by Key, Thomas
"Fuck, that was close!" I yelled to the army guy beside me. I saw him nod in my direction. We had been in the air for roughly five minutes when the vehicle began to shake violently. Multiple alarms began to sound as smoke began to fill the interior. "We're losing hydraulics. I think the RPG caused too much damage," said the pilot on the intercom. The other pilot spoke up. "We can't fix her. We're going down." I looked out the cockpit windows and saw nearly half of Albuquerque still in front of us. "We have to auto rotate," the man beside me said. "What in the actual ass does that mean?" I yelled back. "It means we're going to crash, and hard," he said to me, then walked back to the crew benches and buckled himself in. "Fuck my life," I said as I sat down next to him and buckled in. With that, I heard the rotors above us slow, and our altitude began to drop. I felt my balls go up into my abdomen as I hung on for dear life as we began to drop back towards the dark city below.
Chapter 18
I saw light. It was not a flashlight beam kind of light, but as if it was a well-lit hallway in an otherwise dark home. I walked to the light. I could not see or feel my feet, so who knows if I was actually walking or not. Truth be told, I didn’t know where I was at all. It was an eerie darkness that surrounded me and my forward movement towards the light at the end was slow but steady. As I neared, the light intensified, then I began to feel a pull from the darkness. I turned to look over my shoulder and saw…fire. Oh God. I thought as my mind caught up with my soul. I’m dead, I said to myself as I continued to watch the fire behind me. "Shepherd," it seemed to whisper in my direction. "Fuck that," I said as I turned back around to make a sprint for the light, but the light was gone. I found myself back at Lucaya. I instantly recognized the hallway as I once again, stopped moving. The hallway was dark, with no sound emanating from it. The apartments, ranging from 200 to 220 were on the second floor of the apartment building. I could smell gunpowder in the air. Which my mind could not comprehend as that is a very unusual thing to experience right before my soul made it to either heaven or hell. My eyes widened as I saw myself, coming up the stairs, rifle at the ready. It was like I was watching a 3d movie of myself. Right behind me, or should I say movie me, were two men. Lehmkuhl and Roberts were directly behind the other me, with their own weapons up. I knew this scene and what would happen next, but I could do nothing to stop it. The three men spread out, each taking an apartment on the left side of the hallway. All three doors were locked. On the count of three, the other me and the two men kicked in the doors and went in to each room to clear them. The room I had entered was clear. I spent far too long checking for useful items. When I came back out into the hall, the two men weren’t there. I heard a shuffling two rooms over and ran for the door. Three gunshots went off in quick succession just as I came to a halt in the bedroom of the third apartment. It was too late. The apartment next to the one I had entered was also clear, and Roberts had moved on to see if Lehmkuhl needed help. Apparently, he had walked into handful of infected. Roberts had tried in vain to pull the other man out of their grasps but was bitten as well. Lehmkuhl, knowing what would happen next and refusing to allow him or his friend to become one of those things. His arm was pinned to the floor by the legs of one of the infected as it bit into his leg. He had just enough movement in his hand to point the pistol at his friend Roberts, and fire a shot at the man’s head, killing him instantly. The zombie on top of his arm adjusted its weight and Lehmkuhl was able to pull his arm back in, fire a shot at the infected on top of him and then placed the gun to his own head, and pulled the trigger in quick succession. In a flash, two of my friends were gone. In my dream world, or purgatory or whatever it was, I fell to my knees. What did I do to deserve reliving this? I watched my other self unload a magazine into the heads of the remaining infected. He...or I closed the eyelids of both men and walked from the room. I could see myself shaking as I tried the next-door handle. Tears were falling down both my other selves face and my own as I moved on down the line. Apartment after apartment, clearing each room as I went, alone. As my other self walked around the corner to enter the staircase to the next floor of apartments, the hallway before me began to melt away. The light before me was gone, and a physical pulling sensation had me in its grasp. I stayed as long as I could, there on my knees, crying alone in the darkness before the force became too much and I was swept backwards into the abyss.
I felt myself slowly come back from unconsciousness in the land of the living. I knew that it was because of the amount of physical pain that I was experiencing. I was groggy and felt as if I was having trouble moving. Like one of those hangovers after a serious night of partying. In fact, I was having trouble moving. As I opened my eyes, I realized that my arm was pinned under my chest and I was on my stomach, with my face looking squarely at a metal floor. I felt pain radiate everywhere in my body. I let out a sigh; some could say though that it was more of a manly groan as I moved to lift my face from the ground. I slowly sat up, feeling numbness in the arm that had been previously under me. I used my other hand and checked to make sure I still had all my parts. Luckily, it seemed like I did. Thank goodness. Can you imagine what kind of story that would be to tell people? How I lost my man bits in a helicopter crash during the zombapoc. I did, however, notice that there was a formerly bloody spot on the right side of my head. It was mostly already dried and if I hadn’t died by now, I was sure I'd be fine. I looked around, trying to scan my surroundings but I couldn't see more than an outline of the things around me. I suddenly remembered that I had been in the helicopter and shit obviously did not go well. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye towards where the open side door was. I called out, "Is anyone there?" The movement intensified. Possibly someone was trying to help me? I thought to myself. The movement seemed to be getting closer. After a few more moments, my night vision, so to speak, kicked in. I could start to see more shapes and I could see the outline of the pilot's chairs; the movement though was still coming from outside of the aircraft. An outline of an adult figure came into view. "Hello?" I asked nervously. The figure began to walk towards me, and I heard a small moan come from its lips. I immediately began to try to stand up. It entered the downed helicopter, heading straight towards me. I looked around desperately for a weapon. I couldn't find my bat or any other obvious weapons. I put my hands in front of me in my version of a boxing stance. Just when I was going to swing my best right hook, I heard a loud gunshot. Blood and ever greying brain matter splattered the ceiling inside of the chopper. The figure dropped to the ground with a thud. The gun shot in the metal confines of the interior damn near made my ears bleed. I saw another figure by the door. "Are you alright?" I barely heard with the ringing in my ears. A flashlight came on and I put my hand between it and my eyes. "Yeah," I replied, most likely far too loud as I saw the man wince in response. It was Rodriguez. The man was standing with his rifle strapped to his back and his pistol sweeping the interior. "Sorry," I apparently yelled again as he shook his head and put a finger to his lips. Even I got the message.
With the flashlight moving around the interior of the black hawk, I was able to find my gear. Luckily, nothing of mine had been lost. I saw him check the two pilots for pulses. Rodriguez turned to me and shook his head. Then he motioned for me to cover my ears, to which I did. He raised his pistol and fired two rounds, one into each of the dead men’s heads, just in case. He picked up each of their sidearms and handed me both. Both were Glock 9mms. I did not see any boxes of ammo laying around, so I figured that what were in the magazines were all the bullets that I had to work with, which I thought very unfortunate. I had 17 rounds for each weapon. I stashed one into my pack and the other into my previously empty hip holster. I then followed Rodriguez out of the crash and found myself in a wide-open area that seemed like nothing but dirt and a few bare trees. It looked oddly familiar, but I just could not place my finger on it. My companion was also looking around, with a similar confused look on his face. Our destination had been to the east, but when the chopper was struck, we ended
up going west, away from the danger before we went down. Where in the hell are we? I silently thought to myself. The wind changed, and I got a whiff of something absolutely nauseating. I immediately gagged and went to the ground. It was like the worst zombie I had ever came across times a thousand, which is probably a lot. It was just absolutely awful. Rodriguez swept his flashlight over our immediate area and we saw what looked to be a giant pile of shit. I don't mean a pile of stuff; I mean a legit actual pile of come out of the ass shit. It was immense, maybe 4 feet tall and about 6 feet wide. "That's a big pile of shit," I heard him say. I nodded slowly. He continued to sweep the light and came across dead carcasses littering the area. They looked like horses, but the colors seemed wrong. "Oh damn!" I said out loud in realization. He turned to me quickly, startled. "What?" he pulled up his weapon, searching for a target. "We're in Africa," I responded casually. The look on his face made me feel as if he thought I had hit my head just a little too hard. I saw his face and luckily figured out that now would be a good time to do some in depth explaining. "No, dude, the Zoo," I told him, trying to regain my standing in his eyes. I was not insane. Or could I be? Do insane people know that they’re insane? I snapped back as he continued to stare at me confused. "We're in the Albuquerque Biopark Zoo. This is the Africa section," I said. "How would you know that?" he asked, still not convinced. "Those are freaking Zebras," I told him, pointing at the dead animals. He walked towards one with the flashlight and gazed at it a moment then spoke. I kind of giggled to myself looking at the pile of crap, and I told him, "I shit you not." He was close enough to me that I saw him roll his eyes even in the darkness. "Really?" he asked. I, of course, just stood there with a shit eating grin. Oh, I am so clever. "Alright. I guess we are in a zoo. Now how the hell do we get out of here?" I looked around, trying to get my bearings, but the place was pitch dark. The moon had rescinded behind the clouds and I could not see the Sandia’s to the east. "Do you have a compass or anything?" I asked him. "No, I don't." I thought for a moment. "I suppose let's find the closest path, I'll see if I can remember where I am and then we will try to find a way out to get some transportation." He just shrugged. "You don't like my plan?" I asked in mock disbelief. "I guess," he said as he began to walk into the darkness. I trotted towards him, trying to catch up. "Yeah, just walk away. How about a 'let’s go' or something like that?" I asked when I caught up. I was behind him, but I could definitely hear him sigh.
Chapter 18
The two remaining Blackhawks had been further to the east when everyone had witnessed the third chopper going down. Ken argued valiantly to return to the crash site, but the crew chief for that bird had told him in no uncertain terms that their orders were to return to the base with the survivors and nothing else. They could not risk being shot down as well. He reassured Ken that they would return once they were unloaded and refueled to search for any survivors. Ken wasn't happy about the decision, but short of jumping out the door, there was little else that he could do. As they flew over the open desert, his mind wandered back to Shepherd. He began to fall asleep, even with the jostling and loud noise from the helicopter rotors. Not long after his eyes closed from exhaustion, his dreams began to bring up what seemed like an ancient memory.
Ken recalled the chaos in the first few days of the zombie apocalypse in Albuquerque. He was a gamer, a good one even. He had toyed with the idea of going pro, but life always seemed to get in the way of those dreams. He of course received a lot of flak from friends and family for spending most of his waking hours playing battle royale when he could be out ‘doing real things.’ He would always recite recent studies that had been done saying that gaming improves hand-eye coordination and that it’s even been shown to increase driving ability. People thought of him as a complete teddy bear and great friend material and yes, even the dreaded 'he's a great listener'. Dating was not a part of his planned schedule, even if he felt that had a chance. When the outbreak originally started, he was in his living room of his small one-bedroom two story townhome, playing on the Xbox One. He was streaming his antics on the world wide web when the news reports became too big to ignore. He began receiving text notifications from the news apps on his phones, one local and one national. Every time he was in the zone on the game he was working on, his pocket would vibrate. Eventually, Ken pulled out his phone and checked the notifications. One was a mass shooting in downtown Albuquerque. Another was the FAA completely shutting down all air travel. He opened each app and read the headlines as well. “Hospitals filled to capacity with sick and injured.” “The National Guard has been activated in all 50 states to maintain order”. “Famous actor so and so was robbed”. He frowned at that last one. Who the hell even cares about those celebrities? People are dying, and someone was still writing about that silly shit.
The lights began to flicker in his apartment before going completely out. "Shit," he said to himself as he stood up. His cell phone was at 39%. He turned it to low power mode and then powered it off. He looked outside to see... nothing. Outside of his apartment window, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. A few sirens could be heard off in the distance though. He was sure the power would be restored before long. What better time to take a nap? He asked himself. He stripped off his clothes and fell sound asleep. He awoke several hours later to a pitch-dark apartment. He stood, stretched and went to turn his bathroom light on as he walked in to do his business. Nothing happened. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." He sighed to himself. He took care of those base needs and afterwards walked back to the window and this time, he saw smoke stretching into the sky from several points around the city. He peered down and saw people running around on street level in the moonlight. It seemed like many of the neighbors were packing up to leave. Dozens of people were in the streets. Most seemed completely frantic. He powered his phone back on and was temporary blinded by the brightness of the screen in the darkness. Once startup was complete, his phone began to vibrate repeatedly with incoming texts. His good friend, Derrick, had been trying to get a hold of him for the past few hours. As time went on, the texts became more distraught. "Dude, where are you?" "Are you seeing the news?" "Are you there?!" Ken sent a text in response, "I'm fine. Power has been out. Are you okay?" He turned the sound on, and went to put it into his pocket, only to realize he was still pants-less from his nap. It’s hard to put stuff into a pocket that you just don't have. Am I right ladies? This by the way, is not a dig towards women at all, I just have heard countless times how frustrating it is to own pants that look so terrific on you, but they just don't have pockets. It was damn near its own epidemic. If women had the choice though, would they choose utility over fashion? The world may never know now.
After dawning a clean set of clothes, in this case, a black N7 sweater with the infamous symbol and a black pair of sweats. High gamer class all of the way. He went back to the window to again look out at the street. There were several groups of people huddled around parts of the paved road. It looked to him like they were gathering for warmth. This was very odd, considering it was still 70 degrees out tonight. No one was running around like before. In fact, he didn't see or hear a single car start up and drive away. He made the decision and walked downstairs to his apartment door. He walked out into the street and approached the closest group. "Hey, what's going on? Why is the power still off?" he somewhat yelled to the first huddled group that he came across. They all stopped what they were doing and stood straight up in unison. He stopped walking abruptly and glanced down at where they had been bunched together. A large mass was on the asphalt. As the wind changed, he smelt the iron-rich smell of blood. The group of six people began to walk towards Ken. His eyes rested on a face, half chewed through. The haunting face stared right back at him, with its mouth open as if in an eternal scream. Ken wretched, grabbing his stomach as he tried to back track. The group continued towards him with a new sense of urgency. The other groups on the street had also stood and began to converge in his direction.
He turned and ran ba
ck to his apartment door. He slammed it shut as the nearest group came up to his door steps. He locked the deadbolt and then stepped back. A moment later, there was a loud pounding at the door. The solid wood door shook with each impact. He continued to retreat and nearly fell backwards onto the steps that led to his bedroom. He sat on the first step. and the slams on the door continued for what seemed like hours. Finally, the pounding stopped. He had nearly fallen back to sleep on the steps, when his phone rang. In the dead silence, it sounded to him like it was a car alarm blaring its warning to the whole neighborhood. There was a tremendous impact on the door, and Ken heard the splintering of wood. He struggled to turn the cell phone off, trying to figure out first which pocket the phone was in. When you’re in the heat of the moment of a traumatic event, things as simple and trivial as knowing what pocket your phone is in or trying to remember how to lock the car door seem to become worlds out of reach. In this case, if he had been wearing women's pants, he could have avoided the whole situation. He saw Derrick's name on the caller ID and answered it as he ran up the stairs to his bedroom as another crack was heard. "Dude, someone is breaking into my house. They're crazy people," he whispered to Derrick. Derrick's response was also hushed. "You can't make noise. They're attracted to noise and motion. I think they can smell people too. You've got to get out of your apartment. They're really strong. Get someplace safe. We found a stronghold and are going to stay here until it blows over. I suggest that you do the same. Stay alive man."