding profusely and death seemed eminent.

  Private Reynolds sat down his rifle—immediately throwing off his back pack in search of bandages and antiseptics, something to quickly tie-off the wounded arm. “Come on,” he shouted, in a hurry.

  However, panicking, nothing could help his friend—the bites were in a bad place, and the injured guardsman was soon to bleed to death. Private Sanders became deathly pale as he began going into shock. Only minutes later, all of the blood had drained out of the soldier’s body (every last beat of his heart).

  Chapter 3 Way of the undead

  “Come in! Come in! Alpha team, are you there? Do you read me?” the radio called out in a panic with their last transmission having been cut short due to the savage attack.

  Private Reynolds sat his gun, alongside his radio and backpack, down upon the wet ground beside him. He began crying out as he rested his fallen friend against a tall tree out of the rain.

  “Adam! Damn it! Adam! You can’t die on me. Damn it!”

  Private Reynolds grabbed his gun and cautiously looked around, making sure there was no more danger in the area. He then pulled out his compass, trying to get his coordinates down for an extraction team to come in and get the body of his fallen friend.

  “Damn it,” Private Reynolds said, failing to line up the compass just right. “Where are we?”

  A flare will have to work, the lone guardsmen figured.

  Placing his gear back on, he picked up his radio then keyed down on the mic. “We have a man down! I repeat! We have a man down! We were attacked by one of the missing fisherman. He was shot and killed directly after he attacked and killed Private Sanders. I’m requesting an extraction out of the area of ninety-degrees due East near the vicinity of Lake Ocoee.”

  While waiting for a response, any response, Private Reynolds reached into his backpack, pulling out something to eat. He then sat his backpack against a tall tree, using it as a cushion to sit on as he ate his snack. The lone guardsman was doing all that he could to not think about the crazed, dead fisherman, who by the looks of him appeared to have drowned days earlier.

  “Alpha team, come in! We got your message. We have two-units in the area. We’re also sending out an extraction team. They should be within your vicinity in the next thirty-minutes, give or take. We’re going to have some questions for you. Sit tight!”

  “Copy that! Over and out!” the lone guardsman replied.

  Wind began to blow in from the surrounding bushes. Sitting against the tree next to the remains of his fallen friend—rain began hitting him from seemingly all angles. Suddenly, the tree that was protecting from the downpour had become not much of a comfort. In response to it thundering and lightening, along with such strong winds and heavy rain, the lone guardsman began to worry that the chopper wouldn’t be able to find him.

  Just as the rain began to slack off, Private Reynolds heard the sound of a chopper overhead. He stood up for a brief second before reaching to get some flares from his backpack. While walking out into the field to pull the ignition pin, only a few steps away from the tree line, he felt a sudden jerk of his leg accompanied by a vicious growl. Private Sanders was somehow alive—now attacking. Unknowingly, the virus had taken effect, giving the once dead new life and an insatiable appetite for human flesh. The crazed, undead zombie began pulling his way up the side of the guardsman’s leg—forcing the soldier to topple over onto him. The zombie began to claw and bite—tearing and ripping flesh with its teeth. Relentlessly on the attack, the zombie roared.

  Private Reynolds struggled, but somehow found the strength to roll over onto his back. He pulled the zombie up and over, flipping the undead off onto the mud-covered ground. The zombie ferociously began to scramble around on the mud-laden ground—angry—crawling its way back. Private Reynolds rolled over to his knees, and then leaned forward to pick up one of the flares that had fallen during the attack. He then aimed the gun—hitting the zombie square in the chest before igniting its coat ablaze. The undead monster was somehow unfazed by the intense flames in grabbing ahold of the guardsman as it now crawled its way back on top, inching, causing both the zombie and the guardsman alike to catch fire and eventually burn to death.

  The chopper flew overhead looking for any and all signs of distress. As the rain began to pick back up, spotting the lone guardsman within a five-to-ten mile range had become even more of a challenge, especially without a flare or signal of some sort. After almost forty-five minutes, without radio contact, the Army, Blackhawk Helicopter was told to return back to camp.

  Back at camp Professor McClellan was in charge. His quarantine was now up and running. The lake water as well as all the workers and dead wildlife were having tests ran on them. The results of all the testing were due back anytime. The makeshift camp consisted of military-green tents and fences that had been thrown up as a precaution to all of the possible dangers surrounding camp. Professor McClellan set nervously in his office with the flimsy plastic walls and ceiling being pelted by heavy rainfall. He sat drinking coffee, going over test data with numerous colleagues. Everyone had become aware of the missing guardsmen and the attack reportedly upon him. Perhaps the fisherman had been the cause of the sickness? Perhaps the fisherman was not a fisherman, but a terrorist? Such thoughts were seeming more and more less likely due to the types of toxicity being found in the water.

  “The findings show that the water has unusually large amounts of proteins and bacterial proliferations,” Dr. Jennings said.

  “It’s a virus,” Professor McClellan said.

  The Professor’s research was a major contributing factor in presenting that indeed it was a new virus to blame, and not a chemical attack. “The Lake has been drained and we’ll eventually dilute and filter out the rest,” the Professor stated. “This virus we found is exhibiting unusual signs of virulence.”

  “And it’s unlike any other virus known to man.”

  With everyone gathered around trying to make sense of all the sickness and death, the Professor made an official announcement. “In regards to the ten volunteer workers now under quarantine, five are already starting to develop flu-like symptoms. Further analysis shows that the unknown virus is indeed present in all ten subjects. Further testing of the volunteer workers is to be done and their conditions are to be closely monitored.”

  “Right now the lake has been drained, and we have a quarantine that has been laid out over the entire area. But we also need to hope that whatever this new virus is, that it doesn’t get out and spread… let’s also hope that it already hasn’t,” the Professor stated.

  Back in town, Tyler and Ted were hanging out in the halls at the high-school. The school bell had just sounded with all classes now being dismissed. School buses had begun to arrive. It had been raining most of the day and a group of Tyler and Ted’s friends were hanging out, sheltered, in the main entrance talking about what all they’ve been hearing from their friends down in Knoxville. They all had different stories—some were sounding a little farfetched involving UFO’s and even Aliens. The main consensus was that something just was not right.

  The story began t
o draw the attention of more and more on-lookers, especially the story about Ted’s friend Paul whom had a cousin that supposedly was out hunting near Big Bear Creek and was attacked by a zombie. With a crowd gathering around, Paul went on to tell what all he’s been hearing. “What I heard,” Paul said. “What I was saying was that my cousin, Thomas, was out hunting down at Big Bear and came across a deserted campsite. The campfire was burnt out and the cooler was knocked over with all their belongings scattered about. My cousin thought that a bear had attacked—running everyone off. But, on down the creek he spotted the campers off in the water, just walking knee deep in the creek. As he hid in the bushes—from what he could tell from off in the distance was that the people seemed all beat to hell with blood stains on their clothes. He said that they had no idea he was there watching and the uneasiness he had felt about everything, that he was not going to alert them to his presence.”

  “My cousin Thomas watched for a minute as the campers appeared to be in some sort of a daze. He said that as he began to back track a little, that out of the bushes a man covered in blood jumped out at him grabbing his arm. My cousin jerked his arm away and nailed the zombie in the side of the head with the back of his shotgun… then took off running back to his cabin up in the hills. He said he called and reported the attack to the Sherriff, but wasn’t about to claim that he had spotted zombies, cause he didn’t want everyone to think he was crazy.”

  Ted and Tyler just stood around in amazement of the story. They looked at one another as if to know what the other was thinking. Are zombies real?

  Mark arrived on campus as the rain was coming down. Pulling into the student parking area, he hung-up his phone. Tyler had just called, telling wild stories of the undead. Telling of his friend Paul’s cousin, and how zombies are said to be roaming the mountains of Tennessee. Just as he was fixing to park, Stephanie’s car became visible in the front lot.