He put away his binoculars and turned back to the men on the steps. After looking at all the destruction around him and the sad state of his trucks, he reached a decision.
He stepped onto a small sidewall and looked down at his men. “I’m going to keep this brief. In the morning, we’re going to finish our mission. We are going to procure the documents we came to get and then we are going to head back across country. We are going to have a new mission as we go. Each of you will be responsible for securing a state we leave you in. We will recruit new members, then you are in charge to secure your territory. You will still answer to me, but you will rule your own land.” Several heads nodded in agreement with this statement. “Furthermore, the mission will change. Find survivors, kill the zombies. We will remake this country as we see fit. You will answer only to me, no one else. I can think of no better reward for your loyalty.”
The men quietly clapped, and one man raised his hand. “How will you decide who gets which state?”
Thorton smiled. “Since I am a fair man, we’ll choose fairly. Come with me.”
The group went down into the museum and gathered around a large map of the United States. It was a map with the Louisiana Purchase depicted on it, but the current states were labeled as well. Thorton stood about ten feet away and pulled his large knife. Pointing to the nearest man, he said, “You’re first.” The major hurled his knife at the wall, burying the tip in Montana. “That’s your state. Good luck.”
The selection proceeded, with fate determining the outcome. It got harder as more states were chosen and the smaller ones had to be chosen at random as opposed to the tip of a knife. Since there weren’t fifty men, some of the men received two states to make up for some of the larger states like Texas. Thorton chose Nebraska as his own state, citing the fact that it was in the center of the country and therefore the best place for keeping control over the rest.
“I’m glad that’s settled. Now let’s get moving. The bad news is our trucks are done. They got us here but they aren’t getting us any closer. We’re going to have to hoof it the rest of the way. The good news is there doesn’t seem to be as much zombie activity as I expected. But watch your backs and don’t fire unless you absolutely have to. The less attention we attract, the better. Sergeants, form your men, we’re moving out.”
The group, led by Thorton, walked along the Potomac tidal basin towards the Franklin Delano Roosevelt memorial. There weren’t any zombies along the walkway, although they could see dozens on the road on the other side of the trees. Since they were hidden by overgrowth and close to the water, the zombies didn’t see them.
Passing through a small opening in the trees, the men entered the FDR Memorial. The memorial was spread out over a few acres, utilizing stone and water to represent the years of the Roosevelt administration, through the Depression and World War II. Bronze figures focused the visitor on particular aspects of the president’s years in office and various plaques described events relating to the memorial. In its day, the memorial was an interesting departure from the usual stone column, single figure memorial. This memorial documented a time period as well as a person.
At least it used to. Stagnant water and overgrown weeds greeted the soldiers and rounding a corner, the men were surprised by a bread line of bronze men. They were more surprised when two of the men detached themselves from the end of the line and headed over to the fresh meat line.
The two zombies, obviously attracted to the human-sized statues, had been frustrated to find their meals resisted their teeth most effectively. But when they saw the living humans come around the corner, their limited prayers had been answered. The first one advanced with arms outstretched, its blank eyes focusing on the prey at hand while its mouth slacked open. The other zombie, a smaller individual with deep claw marks across its skull and back advanced in a crouch, a single arm held forward to try and grab at a soldier.
Major Thorton held a hand up to stop his men and walked right up to the first zombie. Batting aside the arms, Thorton pushed it down on its face, then stood on its back while the other advanced. Grabbing the hand offered by the zombie, Thorton jerked it off its feet, tripping it over the zombie already on the ground. While it fell, Thorton stomped on the neck of the first one, breaking its spine and ceasing its jerky movements. The second zombie started to get up and the Major gave a mighty kick, connecting with the zombie’s neck, snapping its head back and cracking its neck as well.
Ken stepped off the two inert ghouls and motioned for his men to continue to follow. The men circled around the zombies, whose mouths still opened and closed and whose eyes still followed the men as they sidled past.
Thorton eschewed the main road, deciding it would be best to continue to follow the basin. The walkway circled around the basin and since it was shielded by trees, the group could advance to their objective without attracting too much attention. Once they reached the open ground, it was going to be much harder, but there was no point in fighting hard now if it could be avoided.
The group quietly made their way to a bridge and Thorton cursed when he saw the path went up over the street and not under it. Dozens of zombies were milling about the abandoned cars and if they knew there was a buffet of live prey under the trees, they’d be down just as fast as their decaying legs could get them. He decided to try the water, directing one of his men to slip into the muddy basin and see if they could just walk in the shallows under the bridge.
The man walked over to the water’s edge and stepping confidently into the basin, immediately sank like a stone. Two of his comrades rushed to the edge and grabbed him as he bobbed up for air. The men dragged the spluttering private over to the Major, and shook their heads at their dumbass friend.
The soaking wet soldier looked up at his commander and whispered, “Deeper than I thought, sir!” The man got to his feet, pouring water out of his rifle and wringing out his bulging pockets.
“Thanks.” Thorton just shook his head and figured they’d have to try something else. Ken picked up a rock and hurled it at the zombies on the bridge. The stone cracked off a side window on a car and immediately every zombie on the bridge zeroed in on the sound, rushing over as quickly as they could.
This gave Thorton an idea and he had his men quickly gather up stones. Breaking the men into groups of four, he had them get as close to the road as possible, then wait for a barrage of stones. Major Thorton tossed four stones in quick succession, drawing the majority of the zombies away from the edge of the bridge. As the third stone was in the air, the men were signaled to run and they practically dove over the road, scrambling down the other side and ducking into the trees. Thorton waited until he could see rifles peeking out of the leaves, then began throwing the rocks again, this time a little farther away.
The second and third groups made it just fine, then they had to wait nearly an hour for a second band of zombies to clear the area before sending over the fourth and last group. This one included Thorton, who had to throw really far to get even a couple of rocks to hit and distract the zombies.
After reaching the other side, Ken decided to take a small break and let his men rest a bit. They lay down under the trees and bushes and Thorton himself sat under a small overhang which didn’t allow him to be seen from above. As he looked over the lounging men, one of them suddenly slid under the bushes as if he had been dragged from the other side.
A shriek of pain accompanied the sudden movement and men were scrambling to their feet, grabbing weapons and packs. Thorton risked a look around the edge of the trees and saw six zombies had pinned his man down and were tearing him to shreds. The soldier’s legs kicked wildly and one bloody hand, minus two fingers, slapped the back of a feeding zombie.
Major Thorton looked back at the bridge and saw at least fifty zombies peering over the edge, seeing the commotion and men. Thorton could almost do a countdown and then there it was: an ear splitting groan which waxed out over the Potomac Tide Basin, bounced off the Jefferson Memorial and ech
oed back again.
“Well, shit,” Thorton said. “Time to go. No point in being quiet. Kill ‘em if they get close, save your ammo if you can.” Ken raced along the sidewalk, grateful the trees still screened him from the rest of the zombies. The men followed quickly behind, not one of them sparing a glance at their comrade, whose intestines were being shared among his killers. None of them saw the futile hand raise towards them, begging for a bullet to end the pain and eventual reawakening.
Thorton bolted across the road, skirting two cars that still had grisly occupants and raced into a grove of trees. There were several walkways in this area, so there were no cars to worry about, but there was no safety as they were surrounded by thousands of hungry dead people.
Major Thorton faced his men. “We’ve got about a half-mile run to anything that looks like a defensible building. We’re going to head for the trees across the way, then we’re going to move into the first building we can get to. If you fall behind, you’re on your own.” The Major drew his weapon and checked the loads. “Let’s go.”
The men burst from cover and ran as hard as they could, trying to get as much movement going before they got spotted by too many zombies. Trouble was, there were too many zombies to begin with. On the grounds of the Washington Monument, hundreds of zombies watched as the men raced across the lawn, their dead eyes widening and their mouths opening as they gave chase. During the Upheaval, these people had made an early stand against the ravenous hordes, figuring the higher ground might be of value. But they were quickly overcome and joined the ranks of the ghouls. Now they were pursuing food, something they hadn’t seen in a long time and the need to feed was achingly powerful.
Crossing 14th Street was interesting, as Thorton leaped onto the hoods and roofs of abandoned and attacked cars. The men followed and only one slipped and fell. As he got up, a zombie head shot out from a vehicle and tore a chunk out of his shoulder. The man screamed and clutched his bloody wound, slinking down among the cars while the zombie that bit him chewed contentedly.
As Thorton looked back at the commotion, the soldier put his rifle barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger, blowing his brains to the sky and slumping over. As the rest of the squad leaped over the inert form, each man hoped he would be brave enough to do the same, should the worst happen and they become infected.
The men ran full tilt into a small horde of zombies and used their clubbing weapons to take them out. Thorton used his knife to end two of them and then they were running again. They stayed by the trees lining the mall, figuring to keep exposure to a minimum. There were still at least ten thousand zombies out there and they were all coming to the realization that food was on the table.
As Thorton looked down the mall, he realized they were going to be quickly overrun if they didn’t find some kind of shelter quickly. He decided to make a run for the nearest building, which in this case happened to be the National Museum of Natural History. He had only fifteen men left and at the rate he was going, he was going to be alone in a sea of zombies if he didn’t make the right moves. He needed to get to the Capitol Building, as that was where he thought the documents were, but he could distract the zombies if he could get them to attack the front while he and his men slipped out the side and no one would be the wiser.
He passed in between two buses full of zombie eighth graders and ran up to the building, glancing at the broken glass and realizing someone had already tried to make this a sanctuary and failed. Too late to worry now. Thorton ushered his men inside, then began hauling benches and debris to cover the hole. “I need heavy stuff, now!” he yelled, levering a heavy planter over to the glass.
The men attacked the information booth, shoving and pushing it over to the entrance. Thorton and two of his men heaved the booth onto its side, effectively blocking most of the entrance. Outside, zombies were edging closer and the men could see that they were coming from all directions, attracted to the noise and the movements of their brethren.
“I need more, come on, we got two minutes before they’re on us!” Thorton yelled. He didn’t care about the noise, he wanted to attract the zombies to the front of the building. He also didn’t care about securing the door too much because it didn’t need to be permanent. He just needed a delay.
Two men came over carrying a counter full of brochures and heaved it on top of the desk as three other men carrying heavy planters tossed them on the pile as well. One man carried a stuffed deer and when he threw it on top, it tumbled out of the building and lay on the sidewalk. Thorton wondered briefly if the zombies would give it a nibble before realizing it wasn’t alive.
“All right, we need to find an exit. Watch yourselves, because with that hole there could be a lot of zombies in here right now who couldn’t find the exit.” Thorton reached into a display and yanked a spear off of a Neanderthal. The shaft was solid and the spearhead was metal painted to look like flint, but it was pointy enough to serve. It would keep zombies far enough away that he could use his knife if he needed, or if the situation called for it, he could use it to split a skull or two.
They headed the opposite way they had come in, passing the huge display of stuffed elephants, looking over the museum directory as they went. The door they wanted was on the opposite side of the building, Thorton wasn’t interested in service doors or maintenance exits. Trying to get through to areas like that meant dark walks through tight quarters, something no one did if they were sane in a possible zombie infested building. If a group made a stand here, chances were they were still around, lurking in the dark corners.
Thorton led the way, his flashlight and spear held in front of him. The men crowded close behind, the memory of losing two of their number still extremely fresh in their minds. One of the men glanced over at a display of a Northwest Indian lodge, the dark timbers carved in deep relief of ancient gods and grimacing faces.
“What are those shiny spots?” he asked his closest companion as they made their way slowly past.
His comrade, displaying a remarkable amount of education, replied, “Those are bits of mother-of-pearl, set in the eyes to make it seem like the gods are watching when the light hits them.”
The first soldier peered close. “Did they hang them from strings, because some of them are moving.”
“What? Oh, shit.” The educated soldier whipped up his rifle and fired a deafening shot at the crowd of zombies that was moving out of the shadows of the lodge. Every soldier turned and suddenly there were curses and shots fired as moans filled the air. For every zombie, it took at least two shots, as the jumpy soldiers weren’t able to aim very well in the dark. The last zombie fell not ten feet from Major Thorton, who flashed his light over the group.
“You can bet your asses that won’t be the last bunch in here. We need to—” Thorton was cut off by the echoing of dozens of groans from zombies all over the museum. The crashing reports of the rifles was as much a dinner bell to the ravenous ghouls and from every dark corner, every smashed display, every alcove of learning came decaying forms, shuffling, grasping, hungry.
“Oh, fuck.” Major Thorton spun on his heel and ran full tilt for the front of the building. His only hope was to get his men away from the perceived source of the noise, the place the zombies would go to first. If he was fast enough, he might be able to get his men out before they were cut off by too many zombies.
They ran to the north entrance, but the easy exit was already cut off by several dark shapes that swayed ominously in the light filtering in through the glass. They could make it through, but there wouldn’t be anyone left if they tried to stand.
“Back! Back!” shouted Thorton as he shoved his way through his men. He had caught a fleeting glimpse of a floor plan and was heading to what he hoped was a side entrance. He tried the doors to the parking garage, but they were blocked and barricaded and he didn’t have time to try and bust through.
He ran past the Starlight Café and as the group was about to pass a horde of zombie teens slammed into the grou
p from behind. Four men were taken down quickly without a shot being fired. Thorton watched as one of his men was reduced to shreds by a trio of teenage girls, one of them still had her sunglasses on her rotting head. The other three were struggling under groups of six or more, while the tour guide, an older zombie in a red Washington Nationals hat, ripped out a soldier’s eyeball and contentedly munched on it while the man screamed.
“Go, go go!” Thorton was down to eleven men and he didn’t want to lose any more. One of the men casually joked that now they had more states to control. Ken shook his head.
They ran past the Rose Gallery and turned right. Thorton abruptly stopped when he saw the stuffed elephants in the hall. “Son of a bitch.” He muttered under his breath. They had come in a complete circle and this hallway was filling up with zombies that had gotten in from the outside.
Now Major Thorton was mad. He had not only just lost a quarter of his men, but he had managed to get himself lost, with the exits blocked by dozens of ghouls. “So be it.” He snarled, pulling his huge knife and hefting his spear. He turned around and headed back the way he came, moving right at the zombies that fed on the remains of his fallen soldiers. One of the zombies saw him and stood up, shuffling closer to see what this fool looked like.
Thorton barely slowed down. He stalked up to the zombie teen and neatly decapitated it, the heavy blade easily shearing the decaying tissue and bone. Thorton used the spear to stab another in the eye, killing it, while the tour guide was dispatched with another head-lopping stroke. His blood up, Ken rammed the spear through three of the feeding zombies, who hadn’t noticed the shaft in their guts until Thorton lifted them completely off the ground, then slammed them headfirst into the wall. He left the spear and faced down the last two zombies, both of whom hissed and started for him with blood stained mouths and hands.
Ken waited for them to get close enough, then swung the blade in a vicious arc, killing both zombies in a single blow. The bodies dropped away as the heads bounced down the hall and the major wiped his blade off with a napkin from the café. The men looked around in awe at the sudden devastation. They realized just how a man like their commander survived the Upheaval.
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