George Magnum

by Dead Again

  Peterson felt something wrong in his gut. There were too few infected in this area.

  It wasn’t long before they arrived at the front entranceway. A few zombies, which had collected at the front, turned and began moving toward the group.

  A volley of gun shots rang out behind Peterson, and the infected fell.

  Peterson stopped before the main entrance, breathing heavy from all the jogging.

  “Now what?” Trooper Willis asked with his typical argumentative tone of voice, appearing behind Peterson.

  Peterson stared at the entrance, feeling a familiar bad feeling. It felt like an ambush.

  He spoke up. “My team will go in first and clear the emergency room. Cover the civilians here. When you hear the ALL CLEAR, get your asses inside.”

  The shadow team moved in precision, by the numbers, and strategically positioned themselves for an assault into the emergency room. Sheriff Jones provided a few shots, hitting some far away zombies.

  “GO!” ordered Peterson.

  They all rushed into the emergency waiting room. It was surprisingly small. A few infected seemed almost surprised by their sudden appearance, and turned to attack. There weren’t many of them, however. Johnny-Boy and Sharon fired, and easily dropped them.

  “I don’t see anymore!” Sharon yelled.

  “Cover the corners, east and west!” Peterson yelled back, using his hands to signal positions.

  The team fanned out and covered corridors leading into the waiting room. Peterson went to the entranceway.

  “SECURE!” he yelled outside to the group.

  Peterson turned and saw all the civilians rush into the waiting room. The sound of the mayhem drowned out his thoughts. The hospital had seemed like the best idea at the time. Available medicine, food, and enough space to make sure everyone had safety. During crises, it’s the focal point of most neighborhoods, after all. And if help was going to come, the hospital was the first place search and recovery units looked.

  Now, cramped inside the small lobby, there was not as much room to maneuver as Peterson had expected there to be. Also, as Peterson surveyed the civilians, he noticed clearly that the trip here had taken its toll on the women, elderly and children especially, who seemed to be coming apart at the seams.

  A particularly high-pitched scream came out of somewhere. The crowd of civilians screamed, then swayed.

  Peterson was pushed, and practically lost his balance. On the east side of the lobby, a woman with dyed blond hair and a large chest stood before a set of double doors, which were being opened by a zombie. She was petrified by the sight before her.

  This infected was once a hospital patient, and it wore a blood stained robe. What was most scary, however, was that, like a dog, it held a human bone between its teeth.

  Appearing over the woman’s shoulder, Cash caught sight of something which created excitement in his face. Behind the incoming zombie, down the long hospital corridor from which it came, were countless more zombies moving towards them. The walking dead broke into a chorus of hair-raising moans.

  Peterson watched as exhilaration swept across Cash’s face. Anytime Cash seemed happy, there was big trouble in the area. Yet, when the dead walked the earth, a crazy, dull witted, killing machine, like Cash, was an important addition to any team.

  Cash raised his assault rifle with one hand while simultaneously brushing the woman aside with the other.

  “Excuse me kindly, ma’am,” Cash said in a hospitable and gentlemanly tone of voice.

  He then peered down the rifle’s sight, and put his crosshairs on the forehead of an incoming zombie, now only a few feet away. Cash gently tapped the trigger and a single crack from his rifle rung out. His bullet entered through the bridge of the zombie’s nose, and exited swiftly out the back of its head. The neck of the zombie snapped back with the force of the blow, and then fell on its back with a loud thud. The double doors swung closed behind it.

  Cash yelled, “we have incoming, and lots of them!”

  At Cash’s words, the civilian crowd began to panic.

  As if they weren’t already scared enough, Peterson thought. He noted again the limited space available to maneuver in here, and realized that this was the last thing they needed.

  “You said this place would be safe!” an anonymous, high-pitched voice rang out.

  “We’re trapped in here!” another voice rang out.

  The civilians were losing faith. They were exhausted and petrified, but without their control and cooperation, this mission would turn into disaster quickly.

  The Sheriff doubled back and made his way to Peterson.

  “You and your men barricade the front entranceway,” the Sheriff said. “My men will establish a perimeter and keep them off you long enough.”

  Peterson scanned the crowd as the Sheriff was speaking. He looked out the main entranceway windows: in such a short period of time, the infected had already materialized outside in mass. The parking lot was filling up with zombies. They were surrounding and closing in on the hospital.

  “Let’s go!,” the Sheriff said, still unable to catch his breath. “We don’t have much time!”

  “No. We don’t need to barricade the hospital,” Peterson finally replied. In contrast to the Sheriff’s fearful face, Peterson was stern, as hard as a rock. His thoughts were lucid, his voice confident. “We agreed upon the shelter. That’s were we are going. We have to get these people in order. We’re going to need them going to get things done.”

  Trooper Willis appeared before them. “I don’t know about you,” he interjected, “but I’m not going to be trapped down in that old shelter with no way out. It’s suicide.”

  “The Trooper’s right,” the Sheriff said, trying to pull his eyes off the growing crowd of zombies in the parking lot. “We have to barricade this whole damn place.”

  “That was not the plan,” Peterson snapped. This was no time for negotiation.

  Trooper Willis inched towards Peterson’s face. “That wasn’t your plan. But you’re not in charge here anymore. Your not going to just lock these civilians down there and leave them to rot, soldier. What do you think we are, idiots?”

  Peterson stared back hard, contemplating his options.

  “There are two main entranceways and a door which leads to the loading dock,” came the voice of Nurse Dee. There was resilience and toughness in her voice. “That makes a total of three ways for those things to get in.”

  “How many patients did this place hold?” Peterson asked.

  “We have one hundred and forty five beds. We were full to capacity when things went bad.” She spoke in rapid fire, not wasting any time.

  “That means we probably got a shitload of infected in here, like we warned,” Trooper Willis said to Peterson with a vicious stare. “Which is why we didn’t want to come here in the first place.”

  “And that’s exactly why we can’t barricade this whole place, either,” retorted Peterson. He was doing his best to remain calm, but his voice raised just a notch. Trooper Willis was getting dangerously under his skin.

  “We don’t need to lock the whole place down, boy, only the first floor,” Willis snapped.

  “We are heading to the shelter,” Peterson decided, ignoring the Sheriff and Trooper Willis. “Nurse Dee, are you all right to lead the way?”

  “No, disobey that order Nurse!” Sheriff Jones hissed through clenched teeth. Previously cooperative, his sudden change was an unpleasant shock to Peterson. “We needed your help in that parking lot, Commander. Thank you. Now that we are out, I’m no longer taking orders from you.”

  The crackle of machine gun fire suddenly rang out. Peterson whirled his head to see Cash popping off rounds. Obviously, there was some bad company moving in on Cash’s position.

  Then there came a shout from the other side of the lobby, “INCOMING!”

  It was Armstrong, holding his pistol in hand. About ten feet before him was a walking dead, a doctor with a stethoscope around his neck.
Large chunks of flesh were bitten off his neck, exposing his adam’s apple. Armstrong took quick aim and popped a round through the doctor’s head.

  “And I got a lot more behind him!” Armstrong hollered.

  From the opposite side of the lobby, Sharon’s voice came. “Get down!” Peterson just had time to see a group of civilians duck, revealing a walking corpse coming upon them. Sharon was on top of it, however, her MP5 assault rifle tucked tightly in firing position. Flashes spit from her barrel as she fired a cascade of bullets.

  The grouping was perfect. Three 9 mm rounds hit the corpse squarely in the side of the head, taking apart its skull. Blood showered the nearby civilians. The zombie fell, revealing an army of infected just behind it. More unearthly moans of the walking dead filled the lobby.

  A civilian cried out, “They are fucking everywhere!”

  The townspeople, in unison, screamed in panic.

  “We don’t have time to argue Sheriff,” Peterson demanded, with a pressured tone of voice. “First things first, get everyone to safety, in the shelter. Will you help me or not?”

  The Mayor had overheard the conversation. He stepped forward, his voice trembled and his eyes watered with fear, “Listen to him Sheriff. For God’s sake, listen to him. He got us this far.”

  Sheriff Jones turned to Peterson, his voice hard. “We don’t take orders from you anymore.” He swung over to Trooper Willis, his mind made up. “We barricade this damn placed first.”

  Sudden bursts of machine gun fire crackled from all sides of the perimeter. The shadow team was now engaged with swarms of incoming infected.

  The Sheriff turned to address the crowd. He was about to say something to the civilians, but Peterson pushed him aside.

  Peterson spoke: “Listen up people. Stay calm and do exactly as I say. Stay tight, stay close, don’t push and move swiftly. We’re going into the shelter now.”

  “Don’t listen to him!” Sheriff Jones shouted.

  Another particularly loud shriek caught Peterson’s attention. From the looks of the situation, the zombie must have attacked from behind the reception desk. It had taken hold of a woman’s arm, and was chewing a mouthful of her flesh. She attempted to pull her arm away, but to no avail.

  From the midst of the crowd, Cowboy jumped out with his 8 gauge shotgun in his arms. At point blank range, he pulled the trigger. BLAM.

  The retort of the rifle was deafening. The powerful weapon just didn’t blow the entire head off the zombie, it also blew the woman’s hand off. A pulsating stream of blood sprang out of the hole where her hand used to be. She was too stunned to scream.

  When Cowboy had realized what he had done, he seemed to be in more pain than the woman. His wide eyes bulged in astonishment. The woman turned to him and, with her good hand, reached out for help. Her face was a tight ball of pain. Her eyes pleaded to Cowboy, and then she collapsed.

  Just when Peterson thought he was about to get control of this crowd, their chaotic screaming created a sound wave that hit him in the face. He snapped his attention back to the group of leaders surrounding him, and fixated on the Nurse. Something had changed in his eyes. He was going to execute his plans, and anything standing in his way, the zombies or the Sheriff, would make no difference. He would tear them apart equally.

  “Will you lead us to the shelter, Nurse?” Peterson’s tone was flat. Not angry. This is how Peterson’s brothers-in-arms knew that he was ready to unleash the animal killer which boiled deep inside of him, when he was about to ignore the responsibility of his command, the meaning of law, the rules of civilization. It was when his fellow soldiers knew he had reached his limit, teetering on his personal edge. And with a sense of disconcerting omnipotence in his voice, Peterson continued: “I will part the Red Sea.”

  The people around him—the Sheriff, the Trooper, Washington, the Mayor and the Nurse—were all silent. They must have seen in Peterson a glimpse of the darkness in his soul, and it must have scared them.

  “Yes commander,” she cleared her voice, and then, with a good deal of confidence and bravery continued, “I’ll get you there. I’ll get us all there. Follow me.”

  “Sheriff,” Peterson’s word shot like piss from his mouth as he turned to leave. “If you or your men get in my way from protecting these civilians, we will have a war on our hands.”

  “These are my people, Commander. You have no fucking right!” Sheriff Jones was a sneaky bastard. Earlier he feigned weakness and pleaded for help. Now he was like a different person. “If you want a war, I’ll give you one.”

  “We had a deal,” Peterson said, making just one last attempt to change the course of the situation. “I am in command.”

  “Deals change, Commander,” Trooper Willis interjected. He loved the turn of events. He really hated Peterson, “and you’re not the only one with guns. We keep the people. You do what we want, or we will have a war on our hands.”

  “This is madness!” The Mayor was on the verge of tears.

  Then the clear, logical voice of Dr. Washington rang out. “Gentlemen, the solution is simple. Let the people decide,” Washington turned to the Mayor. “Address the crowd, and quickly.”

  Peterson, Sheriff Jones and Trooper Willis didn’t know how to respond to this suggestion.

  The Mayor didn’t wait for objections to be heard. He moved into position and stood before the civilians. He shouted out, quickly: “Some of us are following the soldiers and are heading to the shelter in the basement. Sheriff Jones thinks it’s best to stay upstairs. There is no time for hesitation. I’m going downstairs with the soldiers. The rest of you do as you will.”

  Some leadership skills the Mayor had, Peterson thought. When push came to shove, he just wanted to save his own ass. A wave of confusion and fear arose from the crowd.

  Peterson was already planning for a possible armed engagement with these cops. Nurse Dee slipped by Peterson, brushing his shoulder, leading the way. “Follow me,” she said.

  Peterson fell into place and followed her through the crowd. The Mayor and Washington fell in line behind Peterson.

  “I’m with you,” trembled the Mayor.

  “Good.” Peterson said without looking back, “You’re responsible for those who follow us. Keep them close to our backs.”

  Cash could be seen clearly by Peterson. He was laying-down a fiery wall of well directed fire. With each crack of his rifle, the thud of a falling body could be heard. And Sharon, she could be seen off to the right, covering the flank of the civilians. She too was laying down fire.

  But Peterson couldn’t see the entire team. Armstrong, Tag, and Johnny boy were holding up the rear. He knew that much. But he wasn’t too concerned about them. They could take care of themselves. And when he moved, he knew they would move, too. Despite Dr. Washington being a major pain in his ass, Peterson had come to realize, despite himself, that in order to complete the mission, Washington was needed alive.

  “Stay close behind, Washington. I want your butt in one piece.”

  Washington looked surprised by Peterson’s concern.

  Peterson turned to the Mayor, “Do it now.”

  The mayor took a deep breath and hollered at the top of his lungs. “THOSE COMING WITH US, WE ARE MOVING! STAY CLOSE TOGETHER! STAY WITHIN THE PERIMETER OF THE SOLDIERS. DON’T HESISTATE! WE ARE GOING TO THE SHELTER!”

  Peterson liked the style of Nurse Dee. She was a natural leader. She walked right up behind Cash, without hesitation. In fact, Peterson had to keep up with her. They stopped, stood side by side, and for the first time caught a glimpse at what Cash was shooting at. The double doors, now propped open by dead zombies, revealed a long and deep hallway. It was populated by at least fifty of those things. Their ghostly moans reverberated off the walls.

  Shit.

  “The entranceway to the shelter is at the end of that hallway,” Nurse Dee said, taking a deep breath. “Just have to make it to the end of the hallway, and the door is right there.”

  A zombie was approac
hing Cash, its neck and jaw broken, creating a grotesquely disfigured appearance. Its eyes rolled up in the back of its head as it lumbered, slowly, mechanically, ever closer to Cash. Peterson wondered what Cash was waiting for, why he wasn’t shooting it?

  Behind the zombie were many more, and Cash didn’t have time to screw around.

  Peterson stepped forward, about to say something, but then stopped abruptly. Cash was no longer smiling; no longer was there excitement in his face. Now his eyes seemed, Peterson found it hard to believe, a bit watery. His jaws were clenched tight, and he just stared at the inward bound zombie. He wasn’t even looking through the site of his rifle. The abrupt change of Cash’s disposition scared Peterson.

  He’s losing his fucking mind.

  “Cash?” Peterson said lightly. “Cash, you okay?”

  The incoming zombie let out a guttural moan and, walking as if drunk, moving ever closer to Cash.

  “What the hell are these things?” Cash’s left eye twitched when he spoke. “In god’s name, what are they?”

  The Zombie stepped within feet of Cash and Peterson. The nurse backed away. Peterson drew his pistol and, with a level hand, aimed at the zombie.

  “They’re the fucking walking dead,” Peterson hissed and pulled the trigger.

  The zombie took the bullet between the eyes, its body reeled, and it fell flat on its face. The back of its head revealed the exit wound.

  Cash let out a deep belly laugh. His shoulders shook.

  “What do we do boss?” Cash’s question was deeper than it appeared on the surface. For the first time, Peterson saw the deep vulnerability in Cash. Underneath his crazy tough exterior was a scared little boy, just like everybody else. And for the first time, Peterson’s heart went out to him.

  “We kill them, friend,” Peterson looked down the hallway, at the rest of the approaching zombies. “Squeeze the trigger and let it fly.”

  Cash’s expression turned on a coin. His emotions were unraveling. Now an odd smile crossed his face. He raised his rifle, took aim, and fired. Shot by shot, he hit six infected—all in the head. They dropped like bowling pins. Yet for every zombie killed, another seemed to appear. Like an army of ants crawling out of their hive.