Rise of Chaos

by Griffin Smith

  “Really, you want to go back out there? It’s crawling with feeders,” Pualani said, not on board with where this plan was going to take them.

  “Aye, luv, we do be needing to get de feck outta here,” came Barry’s reply as he put his arm around Pualani to comfort her.

  “Anyone have ideas on where we can go?” Mason asked.

  After a long pause, it was Brody who looked up and said, “This is Cocoa Beach, and there is nothin’ here but bars and strip clubs, and we are outta beer,” as he crunched the last can of Yuengling in his palm.

  “Aye, mate, I do believe you to be onto something ’ere, Hogan’s pub is right up the road, and there’ll be Guinness on tap if we’re lucky.”

  “Wait, what? You want to go to the pub? The whole goddamn world is ending, and you want to search for Guinness?” Pualani said, obviously perturbed.

  “I’m in, not to mention that we can stock up on supplies (beer) and that pub was just built, it can withstand a category 5 hurricane, I’m sure we can fortify it against feeders.” Brody said, immensely liking Barry’s idea.

  “No way! I’m not going anywhere, at least it’s somewhat safe here,” Pualani said.

  “C’mon look around, it’s not safe here,” Brody said as he started to raise his voice. “This place smells like death, and I just hacked my best friend and ex-wife to pieces—and then fucking burned them! It’s safe to say I’m a little fucking creeped out.”

  “He’s right, we gotta get outta here,” Mason said, solemnly. “Let’s vote, the majority rules.”

  “You already know I’m down,” Brody said.

  “Aye, I’m in,” the Irishman concurred.

  “Well, I’m NOT going to stay here by myself,” Pualani said, pouting.

  “I agree also; it’s decided then,” Mason said as he took charge. “OK, let’s first gather and distribute all of the remaining weapons and ammo. Pualani, I’m assuming you’re going to want to take the dog?” Mason asked, innocently.

  “What do you think, dickhead?” she snarled back at him.

  “Lass, it’s oookay, I know you be scared, we’ll protect ya always,” Barry said, rubbing her back.

  Mason smiled as he picked up a messenger bag and cut a small round hole on the outside flap and tossed it to her. “You’re welcome,” Mason said, mischievously.

  She opened the bag and Cujo instantly leaped inside, sniffing around it and settling in with a sigh of relief.

  “Thanks,” she said caustically.

  The group had piled all of the weapons and ammo onto the kitchen table. It consisted of two AK-47’s with slings and bayonets, ten full 30 round AK magazines and about a thousand extra 7.62x39mm rounds. Next to that was Pualani’s Beretta, that had been returned with about three hundred rounds, a Mossberg 500 Shotgun with about seventy couple 3 inch shotgun slugs, four Mk 2 "Pineapple" grenades, a Ball-peen hammer, a couple of North Face backpacks, and Mason’s Estwing Camper's Ax.

  “Well, it’s safe to say we’re in pretty good shape,” Mason said. “So, you guys were here first, who wants what?” Mason asked, picking up his ax.

  “I’m taking my fucking Beretta back,” Pualani said, tucking it into her waistband.

  “Good, take the nine millimeter ammo that goes with it,” Mason said, starting to get annoyed with her attitude.

  Rolling her eyes she snatched it off the table and put it into the side pocket of her messenger bag as she slipped it on over her shoulder. Cujo’s head popped out of the newly cut hole, with a look of confusion on his face.

  “I’ll take the shotgun and hammer,” Brody said as he grabbed one of the backpacks and started to load it with the shotgun slugs.

  “I do believe I’ll be taking this AK,” Barry said as secured the bayonet to the rifle.

  “Alright, everyone take a grenade. Barry we’ll split the ammo for the AK’s. Anyone here got any military experience?” Mason asked, curiously.

  Everyone’s eyes looked down as they all shook their heads. “What about you, Mason?” Pualani asked.

  “Yes, I spent eleven years in the Navy,” Mason said.

  There was a little chuckle in the room as Pualani said, “Well, good thing you’re at the helm. I don’t know what we’d do, if we had to swab the deck all alone, matey.”

  Mason couldn’t help but laugh; there was no use getting angry at this ragtag group of twenty-something year olds. They were obviously at the stage in life where they believed that they knew everything but, in reality, didn’t know shit.

  “Funny. Let’s just say that I haven’t swabbed any P-ways for a while,” Mason said as he racked the clip into his AK and chambered a round into his magazine.

  “I’m with you bro… I watched you kill at least a dozen feeders with that ax. What do you want us to do?” said Brody.

  “We move together as a group, in formation, save your ammo and use your hammer and bayonet. It’s extremely important that we stay together; if anyone separates, or tries to play video game hero, you could get us all killed.” Mason said, seriously. “Are we clear?”

  “Aye,” said Barry.

  “Whatever dude,” Pualani said.

  “Yup, I’ve seen that movie before,” Brody said as he was swinging his ball-peen hammer around the kitchen like a maniac. “You know, my brother has a hog farm in Georgia and, before I was a busboy, I used to work there with him.” It was obvious that Brody had a little beer buzz and was being overly talkative. “This is what we used to use when we killed those nasty hogs, believe it or not. One quick smash to the noggin and they were toast.”

  “Well, let’s put that theory into effect with the feeders,” Mason said as he put the idea of setting up on a hog farm to the back of his mind.

  ****

  They spent the remainder of that night planning their egress and sobering up. They had drawn a crude map to Hogan’s on a napkin. Dawn was approaching, and they were ready to make their move.

  “I count about twenty-five of these fuckers directly in our way,” Brody said as he pointed out the window.

  “Yep, I see them,” Mason said as he reached into Pualani’s bag and pulled out her grenade.

  “Hey, what the fuck? Use your own grenade,” she said, feeling violated.

  “You’ll thank me later, when you still have all of your digits attached,” Mason said as he tightly held the grenade in his hand and focused his attention on the feeders outside.

  As Mason cleared the obstruction in front of the back door, he put his hand on the doorknob and looked back at the trio. “I’m going out first, and I’m going to make some noise to draw them away. Barry, you’re up front, remember, save your ammo and use your bayonet. Pualani, I want you in the middle with your Beretta out. Brody, take up the rear with the shotgun. Stay tight, move fast and don’t worry about me, I’ll catch up.”

  They nodded their heads in silent unison as Mason opened the door, pulled the pin and threw the grenade. They waited breathlessly for a few seconds, until they heard the unmistakable sound of the grenade explosion.

  Mason jerked the door back open, shouldering his AK and dropping to one knee. “Go, go, go!” he shouted as he started laying down cover fire. The group moved efficiently through the door and started their four block journey to their new sanctuary.

  Mason observed the carnage that his grenade had caused. There were feeders in varying states of disrepair. The grenade itself had put down at least seven of them and crippled another ten. There were twelve or so walking in circles, bumping into each other dazed and confused. Mason opened fire.

  When he finished clearing the field of feeders, he heard the roar of a 12 gauge shotgun, and snapped back into the present. He changed out his clip, double checked his bayonet was secure and started moving towards the group.

  The group made the first two blocks quickly and without incident moving along Poinsetta Ave. As they rounded the corner onto Garfield Ave, they came face to face with a mob of feeders blocking their path, and who were suddenly aware of them.
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br />   “Feck,” Barry said as he stood, stunned.

  “Don’t stop, there are more coming behind us now,” Pualani cried.

  Brody had stopped to reload his Mossberg, when he also noticed about a dozen more feeders coming up behind him. He quickly scanned the area and noticed an abandoned Land Rover with a heavy duty steel roof rack.

  “There!” Brody shouted, pointing at the Land Rover.

  The group instantly bolted for the truck. Barry was the first to get there and realize that the door was locked.

  “Climb up onto the top roof rack, lass!” Barry yelled as he picked up Pualani and effortlessly tossed her onto the hood. Brody was hot on her heels and, shouldering his 12 gauge, he leaped up onto the truck, swinging from the roof rack for a split second until he landed inside the roof rack, smacking right into Pualani and Cujo and almost knocking them out of the cage.

  “Hey, watch out you clumsy mother fucker, you almost crushed my dog,” she snarled.

  “Man… Fuck your dog!” Brody vehemently replied. “Barry, get your Mick ass up here,” Brody said as he reached his arm down to help pull Barry back in.

  “Aye, I’m comin',” Barry said as he finished emptying his clip into the crowd of feeders. As he turned his back to clasp Brody’s hand, a feeder appeared from underneath the truck. Barry was halfway into the steel cage of the truck when he felt a sharp pain in his ass.

  “Ahhh!” Barry screamed as the feeder ripped off a piece of flesh from his gluteus maximus. Brody had to brace himself against the cage as he was almost pulled off the top of the truck from the sheer force of Barry yanking back. The feeder had taken a second bite out of Barry’s buttocks, and Brody could feel his grip weakening. By now, half a dozen feeders were at the base of the truck, shredding the flesh from the back of Barry’s legs with their teeth.

  Brody looked into Barry’s face and paused for a split second as he picked up the Beretta lying at Pualani’s feet with his free hand.

  “I’m so sorry, brother,” was all that Brody could say as he pulled the trigger and fired the Beretta point blank into Barry’s face.

  ****

  Mason turned the corner onto Garfield Ave, just in time to see Barry’s head explode, and watch his lifeless body fall into the crowd of feeders gathered around the Land Rover. Oh no, he thought. This is my fault; I could have prevented this if I had a better plan or if I’d have moved faster. Remorse turned into anger as he snapped out of his reverie. Get it together, man, he thought. Size up the situation and react.

  There were about twenty feeders circling the truck, they were making a futile effort to mangle the two and a half remaining occupants. Luckily for them, they were about nine feet off of the ground, in a steel cage. He could see that Brody and Pualani were immobilized by shock; Brody was rocking her back and forth in his arms as she was weeping hysterically in the fetal position. They seem ok for now; I need a plan, think goddammit! Mason thought to himself as he surveyed the area.

  Mason saw movement on the roof out of the corner of his eye. He noticed on top of the flat roof of Hogan’s pub that there were two guys, and one of them had a rifle. The man on the roof was shooting at the feeders that had surrounded the Land Rover.

  A plan was forming in Mason’s mind as he aimed his AK at the meatbags and he too started firing. The feeders started to steadily drop to the ground from the effective headshots being delivered by Mason and his new ally. Mason heard the second man shouting something from the roof, but couldn’t make out what he was saying until the man lifted up a sign that read Keys In Visor!!!!

  Mason gave big thumbs up to the other man and started to angle towards the truck. He pondered the thought of using his other grenade, but figured it was too close to his friends, and he didn’t want to be responsible for any more friendly casualties. Once he was within shouting distance from the truck, he hailed Brody, “Hey man! The keys are under the visor. Get in the fucking truck!” Brody nodded and started looking for a way down into the truck.

  Mason and his sniper on the roof had dwindled the feeders down to about three or four, but when he looked to his left, down A1A (the only main road) he saw hundreds more coming towards them. All this gunfire must’ve rattled these bastards to come get us, Mason thought. “Brody, we’ve gotta move. They are coming in force now!” Mason shouted, as Brody looked in horror at the army of feeders coming towards them.

  It was Pualani who reacted when she grabbed Brody’s ball-peen hammer and smashed in the driver’s side window as she leaned off the roof rack. She cleared the shards away quickly before she threw her dog, wrapped like sausage in the messenger bag, through the window and into the back seat. Brody smiled goofily as he lowered her down into the truck. “Hand me the gear, and get your little redneck ass in here!” she shouted as she ripped down the visor, fumbling for the keys.

  Mason had made it to the truck and rammed his bayonet through the open, gaping mouth of the last feeder standing as he heard the truck turn over and start to peel out. Mason leaped onto the running board and held onto the roof rack, for dear life, as Pualani peeled out like a bat outta hell.

  She drove straight at the pub, which was only across the street, when they noticed a rope ladder being lowered down to them. She changed direction and headed straight towards the back of the building where the ladder was.

  The truck slammed into the pub, jarring everyone and sending Mason flying halfway across the parking lot. “Oops, sorry about that,” was all you could hear as she slung her bag over her shoulder and started to shimmy up the ladder, with Cujo’s little face sticking out and barking.

  Mason collected himself and ran to grab his weapons, when he saw the massive horde of feeders almost upon him. He slung his AK and picked up his ax and ran like hell towards the ladder. Brody had just finished handing up the remainder of the weapons and was hanging off the ladder firing his 12 gauge into the angry mob of feeders. “Cmon Mason, Run Mother Fucker Run!” he was screaming.

  Mason was almost at the truck when he noticed the front of it had smashed through the side of the pub. He leaped like a cat up the rear of the Land Rover and scaled the rope ladder easily, rolling onto the roof like a man possessed. He closed his eyes for a second to catch his breath, and when he opened them he saw an outstretched hand offering to help him up.

  “Nice moves; you sure are one lucky son of a bitch. I didn’t think you were gonna make it,” the man said, with a smile.

  “If it wasn’t for you, I’ve no doubt we’d all be dead by now,” Mason said as he shook the man’s hand.

  I just hope you’d have done the same for us,” he said, shaking Mason’s hand. “My name is Cap’n Tony and this is my son, Kalen.”

  “Right on, my name is Mason, and this is Brody, Pualani and her dog, Cujo.”

  The introductions were stopped short as the whole building shook from the force of the several hundred feeders that had just slammed into the front and sides of the pub.

  ****

  “Well, this sucks,” Brody said as he fired from the roof into the face of a co-worker he recognized from his previous life. “That guy was always a dick to me; I guess that’s some form of fucked up karma.” He grinned as he looked back at the group.

  “Save your ammo, man, we are not directly threatened,” Mason said as he surveyed their latest predicament.

  “It’s like surfing, they come in waves and then there’s a lull,” Kalen said. “If we lay low, they’ll leave.”

  “I hope you’re right, cause there’s a shit ton of those ugly bastards down there waiting to eat us. Just like they did to Barry,” Pualani said.

  “Kalen’s right, they come in waves. I think all of that gunfire kinda rang the dinner bell for them,” Tony said as he lit a cigarette.

  “Are we safe up here?” Pualani asked as she was petting Cujo, who was comfortably numb, resting in her arms.

  “Safer than being down there,” Kalen said as he pointed to the crippled feeder that was being eaten by his comrades in death.

&
nbsp; “So, Tony, talk to me man. How did you get up here? What does it look like inside the pub?” Mason asked.

  “Well, we got here about three days ago. We came to pick up my wife and daughters across the street,” Tony said, dejectedly, as he flicked his cigarette off the roof.

  “They didn’t make it, and we don’t want to talk about it,” Kalen interjected as he used his teeth to open a bottle of Guinness.

  “It was relatively quiet when we got here, just a bartender and a couple of drunks that had been turned into these fucking gross monsters. We put them down and had started to stock up on supplies, when they started pouring in the door. We made it up here to the roof, through that door,” Tony said as he pointed to the only access point on the roof, which was locked and barricaded.

  “Yupper, ain't none of those fuckers getting through that door,” Kalen chimed in.

  “That’s right, and unless they can fly or learn how to climb, we’ll be ok up here for a while,” Tony agreed.

  “Cool, but we’ll run out of supplies if we stay up here for too long,” Mason said, taking a visual account of what Tony and Kalen had gathered on the roof. He noted about two cases of Guinness, an M40 sniper rifle and an ammo can.

  “Just managed to get the essentials I see,” Mason said as he picked up a bottle of Guinness. “May I?”

  “Sure,” Tony said as he watched Brody cleaning and organizing their weapons.

  “Looks like you guys are ready for world war three over here,” Tony said as he admired the bloody bayonet attached to Mason’s AK.

  “Priorities, you know. Hey, was that your Land Rover we used to get over here?” Mason asked, talking to Tony.

  “You mean the Land Rover you drove into the side of the bar? Yes, it’s mine, and I swear to fucking god, there better not be any major damage,” Kalen interjected, just a little pissed off.

  “Sorry, that was my bad,” Pualani said as she also cracked open a tasty bottle of Guinness.

  “Relax, son, that truck can withstand anything. It’s made to drive through buildings, mountains and now feeders,” Tony said as he put his hand on his son’s shoulder.