The Sheriff felt it was time to make an announcement. “The command post is equipped with five beds, not including the two driver seats which can recline. I’m also going to bring in Army cots from the command post’s storage room.”
All of the survivors were at least going to have their own bed to sleep in and a thick Army style thermal blanket to aid in comfort.
Everyone’s first night in the restaurant was to be a good one. Antonio brought out what salvageable food he could from within the freezer, and with use of the command post’s kitchen—he began by cooking up a large pizza with everything on it for supper.
“How’s your leg,” the Sheriff asked as he kneeled down over his good friend Luke.
“It’s infected and if I change I want you to do me in yourself.”
“Did you clean it good?”
“Yep, I used some antiseptic, also some good old soap and water. That nasty bastard’s dirty mouth,” Luke said, ever so angry each time he thought about it.
“Come and get it!” Antonio said, channeling a thick Italian accent.
The group of ten gathered around the table to eat. With so many problem’s in their lives, Mark sick and Luke now infected—so much pain and suffering was apparent. Unimaginable atrocities were sure hard to get off of each of their minds. After having lost at least one person they each had cared about, everyone in the group kept to themselves once time to morn.
“I lost my whole family to those things,” the Sheriff said, taking another sip of hard liquor. “I appreciate you all. I just met you, but as long as I’m still alive, I’ll fight for every last one of you. As your new Sheriff, I’m officially deputizing every last one of you.”
The Sheriff stood proudly over Mark, Tyler, and Steven, handing them a brand new official badge and extending his hand. “As sad as the past few days have been, with the whole Sheriff’s Department and Police Force being overrun, I hereby deputize you Mark Smith, Tyler Smith, and Steven Carter.”
The Sheriff paused. “Alright Antonio, how do we get into that pharmacy next door? I want some junk food.”
“Well, there is the front door,” Antonio said, giving a chuckle.
“Seriously though! We need to make this whole place ours—just barricade it all. There’s enough food and medicine in there to make it worth the trouble, also probably games for the kids and books for us to keep entertained through all this. I’m betting it will only be a matter of time till our good old government does send in some help. I plan on waiting this thing out. I plan on helping anyone in trouble along the way. Once we get this whole mini-mall secure and taken over, it’ll be my new Sheriff’s station.”
Antonio thought it over for a moment. “Well… what most people don’t know is that this place has an upstairs. My brother Luigi turned it into his office, and placed hidden cameras in the kitchen, monitoring his staff.”
“He did?” Steven asked, starting to feel embarrassed.
“Yeah, but you Steven weren’t nearly half as bad as a few he had to get rid of. He liked you a lot even though you secretly ate your fair share of wages.”
The Sheriff was now curious. “What can the upstairs do for us?”
“Well, it has a small hatch leading to the air conditioning unit on the roof. I don’t know for a fact, but I’d say that every building has one of these hatches and an upstairs room,” Antonio said, pouring his grandchildren some more soda.
“Have fun!” Mark said as he stood up—slowly gaining his coordination.
Mark began gathering his things, putting on his coat and loading his holster up with extra ammo for the road.
Walking over to Tyler, Mark handed him his katana sword. “Take care little brother. I’m going to try making it back to see you, but I’m running out of time. I can actually feel myself getting sicker.”
“Stephanie’s fine. Don’t be stupid. You can’t go out there alone,” Tyler said angrily, with a saddening expression taking over.
Mark took a moment to think, extending his arms out, hugging his little brother tightly. “I’ve got to see Stephanie one last time. I know she’s still alive.”
“I’ll go with you son,” Luke said, loading his shotgun.
“You sure?”
“I’ve been bit. I’m not going to stick around here and wait to change, endangering everyone around me.”
Preparing to leave, Mark did everything he could to keep from showing he was upset. He didn’t want his brother to remember him as weak.
“If I’m not back, just survive. Don’t get bit. And remember, I love you,” Mark said, looking at his little brother as if for the last time.
Chapter 18 way of the undead
Mark and Luke walked out back after having said their goodbye. Quietly, they climbed atop of the mobile command post, trying not to draw unnecessary attention from any of the blood-covered, festering zombies still roaming the back lot. Mark softly stepped onto the edge of the vehicle’s hood nearest the containment wall, quietly contemplating the possibility of seeing Stephanie perhaps for the last time.
Mark looked down from the near pitch-black darkness atop the containment wall. “Be careful not to land anywhere near that rotting pile of zombie carcasses.”
Once over the wall, to keep safe, the two stayed closest to the wooded outcrop of mountain land surrounding town.
To avoid being overrun, it was decided early on to just lay low. The trip to the dorm on campus was surely going to be a tough journey.
Back at Fort Stewart, Professor McClellan and Dr. Templeton, having exhausted their means of producing the Anti-virus, waited for more of the experimental interferon and inhibitor combination. Once everyone learned that the zombie outbreak was now global, the Professor, given the success of Andres was still hesitant to promise a cure. Truth be it, with so very little testing, given the unexpected side-effects, the cure had to remain a secret from other countries, if only due to Captain Collins Superior. “If anyone is going to have a working regime of super soldiers, it’s going to be me.”
Somehow, the Professor agreed to the demands. For the Army, this breakthrough in testing raised the level of concern beyond the point of a mere, localized, zombie apocalypse.
“Can we even reproduce such an occurrence?” The Professor asked. “Once we get all of the ingredients, we need to immediately continue running tests. Is this too good to be true?”
Dr. Scott gathered his team and equipment—halting his work on the Mclelre-virus. “Yes, I believe we can. I just hope the soldiers sent into the war zone have a working cure.”
The Professor took out his notebook. “Our next test is going to be run on someone who poses less of a risk, someone who isn’t a former terrorist, an American.”
In following the same steps that had turned a paralyzed former Iraqi, terrorist into a near perfect specimen, and one at peak physical perfection, an almost superhuman, Dr. Scott inoculated a superb American war hero, intent on having the same success.
Sgt. Jackson Ryan was an elite Army Ranger, injured overseas in Iraq. For the past year, he’s laid in a coma, struggling to survive by way of a ventilator. An only child, with no immediate family, Sgt. Ryan has rotted away in one of the Army’s leading medical facilities for months. “Sgt. Ryan is our first choice,” Dr. Scott said.
With Andres being somewhat manageable, yet still considered a threat, testing was to commence using a soldier more easily controllable.
Sgt. Ryan was now on the gurney strapped down. By way of tubes and wires, he laid unresponsive, hooked up to the ventilator’s monitoring equipment. Dr. Scott injected the infectious zombie blood deep into the soldier’s wrist.
After a few hours, once the virus had run its course, a syringe of Anti-virus was readied.
The team of doctors gathered around, ready to offer assistance, while others braced themselves, waiting for a reaction such as the violent outburst from Andres, perhaps worse. Armed guards stood in wait, their Tasers ready to fire. Doctor Scott wrapped the tourniquet tightly around t
he injured Sergeants arm, taking off the cap from the Anti-virus syringe.
At a safe enough distance, the Professor observed over the monitor—watching as the injured soldier’s vitals began to fluctuate, given the injection. After less than two minutes his blood pressure rose to its highest level—before declining rapidly. Just a little after two minutes, all vitals had declined as the soldier immediately began to flat line.
“He’s dead!” Dr. Scott announced over the intercom.
Professor McClellan waited by the monitor, watching to see if by some miracle the soldier somehow pulled through. After ten minutes the security door opened.
“Perhaps his injuries were too severe, as opposed to Andres,” the Professor stated, chalking Sgt. Ryan up as a failed experiment. “God help us.”
“What about all of the soldiers? Captain Collins had us already send a great number of troops out into the quarantine? What about all of those vials of the Anti-virus formula already prepared?” Dr. Scott asked. “Am I the only one concerned about sending anyone else out into the warzone given a drug with such little testing?”
Professor McClellan briefly thought over the question. “Contrary to what’s been on the news, the quarantine is expanding more and more every day. And it has been. And this even with thousands of National Guardsmen surrounding it. It’s time something was done… besides it was only one failed experiment, more testing is needed to be done, besides we still have Andres.”
Dr. Templeton stepped to the forefront of the lab. “It’s time we see exactly what happened to Andres. It’s time to see what he’s capable of.”
The tests on Andres were to mirror a standard physical. Detailed information was to be gained on how the Virus/Anti-virus combination healed him, endowing him with superhuman abilities. “First Andres, we’re going to test your new-found strength,” Dr. Templeton said.
By setting up a weight machine, the power of the former terrorist’s chest and arms were measured. The weight of the machine was slowly increased. “No fatigue.” Dr. Templeton continued to document. “He’s now able to lift nearly four times his body weight.”
Testing commenced on his five senses. Dr. Templeton reluctantly placed the findings of Andres’s immense strength and unlimited stamina to the side, finding that the former terrorist’s sense of sight, along with hearing and all the rest of his senses were now four to five times stronger. All tests of physical prowess placed Andres in the superhuman range with mental testing now underway.
Having witnessed Andres’s amazing mental acuity, having learned the English language in only a matter of hours, the team began testing to see if he had somehow gained a so called “sixth sense,” one only fabled to exist. First, they began testing for the ability to read one’s mind, an ability speculated to be present more in certain individuals and to different degrees throughout the human race. During testing, for no apparent reason, however, Andres became slightly unpredictable, evident in the former terrorist’s reluctance to answer questions. The doctor quickly sensed this apprehension and was nervous. “You’re doing spectacular Andres… we thank you.”
With uneasiness of the next test, feeling like only a test subject, Andres jumped to his feet and slung the small brown table to the side. Doctor Templeton stepped back, but was immediately grabbed by the collar of his shirt and thrown across the room. Andres quickly chased down two scientist’s whom were trying their best to escape the powerful clutches of the former terrorist. As he thought back to his military training—he quickly grabbed one of the scientist’s around the neck and snapped his neck without remorse. Quickly, Andres delivered a powerful straight punch to the next scientist’s face—killing him instantly.
As Andres turned around, the Professor stood holding a small pistol aimed square at his chest. “Outrun this.”
Professor McClellan fired twice—with one hitting the former terrorist in the heart—killing him instantly.
Professor McClellan walked over to the intercom and called for help. Waiting for help, kneeling down beside the unconscious doctor footsteps could be heard drawing near. From his position, having turned slightly, Andres could be seen now back to his feet and running at full speed. The Professor initially thought it to be impossible, noticing the cold lifeless stare of Andres whom now somehow appeared that of a zombie.
“Rrrrah!” Andres’s reanimated corpse roared—forcefully approaching.
Professor McClellan crawled quickly over to the wall, resting his back against it. With only four bullets remaining in the chamber and not really being a great shot, he prayed the next shot would hit its intended target, his only target, the zombie’s head. Firing off the first bullet, the shot hit the zombie in the collarbone, slowing it down for a brief second. Firing off another shot, the bullet missed wide to the zombie’s right.
With only two bullets remaining—his shaky arm was aimed very cautiously. As the zombie got closer to the Professor, its erratic gait slipped on a clipboard center the room that’d been dropped when all of the fighting had begun.
The zombie paused for a moment, stunned from the impact with the floor. As it worked its way up to all fours, the Professor having been given the opening that was needed—shot the zombie right atop its cranium—killing it dead.
The Professor as a precaution walked over to Andres’s corpse and put one more last bullet into his brain, if only for his fallen colleagues, he thought.
“What just happened,” Dr. Templeton asked, having awakened on an operating room table.
“Rest—you have a concussion. Andres flipped out; we had to kill him,” Professor McClellan explained, offering the doctor an ice-pack for his head.
“What! We needed him. All of our progress? We may never be able to reproduce such remarkable results,” Dr. Templeton cried out in pain and agony.
Chapter 19 way of the undead
Earlier that day with the mountain trail coming to an end, Mark and Luke continued to avoid being seen. Sticking to the woods, zombies alone were not the only thing there was to worry about. The sounds of gunfire and explosions could be heard coming from up the street. The fighting from center of town had become intense. From high atop a hill, hidden within some pine trees, a small group of National Guardsmen could be seen making their way up Gatlinburg’s main Road.
“Do you think we can make it through?” Mark asked, watching a small group of infantry men fight off a horde of blood-thirsty zombies.
“At least they’re finally here helping,” Luke said. “Even if they are a few days too late.”
Crouching atop a grassy hilltop, behind the cover of some shade trees and bushes, it was found that getting seen was going to be utterly unavoidable. “Let’s just wait till they all kill each other,” Luke said.
The streets were littered with flying debris as the pavement was now covered in potholes and scorched from explosive blasts, leaving black, charred corrosion. “That will never happen,” Mark said. “We’ll have to take a chance either way.”
Mark and Luke waited as the infantry soldiers fought their way down the street, inch by inch, losing soldier after soldier to the viscous horde of zombies giving chase. As the war in the street drug on, Mark signaled for Luke to follow, crouching as he snuck down from the shady, grass covered hilltop. “Over here,” said Mark, sprinting cautiously over to the back of an old woodcarving shop.
Mark’s vision began to blur. It was becoming more difficult to distinguish the soldiers off in the street from the zombies. Even as his vision began to give way to the debilitating headaches caused from turning into a zombie, off in the nearby creek, a large old-fashioned country waterwheel could be seen churning buckets of flowing blood-red water from off down the creek. The sound of heavy violence continued to echo loudly from off down the street. Being cautious, Mark and Luke stepped a few feet out from behind their cover next to an old rustic looking woodcarving shop.
After only a few steps, gunshots came raining down all around them, sending them each ducking back down for cover. Mark
peeked around the corner, noticing that the gunshots had been coming from the roof-top across the road, and located atop the car museum. “It’s a sniper. No! He’s a guardsman. He probably just mistook us for zombies,” Mark said.
While waiting for his chance to cross the street, Mark picked up a copy of the Gatlinburg Free press lying bunched up on the ground at his feet. Mark began to unravel the newspaper, viewing the front page headline: “Stay indoors! Mystery illness sweeping the area.”
Extending his arm from around the corner of the shack, Mark began waiving the paper around signaling for help. As he continued to wave the newspaper, with no threating gunfire, after a minute of signaling, the guardsmen on the roof returned signal with a reflective mirror. The reflective light was all the verification that was needed. From behind the old finely carved logs they were hiding, sneaking across the street, a group of zombies began walking towards them from down the road. And Zombies from all over began to frantically scramble at the sight of fresh meat. The undead began following Mark and Luke as they ran through the middle of the once beautiful and serene intersection, now riddled with debris and decaying carcasses, a blockade near smoldering and abandoned vehicles too numerous to pass. The two ran, making their way down one of the only side streets leading to Stephanie’s college campus. Crossing the street, the team of National Guardsmen on the roof began to provide minimal cover, opening fire and sniping at some of the zombies that’d begun to give chase. Coming up on a small group of zombies, Mark fired off a couple of well-placed shots of his own—clearing the way as the two quickly climbed on to an embankment before running up behind a small country grocery store for cover.
On a direct course through the woods, leading almost directly to the college’s football stadium, the two were almost to their destination. Looking back through all of the different colored leaves, the possibility that the zombies were still on their trail never ceased. The sickness continued ravaging Mark’s once healthy, athletic, young body. His muscles burned like no other time in his life.
Way of the Undead Page 15