The End

by P. A. Douglas

  George’s train of thought suddenly was interrupted by Billy’s giggling. Something on the television must have been funny to the little boy.

  6

  Luke Beal hovered over the sink in the joint bathroom that he shared with another military officer from across the hall. Looking at his reflection in the foggy mirror, hot water running in the shower behind him, Luke stood in the room with only a towel draped around his waist with both hands pressed against the sink holding him upright. He was a mess. Beside his thoughts, the only other sound he heard was that of the high-pressure water spraying into the tub from the showerhead behind him.

  The main barracks were more like a set of college dorms than anything else. There was a main hall with rooms on each side. Every other room shared a full bathroom with the adjacent room next to it. Each set of sleeping quarters was generally shared with a roommate and had previously been furnished for them. With two beds, a couch, a mini fridge, and a television, each room was identical. Luke had the luxury of not having a roommate. He wasn’t the only soldier to be so lucky. With the chaos and the content losses, a lot of people didn’t have roommates these days. It was quite common to have one person per living quarter, despite the setup. Luke also didn’t have to worry about the tenant from across the way barging in on him in the bathroom. They both kept up with each other’s schedule, and Luke was well aware that the other man was on guard duty today until late.

  He and Megan used to spend Fridays relaxing in his apartment if they were off. They would watch television, talk about anything and everything, and just enjoy each other’s company. He missed her scent, her touch, but most of all, her laugh.

  Lost in thought, Luke imagined the two of them in the shower, like several times before, making love. Each bead of water splashing against her bare skin as it dripped down her chest tightly pressed against his. Her heavy breathing deep into his ear while he held her close, each leg tightly wrapped around his hips, her back pressed against the tile wall.

  He took a deep breath and sighed even deeper. The train of thought broke as he stared at himself in the mirror. Unable to make out his face, he wiped the heavy condensation from it. Staring straight ahead, as if into the darkness of the abyss, Luke glared at his own reflection, sick to his stomach with anger.

  His lover and friend was dead.

  After a few moments of heavy breathing, he found himself lost in thought once more. He found himself inside the Rhino Runner peering over Gus’ shoulder. The big man had his pistol drawn same as before. As he watched from behind the big man, he witnessed Megan pleading on her knees for mercy in the eyes of her executioner. She cried out for help, and before Luke had the opportunity to—

  CRACK!

  Luke suddenly snapped out of the daydream of the nightmare as he slammed his fist into the mirror. Bits of glass fell around his bleeding hand into the sink and onto the floor. All he could think of was that big man’s stupid face. You know it has to be done, he had said before he murdered her.

  With those words playing over and over and over again in Luke’s head, he felt enraged. Angry at Gus for shooting the one woman he had ever grown to love. But more so, angry at himself for not doing something, for not taking action.

  What had made him just sit back so reserved in the briefing this morning? He had the opportunity to step up, to say something to that big prick of a man. Gus had it coming! Yet, Luke just sat there, mouth closed. Megan deserved some type of retribution, and he just let it slip away so easily. Why?

  Luke also couldn’t help but think that he was taken off of the Jacksonville operation because Gus had it out for him. Sure, Luke could admit to himself that he was a little out of it and couldn’t say he actually took a single bit of information away from that debriefing. But, Gus was surely the reason he was removed from the mission. Why? Was Gus too little of a man to face his victim’s lover? That must be it, that son of a bitch!

  Luke stood there thinking these things, watching the blood drip from his hand down the drain. The red color popped against the white of the sink as it ran down one side in slow motion. Luke turned on the water, watching the blood and water quickly mix together. The blood began thinning out as it poured down the drain from his cut hand.

  “Stupid son-of-a-bitch!” Luke mumbled under his breath.

  Taking two steps back, knowing the distance by memory, Luke sat down on the leg at the edge of the tub. The water emanated heat against his back, steam steadily filling the room around him from the still-running shower. To his left was the door which led to his room, and to his right was the door leading to his neighbor.

  With elbows resting on his legs and face buried in his hands, Luke cried like a baby. His loss was more overwhelming than he had even initially realized. He finally cracked, sobbing for a handful of minutes, while seated on the edge of the tub. The water behind him slowly began to cool, the heat gradually subsiding.

  After a while of crying, he cried some more. The image of Megan’s beautiful face haunted his thoughts; her short naturally silky hair and bright eyes. Her dimples just so, making her always seem to have a little smile tucked away. Those rosy lips, they haunted him. She haunted him. How could he ever live like this? Alone?

  In the middle of thinking these things, Luke glanced over noticing his holster. Just a few feet over, on the floor next to the toilet, his discarded clothes lay strewn. His 9mm handgun lay amongst them, tucked away in its designated place, strapped around a black leather belt.

  He kicked up, leaving the stooped position, leaning forward toward the clothes. Still bent at the knees and not moving his footing, he reached the belt and pulled it in close. Falling right back onto the tub, he sat there eyeing the holstered weapon; eyes, beet-red and slightly swollen from all of the emotional stress. A fresh tear leaked out with a sniffle. Luke quickly wiped it away with his forearm while un-holstering the pistol. He clicked the release, dropping the magazine out while catching it with his free hand. After confirming that it was full, he slammed it home and racked a round into the chamber. Clicking off the safety, Luke eyed the weapon with a furious stare. Blood slowly poured from the cut on his hand. He held the gun, paying no attention to the bits of glass lodged inside the cut.

  He put the 9mm up under his chin, leaning his head back. His hand tightened around the grip of the black pistol, trigger finger slightly starting to add pressure. You know it has to be done, you know it has to be done, you know it has to be done, you know it has to be done.

  Water fell from the shower like rain, offering a gentle symphony into the future.

  7

  BANG!

  With one leg extended, Gus’ boot slammed into the metal door, shattering the lock. The door swung open, spinning around as it crashed against the wall, swinging on its hinges.

  The two soldiers stared down the stairwell leading into the building. Only the first few steps in the light, the rest swallowed in darkness.

  The chopper had set down on a large building. The three-story building had been a lot more secluded than Gus had anticipated. This was a good surprise. There were no real streets to speak of, mostly just woods and dirt. That meant no infected ghouls to hassle with. The three-story building sat alone, hidden in the outskirts of downtown Jacksonville, a few miles to the east. Whatever was going on at this place was intended to be a secret.

  After safely landing the chopper on the roof, Gus and Clay geared up, moving as quickly as they could. The objective was to get in and out with enough time to spare; just an in and out OP. Gus’ motivation—the cafeteria; he wanted to make it home in time for dinner. But, lately, it hadn’t seemed to be turning out in his favor.

  Watts had shut down the helicopter. His job was to sit tight and send word if anything dramatic changed outside. Armed with enough ammo for a small army, he was happy to stay atop the relative safety of the roof. It was a tough job, but someone had to do it.

  Aware of the limited visibility when wearing the gas masks, Clay suggested they go in wearing one. Gus
agreed, immediately strapping on the mask. Clay did likewise.

  Each armed with an M-4 and two 9mm handguns, they both carried as much ammo as was practical. Clay threw an ammo pouch around one shoulder and across his neck and filled his cargo pockets to the brim with magazines for his rifle.

  Gus had the same setup as Clay, along with a slim back pouch loaded with even more. If, by any chance, they were going to run into as many of the undead as Gus had crossed in Panama City Beach, he was sure as hell going to be ready.

  “Let’s do this just like I said before!” Gus shouted, his voice muffled under his gas mask.

  Clay nodded, bringing his rifle up, slamming in a fresh magazine, and racking a live shell into the chamber. He pulled the weapon up to his shoulder at the ready, clicking the safety off.

  Gus nodded in response, turning on the flashlight attached to the end of his rifle. Clay shrugged, shaking his head, as he reached up to do the same.

  With a flick of the wrist motioning them to move, the two-man army moved forward into the building, descending the staircase toward the top floor. Trying to enter as quietly as possible, the two men slid down each step with ease. The bottom of the stairway appeared to open up into a large room or hallway, and they wanted to avoid attracting any more attention than they already had when kicking in the rooftop door.

  As Gus reached the bottom rung of the steps, he turned back toward Clay at the rear. Quietly pointing at his own eyes, then, shooting his index finger toward the right, Gus silently gave the order. Gus shot straight-as-an-arrow up against the wall at the bottom of the steps, peeking out ever so slightly.

  Signaling Clay once more, with the same set of hand motions, Clay darted out from the stairs to the right. With rifle at the ready, his flashlight swiftly covered the right side of the room up and down.

  From behind Clay, Gus burst out from the hiding spot against the wall, checking the left side of the room; his motions practically mirror-imaging Clay’s simultaneously.

  Nothing.

  It was just a storage space leading to the roof; a few dusty cases and a lot of unfiled papers. With only the sounds of their muffled breathing, Clay flipped through a handful of the dusty files. With one in his hand, he looked over his shoulder noticing that Gus was still scanning the room with his light. Glancing to no particular spot on the paper, he began to read, “…received the new shipment of Brazilian…”

  “Watts, radio headquarters that we have arrived and are sweeping the place now. I’ll keep you updated,” Gus said, and clipped the radio back to his hip. He stepped up and pulled the paper from Clay’s grip. “We have a lot of rooms to cover, kid. No time for reading.” Before crumpling it up and tossing it to the floor, he, too, glanced over its contents. “Nothing that we need to worry with. Let’s move.” The ball of paper dropped to the floor.

  The radio called back, “Roger that. Over,” Watts said.

  Gus slung the radio from his hip, once more, holding down the receiver. “Going to keep the line closed. Don’t want to draw any unnecessary attention. Over.” Gus shoved the radio back on his hip, turning the volume knob until it clicked off.

  Exiting the storage space, the two soldiers found themselves in a long hallway. From the looks of it, there had to be at least twenty or thirty rooms on this floor alone, including the bathrooms.

  “This is going to take longer than I had hoped,” Gus murmured. “We’re going to need to pick up the pace if we plan to make it home in time.”

  “Home in time for what?” Clay asked.

  Not giving a response, Gus moved forward to the first of several doors, side-stepping, rifle at the ready. All the lights were off in the building; the hall was dark, eerie, and quite. With Clay at the rear, Gus took the lead. Thus, leaving the younger of the two stuck covering their asses.

  Checking the door with a quick turn of the knob, it was unlocked. Gus shoved the door open, quickly scanning the room from side to side. With light coming in from the handful of rather large office windows, the room was well lit. Scanning the hallway one last time before peeking into the room, Clay did likewise.

  “This doesn’t make any sense. The place looks freaking empty,” Gus said, dropping his rifle at his hip.

  The room looked like it had once been an office space. Four large desks sat against each of the four walls of the room, with three computer monitors on each desk. Each chair was neatly placed in its designated location, scooted under the desk in front of each monitor. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. There was no sign of struggle or forced entry. Papers and other office supplies lay neatly stacked and organized in selected bins.

  The two soldiers moved on. Checking room after room, they made their way across the hall. In a matter of minutes, they managed to check every last room on the third floor. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

  “I need a break from this thing,” Gus said removing his gas mask and holding it under his arm. “Where the hell is everybody?” With his rifle set on a desk directly behind him, Gus looked out at the open field of sparsely spaced trees and brush from a third story window.

  The room they now stood in was the last one to inspect. Just like all the rest, there wasn’t a soul in sight; no one, infected or otherwise. Most of the office spaces in each room they came across were almost identical. Every other door they opened led into one of two types of rooms. The window that Gus currently peered out of, however, was in a room set up almost like a classroom. The only room of its kind on this floor. It reminded him of high school. There was a large desk toward the front of the room, by the main door, and twenty-some-odd student desks facing the same direction. Behind the desk, on the wall, lay a large, unfamiliar, map of a third world country, neither man knew much about.

  “Let’s move,” Gus said. He pointed toward the door as he stepped away from the window, tossing his mask back over his head. Gus mumbled, “There has to be something here. It’s up to us to find it.”

  Clay quickly agreed with a nod, finding his place behind the big man, covering the rear.

  The two soldiers made their way stealthily down the second flight of stairs winding round to the second floor. With rifles at the ready, they crept swiftly down each step.

  “Shh…” Clay tapped Gus on the shoulder, consequently, stopping them both dead in their tracks, halfway down the steps. With the silent signal, Clay tapped his ear and then pointed at both of his own eyes.

  Gus double-checked his safety: clicking it back, then, opened it again. Simultaneously, he cocked the release, checking to make sure he had a live round in the chamber. The quick clinks of his weapon sounded loud in the enveloping silence.

  Taking each step a little slower, they rounded the corner of the descent. In the back of Gus’ mind, he was actually blown away by the younger man’s readiness. The boy’s training seemed to simply kick in, like second nature. Hidden beneath the glass of his protective visor, Gus grinned slightly. He decided he had started to take a liking to Clay. He might just be cut out for this yet.

  Clay had heard something all right. As the two soldiers reached the lower part of the steps, they could see something and hear it too.

  The door leading into the hall from the staircase was blocked.

  A middle-aged female, covered in blood, lay against the door. Still holding onto the door handle, she was clinging to life too. There was blood everywhere. Smeared across the door and all over the handle, her blood. She lay in a pool of the stuff, red ooze pouring out around her. She sat against the door, draped to one side. She was weak, dying.

  The noise that Clay had heard was her moaning in pain. She had been bitten, and recently. With the two men standing over her, guns pointed at her face, Gus crouched to get a closer look.

  Her throat was torn out, blood bellowed out onto her chest. She had several deep bites on her left arm, massive chunks of flesh missing. The lab coat that she wore had red congealed mess covering it. She was missing a shoe, obviously lost in a chase.

  She suddenly moved, and reac
hed up to Gus, grabbing his arm. She tried to speak, but only gargling spray shot from her mouth and torn throat.

  Gus stood.

  Clay was eyeing the woman and the direction they had come from, just in case. “This was recent. Looks like things are about to get ugly.”

  Gus stepped aside, pulling up his radio.

  Clay moved forward with his rifle, aiming it at point blank at the woman. The dying woman flinched, letting out a horrendous cough. Right as he was about to pull the trigger, Gus pushed Clay’s M-4 aside.

  Reaching for his own handgun, Gus cocked a round into the chamber and aimed it at the woman’s face.

  The loud shot rang out. The woman’s head violently kicked back, sending even more blood against the door behind her. It sprayed a wet splat as she slumped over to one side, dead, releasing her grip on the door handle. A clean hole marked the center of her head.

  The door shook abruptly with the bang of fists.

  “In and out my ass,” Gus grunted holstering the pistol.

  The familiar sounds of dead hissing emanated behind the door. The two men stood there for a moment.

  Clay reached down and pulled the dead woman away from the entrance. A thick trail of blood followed as he dragged her corpse across the ground.

  “Hoorah!” Clay shouted with an obvious hint of sarcasm. Looking at Gus, he shrugged his shoulders and lifted his M-4 signaling that he was ready.

  The door swung open with a forceful kick, sending several looming zombies off balance. Without stepping forward, the two soldiers lit up the hallway leading into the second floor. Zombies convulsed and shook rapidly as bullets tore into their rotting flesh.

  With the M-4 rifles set on full auto, Gus and Clay watched as a jacketed lead barrage sent the ghouls falling back. Dark blood and gray pus shot in every direction as endless bullets ripped through rancid skin and tissue.

  Clay’s rifle clicked empty. He fell to one knee, disregarding the puddle of blood he had been standing in, and reached in his side pocket for a fresh magazine. After spitting out the spent magazine, he slammed the new one home cocking in a fresh round. Before he could stand, Gus found himself doing the same.