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Posted: 9/19/2007 12:09:58 PM EDT
[Last Edit: Shadowbody]
My first attempt at a Zombie-esq fiction.  It's raw, will need editing but wanted to get it out there for public consumption and feedback.

HUMANITY’S END

Preface
Vandergrift, Pennsylvania


“HALT!” the commanding voice screamed from behind, only 80 yards back.  Thomas kept on running.  He only wanted to help, had tried to be the good Samaritan and help that young girl.  The forest around him was thick and thanks to 3 years of Varsity football he could easily outrun the overweight cop who was after him.  

He could hear the office screaming something into his shoulder mic in-between the labored breaths, but couldn’t make it out, and honestly he didn’t care.  He knew from experience that the police wouldn’t care for things like the truth or for any facts or that he had seen that little girl standing alone on her porch. He was all sweaty, covered in blood, in a rich white neighborhood and he was a black youth.

Up ahead the ground dipped into a ravine.  As Thomas ran forward, he could see a small stream which went on for several yards, into the nighttime darkness.  He ran along the side of the stream, dodging logs and rocks along the stream bank which threatened to trip and deliver him right into the hands of the police.  He glanced back briefly, but didn’t see the officer who had chased him from the house.  

He ran forward, thinking about what had just happened, his heartbeat sounding like snare drum in his ears.  Up ahead was a storm drain, which let out from another neighborhood nearby.  He ran to the entrance and leaned against the concrete wall.  The drain was only a few inches shorter then he was.  If he had to, he could run through the drains to get away.  He didn’t know where the tunnels went to, but anywhere away from the police was fine with him right now.

His mind kept on racing, thinking about what he saw in that house and about how his life was now ruined.  How that cop had instantly drew his gun on him when his cop car came to a screeching halt, not even waiting to get his side of the story.  

“Shit!” he said, trying to be quiet, but the echo sounding from the dark tunnels behind him.  He had to make sure his side of the story got out.  He needed to get control of the situation.  He had his whole life ahead of him, his scholarship to Penn State, his family to think of. . .then it hit him.  His Brother!

Thomas took out his cell phone and called Tim, his brother.  Tim was 8 years old then him, and had a job at some bigshot computer company.  He’d always helped Thomas out in the past, and now he needed help more than ever before.  He hit the illuminated numbers and waited.  

“You’ve reached Tim Anderson of . . .” Voicemail. Damn it, he needed to talk to him, not to his machine.  He waited for the voicemail to beep, looking out briefly to see if the Police had found him.  A flashlight beam out in the distance told him they were off in the wrong direction, but the sounds of sirens growing louder told him that soon the entire area would be swarming with police.  Finally, he heard the beep.
“Tim, it’s me. Listen man, I need help.  I was at this party in Vandergrift, walking home. . .I saw this little white girl standing on her porch. She was covered in blood and just standing there, the door into her house was open. I ran up to help and inside. . .aw shit man, they were all dead. Torn the hell up and blood everywhere.  The stupid white kid started biting me and was grabbing onto me. Got me all bloodied up. I was trying to get he still but she kept on grabbing for me and biting.  Cops came speeding up and saw me with her. With the blood and the bodies inside. . .shit Tim, they think I did it. I’m in a world of shit man, they’re chasing me, pulled guns on me. . .they’re going to kill me.  I need you to help me out man.  Call me when you get this.”

Thomas hit the off button and tried to catch his breath.  He needed to run.  He needed to head home and get cleaned up. Needed to get his arms taken care of where the girl bit him.  He looked around, trying to figure out which way was home.  The party was only 2 miles from his house, he had to be close.  His arms were throbbing from the pain now; he just needed to get home.  As he run through the woods, he came to a fenced backyard.   Just over the fence he could see the rood of a metal shed.  With ease he climbed over and eased himself down between the edge of the shed and the fence to the house next door.  Exhausted he sat down, struggling to again catch his breath.  His head now throbbed in time with his arms.  He needed to rest, to just close his eyes for a few moments.  His head was pounding and he felt hot.  He’d just rest his eyes for a few moments and then continue on.  He felt his breathing slow, but his eyes didn’t want to open.  He put his weight against the back of the shed and felt his whole body go limp.  His grip on the cell phone loosened and blackness overwhelmed him.


Chapter 1
Atlantic Ocean


Ben Maxwell looked over the bow of his sailboat, to the calm blue water that gently slapped the side of the ship.  The salt air caused the sail line to rattle against the mast of his Beneteau fifty foot sloop.  Ben took a sip of coffee as he listened to the sound of the ocean and nothing else.  A smile washed over his face as the hot beverage met his lips and slowly ran down his throat.  He was completely alone.  Alone and still 80 miles off the coast of North Carolina.  He couldn’t think of anyplace else he’d rather be.  

Ben looked down at his laptop, and to the large file which sat rubber-banded underneath.  His vacation had started almost two weeks ago, and he had promised that he would complete several reviews for his department while sailing.  The matte-black finish of the Powerbook was the only reminder of his work he brought along with him.  He watched as the little green power light flashed every ten seconds, indicating that it was in power saver mode.  He looked down into his coffee cup, and then back to his computer.  Normally he would have never agreed to perform work while on a vacation.  It was the kind of behavior and disregard for his own life away from work which caused his wife. . .his ex-wife Rebecca to divorce him.

It was just after sunrise, and he had another week of accrued vacation left.  He took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts, just for a moment.  Sunday! he thought, as he glanced down to the Powerbook once again.  It’s still the weekend.  I’ll start on the reviews tomorrow morning, and send them tomorrow afternoon.   This would be the third internal deal to himself he had made thus far.  The first was as he was setting sail from his dock in Featherstone.  He promised himself he would complete these files as soon as he got underway.  Making sure the “last piece of business” was completed so he could enjoy his vacation without giving this another thought.  He’d put it off after the excitement of losing sight of the mainland.  

The second time he postponed working on his reviews was after putting in at a small harbor he knew in South Carolina.  He wanted to get everything done before going out on the town with some of his frat brothers from Duke.  After the recent passing of his parents in the car crash, the funeral, the arguing with his sister over the inheritance and finalizing their estate, he wanted to take some time off to do something fun.  Anything that would take his mind off losing his parents, his wife, and the dead end job he hated with a passion.  

He arranged to meet his buddies at the dock in the outer banks, at Kill Devil Hills.  There they would visit a nudie bar they knew all too well from their college days.  He wanted to finish these reviews before putting in at the dock for the day.  Of course, that didn’t happen.  Ben did finish one of the four reviews, sent it off and met with his friends at Mermaids, the most popular gentleman’s club in the area..  He even convinced one of the local young ladies to come back to his sloop for a romantic evening.  It was the first woman that Ben had been with since his divorce was finalized six months ago.  

He took another sip of coffee as he recalled that evening.  That was two days ago now. He was amazed that his cabin still smelled of her perfume.   After saying his goodbyes to his friends and getting back underway, he never gave the files another thought, until now.

His company had given him this Powerbook as a way to complete his work, even while away from the office.  It had a satellite modem, which could access the internet and his office’s intranet anywhere on the planet.  The computer software company he worked at just recently rolled these new toys out.  Ben was the first to receive one, given that he would still be on vacation during the refresh of their old laptop computers.  
He was impressed at the range and the capability that the little Powerbook laptop had. For the last few weeks he had been giving some consideration to working from home with this little gem.  This baby would give him an ability to telecommute from home, unlike any chance he had in the past.   While he enjoyed the office environment from time to time, the commute through the Washington DC metro traffic was getting worse every year.

Ben finished his coffee as he walked into the hold of the ship and to the bridge.  Consulting his GPS, he saw that he was making better time than he anticipated.  If the wind held out, and there weren’t any major storms, he could be home a day early.  Time enough to finish the reviews from his own home, and still enough time left to enjoy the last week of his vacation.  

He looked at the reflection of his unshaven face in the port window, his early thirties face staring back, short brown hair slightly being moved around by the wind. “So it’s another deal.” he said aloud to himself and the garter that hung from a control next to him.  No need to worry about work until he got back home.  Ben put his coffee cup into the galley sink, and walked over to his fishing line.  The cares of the world finally put behind him, Ben walked back onto the deck and prepared for a leisurely day of fishing.

Chapter 2:
INOVA Regional Trauma Center

Fairfax, Virginia

It was chaos in its purist form.  Dr. Dorian tied back her shoulder length blonde hair and made sure it was tight in a ponytail.  She checked the vitals of the 40 year old man who had just been admitted from a head on traffic collision.  His pulse was strong and while he did have some cuts along his forehead, and minor bruising, he wasn’t a priority case.  She took out a small penlight and checked his pupil response.
“Take him into waiting room two and gauze his head up.”  She said as the orderly behind her starting taking supplies out of a nearby cabinet.  She looked around to the gurneys which were starting to line up.  “And will somebody explain to admitting the concept of triage.”  She put the small light away as she moved onto the next bed, which had a young man of 20 with what looked like several bite marks on his arm and shoulder.

She lifted up a blood-soaked towel which had been used to stop the bleeding, but wasn’t doing a very good job.  “What happened to you?” Dr. Dorian asked as she examined the still bloody bite mark.

“I was out with some friends tonight, and this guy jumped me.”  He winced as the young doctor pushed a bit at the bite mark.  “He was high on something.  One of my friends hit him with a pipe and he went down.“

Dr. Dorian looked at one of the other bite marks and saw it was still bleeding as well.  She looked up at the young man, concern obvious on her face.  “Are you a hemophilic“? she asked in a cold and monotone voice that could only come from five years working in an ER.

The young man looked confused, unsure of what the Doctor was asking. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to lose her cool. She tried again, speaking slowly this time.  “When you normally get a cut, does it bleed for a long time, or does it stop after a while?”  The man looked down at his bites, now becoming a bit more concerned.  

“It stops after a little while. . .why, what’s going on?”  Doctor Dorian took a device out of her lab coat and placed it into the ear of the man.  The digital readout flashed 102.6.  She checked the pupils of the young man who was beginning to get indigent.
“Please, tell me what’s going on here.”  As she flashed the light into his eyes, she looked around the penlight to address him.

“Your blood doesn’t seem to be clotting as normal, and you’re running a fever.  You’ve lost a good deal of blood in this attack and are showing some initial signs of being anemic. “She turned to look down the room, to another orderly who was walking towards her.  She grabbed his arm as he attempted to get past her.  “Brandon, nice try.  This is Mr. . .” She looked down at the chart and then back to the orderly.  “Mr. Kotsh.  I need you to cross type and match and then start him on two units, get him some orange juice while you’re doing that.”

Brandon nodded and began to wheel Kotsh out of the room.   Dr. Dorian made her way down to the next patient when suddenly there was a large crash from behind her.  She turned to see a female patient struggle against her restraints.  Her face appeared gray and ashen. Blood stained her white blouse, a vicious wound visible on her legs.
A doctor nearby and two orderlies rushed over to hold her down, while another doctor took out a hypodermic needle and attempted to inject her with a sedative.   Doctor Dorian began walking over, the anger plainly visible by her stride.  

“Damn it” she yelled over the sound of the woman’s loud wail.  “Her chart listed her as DOA.” She picked up the chart and began searching for the admitting doctor’s name.  “Who’s the idiot that can’t tell the difference between a live patient and a. . .” She cut herself off sharply as she saw the name of the doctor who originally saw the woman.  Doctor Lindsey Dorian.  She was the idiot in question.  She stood dumbfounded as one of the doctors trying to keep the struggling woman under control, shouted for the orderlies to take her to an isolation room.

Lindsey watched the woman being rolled out, still testing the strength of her restraints as the other doctor slowly approached her.  He took the chart out of his younger counterpart’s hands and read it over.  He lowered his head slightly and then raised it to look at the befuddled doctor.

“Lindsey, you’ve been on now for 29 hours.” He said trying to reassure her, her gaze still at the place where the woman’s gurney had been, another patient already being rolled into her place.  The older doctor stepped in front of her, blocking her view.
“Lindsey!” he said forcibly, but still with a calm tone.  “The day shift starts in 35 minutes.  We’ve also called in Doctor’s Carson and Shoemaker.  Why don’t you head back home, get some sleep and then head back in?”  Lindsey closed her eyes and began rubbing the bridge of her nose.  Mostly to try and combat the fatigue, but also to hold back the tears. She refused to allow any of her co-workers see any bit of weakness.  She began to nod as she opened her eyes again.  

“You’re right.”  She handed him the chart and turned to walk towards the dressing room.  She was too tired to notice wave after wave of patients who called out to anybody who would tend to them.  

She changed out of her scrubs, putting back on her street clothes without any care as to who may be around.  If it was as if the lack of sleep put her on automatic pilot.  She looked over her reflection in the mirror.  At 5’9 she should weigh more then 120 pounds.  The long hours she worked and constantly on the go kept her slender, but didn’t do much for muscle tone or definition.  She wasn’t flabby by any definition of the word, but she also wasn’t “buff” either. She finished dressing, closed her locker and left out the side door, towards the parking lot.  As she walked to her car, she could hear the medivac heading in, and briefly considered going back, but instead got into her car and started it up.  Doctor Matthis was right, she needed sleep right now, or she wouldn’t be good to anybody.  

She went over that last incident in her head over and over again.  There was no way she could have made a mistake like that.  No way could she have mistaken a dead patient for a live one.  She thought back to earlier this morning, running each patient through her brain, straining to recall. . .then she remembered.  She had seen the woman.  She was brought in a catatonic state.  

She vividly started to remember checking the vitals of the woman, doing a sternum rub; she was even still connected to the portable EKG monitor when she was brought in by ambulance, and was flat lined.

Then how was she still alive? Lindsey thought to herself as she turned a corner and came across an accident scene.  She slowed down as she approached.  A car had rolled off the road, and there was a crowd already there, trying to get the passengers out.  
“Idiots!” she said aloud as she stopped the car and got out.  “I’m a doctor,” she yelled as she started to jog over to the damaged car. “Don’t move anybody out of the car just yet.” Lindsey looked at the crowd as she got closer. Why were they all moaning?   Something wasn’t right.


Chapter 3:
Mouth of the Chesapeake Bay


The sun was starting to lower on the horizon.  Ben finished tying down the sails and walked to the stern of his sloop to start up his Perkins engine. He was still a few hours away from his pier and from ending his sailing adventure.  He scanned the waterway, looking for any other ship, and was surprised to see that he was still alone.  While not unheard of for the middle of the summer months, he expected to see more traffic on the water.

It was a Thursday, still early afternoon, which meant corporate executives should be getting an early jump on the weekend.  Taking their friends, family or mistresses out for a weekend sail.  Yet as he looked ahead, he saw no other ships heading out.  He reached over and turned on his radio, wanting to hear any other boats that might be heading out, or to hear any boating advisories. As he fiddled with the dials, there was nothing but static.

He hit the scan button and let his radio begin a sweep of the different frequencies.  The digital numbers rapidly started their count, searching for any conversations, but found nothing.  Ben made sure he was on course, away from any obstacles so he could check his radio.  Everything seemed to be functioning fine.  Volume was up, battery power was full, it was set to hold on any signal it found, but nothing was being transmitted.  

“This can’t be right,” Ben thought, as he moved the radio closer to the wheel.  He looked over the horizon for another check, and then grabbed his radio transmitter.  He dialed up channel 9, commonly used by boaters and held the mic up to his mouth.
“This is the sailing vessel Rolltide, requesting radio check from anybody currently on.” He let up on the mic transmitter and listened.  Nothing.  He waited for 10 seconds, expecting to get some yahoo or novice boater, but nothing was coming through.  Ben repeated his call, requesting that anybody verify they heard him.  Again he waited and again he heard nothing but silence.  

Ben furrowed his brow as he looked down at the radio in disbelief that nobody was answering.  He switched channels over to 16, which was used only by the Coast Guard, or other boaters in trouble.  He waited a few moments, hoping to hear anything that would confirm his radio wasn’t on the fritz, but nothing came through.  He put the handheld microphone up to his mouth again and pushed the transmitter.
“This is the sailing ship Rolltide to Coast Guard, requesting radio check, please respond.”  He knew that the Coast Guard always answered unless there was an emergency underway.  Even then they would indicate such.  As Ben waited for a response, his mind started concocting possibilities to explain the lack of boats.  Maybe it was another terrorist attack, and all non-military boats were ordered docked?  Maybe there was a biological attack and the water wasn’t deemed safe?  Ben continued to go over the possibilities until he realized that he wasn’t getting any response from the Coast Guard.

His radio had to be broken.  It had been almost 15 minutes now, and there wasn’t anything on the radio.  The longest silence he had ever heard on the radio was 2 minutes, even in the bay.  The Coast Guard operators were always relaying orders to their boats and checking in.  He put the microphone down when it occurred to him, the NOAA automated weather reports!  The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration has continuously updated weather reports, which are always transmitting to advise sailors of the weather conditions.

Ben switched over to that channel and was relieved to hear a voice, even if it was automated.   He grinned in satisfaction as he listened to the familiar computer generated voice that always reminded him of Stephen Hawking.  

“On Tuesday, a small craft advisory is in effect for this morning.  For Today, winds NW 15-25 knots, decreasing to 10-20 knots by afternoon. Wind waves to 10 feet swell NE 628 feet.”

“Tuesday?” Ben said aloud.  Now he knew there was something really wrong.  It was Thursday, and the NOAA updated their recording every hour, if not more.  He let the recording go on as he reached into his vest pocket and took out his cell phone.  He looked down and saw he was getting a full signal.  He searched through his phone list, and hit the button to call his friend Josh, who he knew always had his cell phone on him.  He heard the phone ring several times, before it switched over to voicemail.  Ben ended the call and tried somebody else on his list.

He knew something bad was going on, and it must have happened while he was out on the ocean over this past week.  Nobody was picking up.  People he knew from work, his sister, his ex-wife, his friends.  Nobody was answering.  He left several voicemails, asking them to call him back as soon as they could, and that he needed to know what was going on.

Continuing to motor up the Chesapeake, he hoped to see some other ship, some person near the shore he could yell to, somebody along the boardwalk shopping, but there was nobody.  Ben let the engine idle down a bit, locking the steering wheel forward, while he ran down to the cabins and grabbed his gun.  He wasn’t sure what was going on.  If this was some sort of invasion by Russia, or some middle-eastern terrorist plot to wipe out the East Coast. He knew that given the situation, he felt better having his Glock 17 with him.  He placed it into a holster and ran back up to the controls.

Ben continued to try both the CB Radio and the commercial box, hoping to get some talk-show, some music station, or anything that could tell him what the hell was going on out there.  No matter what he tried, nothing gave him anymore information.  Ben continued to motor up the waterway, heading to his dock, and to learn what had happened while he was away.



It was close to 6:00PM now.  The sun was starting to fade, but there was still a good hour or so of daylight left.  Ben had shut down the motor and dropped anchor for about 20 minutes, while he packed up his duffel bag with some supplies.  Food, bullets, clothes, tools, his laptop.  He wasn’t sure what was going to be waiting for him back in the civilized world, but he knew that he wanted to be able to move fast if he needed to.  He even took the shotgun down from the bridge which he kept for protection in case somebody tried to board him while he was asleep at night.
He had four boxes of shells, eighty in all that he also had packed up.  

The shotgun now sat in his lap, his pistol in its holster and underneath his vest.  He was docked at Featherstone Shores Marina, and as far up the Potomac as a ship this size could deal with.  Even from the Potomac, where houses were less then half a mile away and he should have been able to see traffic and people going about their daily business, there was nothing.  He slowly came to the edge of his dock, and eased her into place.

The docks always. . .ALWAYS had somebody working during the day, who would help you with the boat moorings when you put in.  It was part of the service that one paid for when they arranged to dock their boats here.  But this particular day there was nobody in sight.  Ben cut the motor and grabbed his bag.  He threw it onto the dock as he grabbed his shotgun, laid it on the dock as well, and then tied his boat down, listening for any sound of people.  He finished securing his boat, grabbed his bag and began walking to his Chevy Avalanche, which he had parked at the start of his vacation.  Surprisingly, his was not the only vehicle in the lot.  He looked around and counted almost twenty five other cars, trucks and vans.  None of these belonged to any of the people who worked at the dock, or any of the other sailors he knew.  These were all vehicles which belonged to shoppers who frequented stores in the same area as the Marina, but then. . .where were the shoppers.  

Ben unlocked the back door of his truck cab, put the bag in the back and got into the driver’s seat.  He locked the doors and started for home.  He’d check CNN, MSNBC, any of the local stations or any other channel that could tell him what the hell was going on.

As soon as Ben turned the corner out of the marina, his worst fears were confirmed.  The town looked more like a scene from some war movie then the city he knew.  Cars were crashed into one another, still smoldering, some flipped over onto their roofs.  
Ben struggled to try and decipher what could have happened while he was in the middle of the Atlantic that could have possibly have resulted in something like this happening.  Was it contained to just Virginia?  To the East-Coast, or was it nation-wide?  Ben tried not to let his imagination or doomsday theories overrun him as he navigated his way through the labyrinth of mangled cars and debris which littered the road.  

As he traveled out of the local town and made it to the highway, the scene took on a more ominous tone. Cars were scattered all across the freeway, mostly abandoned.  Some had collided with other vehicles.  Some had obviously been pushed out of the way, which did nothing to relieve the congestion.  Ben looked down the horizon and saw an endless sea of steel and fiberglass.  

The shoulders looked to be more or less accessible, but he didn’t want to chance it.  He’d have to take side roads down to his home in Dale City.   He put the car in reverse and continued to weave through the various towns.

As he passed by a shopping center, a movement caught his eye.  It was just starting to get dark, but he was positive he had just spotted his first person.  He turned into the strip mall and very clearly saw them.  3 people milling around the far side of the parking lot, near a shoe store.  

“Finally,” he said to himself as he drove towards them.  Now he would be able to get some answers on what had happened.  Why there was hardly anybody around and where everybody went.  He approached the first person, an older man with graying hair who was looking down at the ground.  He had on a white shirt with a tan vest and blue jeans. He was swaying his arms slightly and had blood splattered all over his shirt.  
Ben stopped the car and rolled down the window.  “Hey, old timer” he shouted.  “What happened around here?” As if rehearsed, the man in front of him, and the two further back behind him, all looked up in unison.  Their faces were disfigured, skin gray and eyes sunken.  Blood covered their mouths and what looked like flesh, hung from the teeth of the one just behind the old man.

“Jesus Christ!” Ben exclaimed as he rolled up the windows.  All three of the people started to shamble towards his car.  He sat there in shock, watching as the old man got to his window and starting banging on the glass.  His blood stained teeth bared as he reached for Ben behind the window.  The other two were only feet away.  Without taking his eyes off them, he put the truck in gear and hit the gas.  The vehicle lurched forward as hundreds of horse power kicked in, sending the old man backwards and off his feet.

As he hit the breaks to stop the truck from slamming into a shoe store, he looked out to his right, out past the passenger window to see several more dozen bodies, all heading towards him.  Just as with the first three, they looked to be bloodied and injured, some were missing arms or had large chunks removed from their face, all were splattered with blood.   They were still a hundred or so feet away, but were closing fast.  A deafening moan preceding them.

He turned the wheel hard to avoid the crowd and drove back to the strip mall exit, the stumbling people in a slow and useless pursuit.  He turned back onto the road and took out his cell phone, again trying to dial anybody he could find.  


Chapter 4
Dale City, Virginia.


Ben pulled onto his street, continuing to work his way around the continuous obstacles which littered the roads.  What should have been a simple 45 minute drive took him 2 hours.  Without the use of interstates and having to drive slow to avoid wrecking, he wasn’t able to make it home until well after dark.  

A few times during the drive he saw various people, mostly in groups, and all of them in the same condition as the three he first encountered.  The best that he could come up with was there was some biological attack released by terrorist which affected the large majority of the population.  

Ben saw his house.  Other then some trash in the yard, split from a trash-can he saw further down the street, his house looked alright.  Ben hit his garage door opener, almost on instinct and was pleased to see the door lift up.  Whatever had happened, the power was still working.  He backed the truck into his garage and closed the door.  If he needed to get out fast, he didn’t want to waste time backing his truck down the drive.  He waited for the door to close all the way and then turned off the motor.
He sat there in silence, listening.  The sound of his motor clicking was all he heard.  He looked around and saw the red emergency latch of the garage door swinging.  He sat mesmerized on that latch, while he waited to wake up from this nightmare.   Ben took out his handgun and got it ready.  If anybody was inside his house, he wanted to make sure he was ready for them.

He opened the driver’s door and got out, holding his gun at the ready.  He closed it as quietly as he could and walked to the door leading inside his home.  He put the key into the lock and waited a moment.  He listened for any noise coming from inside, and then opened the door.

Nothing.  The kitchen was vacant and completely dark.  A flashing red light blinked to his right.  His burglar alarm!  He put in his code and the flashing red light turned to green.  The display bathed his face in an odd green light as he read the display.  He pushed a lit blue button which displayed the last time there was any activity.  Almost 2 weeks ago, when he armed the system before going sailing.  

Ben let out a sigh of relief.  Nobody had been in or out of his home since he left.  For the first time since he left his boat, he felt safe.  He let his guard down and walked over to the light switch.  His hand went up to flip the switch, and he hesitated.  It was probably best not to let anybody know he was here.  He walked back to the alarm panel and hit the arm button.  He wanted to make sure he had plenty of notice if somebody tried to get in.  

Navigating his way through the darkness, he found the door to his basement and started down.  Ben had a finished basement with no windows, it was the most secure place in his home.  He had all his big electronic toys down there, along with a guest bedroom, full bath and most importantly. . .television!

He needed to know what the hell happened while he was away.  He closed the door behind him and turned on the light switch, his eyes squinting at the sudden burst of brightness.  He walked down the stairs and into his TV room.  Sitting down on his couch, he placed the gun down beside him and flipped through the channels.  Most were simply blue screen, meaning his satellite provider wasn’t getting any signal.  Some had a test pattern on.  He went through the entire range of channels, hoping to find anything.  

Ben threw the remote down in disgust.  He walked to his laundry room and to the spare fridge.  He opened it and grabbed a bottle of water and some pudding which looked like it may have been there for a while.  He walked back out and looked at the blank screen of his TV.  Then it hit him; his digital recorder!  While he was on vacation, his recorder was set to record some of the baseball games and shows he liked.  If there was a national emergency, the local news would have broken in with special reports. He switched the control over to this unit and went through the menus.  6 Baseball games and 8 TV shows.  He checked for the oldest date and selected that one.

Normal baseball.  He fast forwarded through the game and went on to the next selection.  He worked his way up to last Tuesday, the same day he had left Kill Devil Hills and his friends back in North Carolina.  That was just 8 days ago.  The recording said it was supposed to be a sitcom, but he recognized the local TV News anchors.  The title in the upper right hand corner read “Military Quarantines Pittsburgh”.  He turned up the sound and opened up the pudding, using his fingers to scoop out the contents.  
He watched the recordings in hour blocks, only for the duration the TV was programmed to record.  He was lucky enough to get 2 three-hour blocks in which the baseball game should have been played.  

According to the special reports, the military and local police up in Pennsylvania had closed the borders into Pittsburgh after reports of a viral infection from a local hospital.  The news broadcasters weren’t able to get their sister stations in the area on the line, and what little news that was coming out of the area was confusing.  The Military of course, said everything was under control.

Then over the next few days, “major acts of civil disturbance” were taking place up and down the eastern seaboard.  People were reporting that they were being attacked by their friends, strangers and neighbors; all who looked severally injured themselves.  The cities affected started to multiple quickly, until it looked like all of the US was being affected.  Most people blamed terrorists for some biological agent being released, Canada and Mexico officially closed their borders to all US travel, and then things took a weird turn.

As Ben flipped to a special report only 4 days ago, he saw the reporters behind the desk, unwashed and looking haggard, as they were in the middle of their broadcast.  They were talking about how they had seen people who were attacked by these crazed citizens, and had died.  Then an hour later, those same dead people got up and started acting as crazed as the people who attacked them.   The news anchors kept repeating, the dead are coming back to life.

At one point, they had a cameraman up on their roof, who was shooting footage from the streets below.  As he watched, you could see people shooting these things in the chest, and they didn’t die.  They just got back up and kept moving towards the gunmen.  The cameraman was screaming down for the guy to shoot them in the head, but there was no way he would have been able to hear anything over those moans and the gunfire.

The cameraman zoomed in as the gunman ran out of rounds, and was surrounded.  It was gorier than anything Ben had seen in the past, including in the old Jason and Freddy movies.  The creatures began eating the man alive, until he stopped screaming.  Ben looked away as the camera shot switched back to the anchors, who were obviously scared for their lives.

The news told people that the only thing that seemed to effect these things, were shots to the brain by gunfire or otherwise massive trauma to the head.  Anything else would only slow them down momentarily.  

Ben sat there in disbelief, unable to believe what he was seeing.  As the last few hours of coverage went on, he learned that the “infestation” as they called it seemed to be all over the globe.  Most of the countries the news desk could reach reported the same things.  People rising from the dead after being killed or dying, attacking anybody left alive and eating them.  The President and his staff had been taken to an undisclosed location days ago, and the military, after unsuccessfully trying to control the situation, more or less had retreated back into their bases.

Several times, there was a news crawl at the bottom of the TV, which ran a list of local area “Safety Points”, and updated which locations were still valid.  Ben made a point of writing down all the locations, and then crossing off the ones that were reported as no longer safe as that information was updated.  He was left with 3 locations which were said to still be safe to flee to, at least as of 2 days ago.

The coverage ended with the studio barricades being overrun, and the creatures rushing into the studio.  The anchor people and staff all ran, leaving the camera running for the next 15 minutes as the creatures stumbled after them.  A few shots could be heard every so often, and then the show ended.  The remaining shows were all blue-screen, no signal was being transmitted.

Ben turned off the TV, put the remote down and looked at the handgun sitting next to him.  He picked it up and walked into the bathroom, placing the gun on the sink.  He then proceeded to throw up into the toilet.

Chapter 5
Unknown Wilderness, Virginia.


Lindsey and five other survivors sat inside a gas station market, the only structure in the middle of a sea of overgrown forest and along a little used highway. It had been three days since the Lorton safe location had been overrun and people scrambled to escape.  Almost a week since she came upon the accident and saw those monsters eating the still screaming woman who had crashed her car into a tree.

They started to come at her when she tried to help.  After running back to her own car and making it to a police station, she discovered the world had gone to hell.  People looking for help or safety had been taken by the Red Cross to a center in Occoquan.  When that location was overrun, it was Fairfax, then Leesburg, South Riding and Warrenton.  She had lost track of how many supposedly “safe places” she had been over the last 4 days.  How many times she heard that hellish moaning and then watched as the dead . . . reanimated, whatever you called them overran the location and forced people to flee.

Every time the locations got overrun, she had to watch as people were attacked and killed.  This wasn’t like any contagion she had heard of.  She doubted it was anything that anybody had heard of before or had even been studied.

Lindsey opened a travel size bag of corn chips, and started to eat her first meal in 48 hours.  She looked around at the people she had fled with, sizing each one up and trying to figure out how long they could last here, before they would have to be on the move again.  She didn’t know most of their names.  She stopped trying to learn names of people she met these days, as it only hurt more after they were inevitably killed.

There was the older guy who reminded Lindsey of her 9th grade gym teacher.  Rough and rugged, a “manly-man” who looked like he stepped off the pages of some old western.  He had on a polo shirt, which looked like it had been through the dirt about eight times, an old pair of khaki pants and was holding a pump shotgun. She nicked named him “Roy,” after Roy Rogers.  He was up on the overhang that kept the gas pumps dry, acting as the lookout.  

Next to her, sleeping was “Granny,” a woman in her late eighties, who in the moonlight looked to be even older.  She had on a housecoat and clutched her purse to her chest like it was worth more than gold.  Lindsey imagined she had pictures of her family, or medicine in there, but hadn’t gotten around to asking since they fled their last shelter.  The woman had a smell to her, not uncommon with some of the senior citizens that got admitted to her hospital.  It was a smell of vap-o-rub and cats.

Across the snack aisle, and watching Lindsey as she looked the group over was “Durgen,” a middle-aged man of dubious character. His real name was Tyler Durgen, but “Durgen” seemed to fit for some reason.  He had been with her for the last two escapes from shelters in the area, and had been watching her the entire time, rarely saying anything.  She could always feel him watching her.  It wasn’t a friendly or welcome attention she was getting; like from an older brother.  It was the look of the pervert who hung out at playgrounds, watching the young boys and girls.   Lindsey shot him a death-glare, which didn’t seem to faze Durgen in the least.  For as creepy as he was, he hadn’t tried anything with her, which was more or less the only reason the others agreed to bring him along.  He hadn’t done anything wrong, and being creepy wasn’t enough to leave him behind.

She couldn’t see “The Hulk,” a blonde bodybuilder who was with the final group of survivors to enter the previous shelter before they had to run.  She honestly didn’t know much about him at all. She thought she had heard somebody call him Michael at the last shelter. He seemed like a nice enough guy.  He offered to come into the gas station and check it out when the group came upon it.  He offered to take the first watch and let Roy get some sleep, and was almost always the first person to volunteer for just about everything.  He was one of those all-around nice guys, even in the face of this insanity.  She thought she heard heavy breathing from behind the frozen drink machine which sat in the middle of the station.  That was most likely him, although how he was able to sleep in the middle of all this she couldn’t understand.

Finally there was “Woody Allen”, a short skinny man with a thick New York Jewish accent. He was a whiner who found fault with every decision made, second guessed everybody aloud and wasn’t happy unless there was something he could complain about.  His voice was pinched and nasal and even when all anybody wanted was to sit in silence for a few moments, he preferred to complain about the driver’s ability, or the lack of planning, or any number of things.  Lindsey first met him at the Lorton shelter shortly after her arrival.  

He had suffered a minor cut on his forehead, but was complaining as if his brain was about to fall out.  None of the other EMT’s or nurses wanted to deal with him, and he was passed around the makeshift medical team until he landed on her table, mostly because she was the newest of the medical staff to arrive, and couldn’t pass him off to anybody else.

Finishing the bag of chips, she took a sip of warm juice and leaned back against an old coat she found.  She seriously doubted any chance of falling asleep, and had to make do with being comfortable.  Lindsey strained to remember when she had been able to get a full night’s sleep.  It was before all this insanity started to take place.  Several days before maybe?   She wondered if she would ever be able to get more than two hours of rest again.

Taking a deep breath, she stretched out her legs, struggling to get more comfortable.  She listened to the crickets outside and to the sound of the wind tossing the tree branches around.  She still had three hours before it was her turn to take watch.  It was probably a good idea to try and get some sleep before she would have to get up again.  At dawn, the plan was to try and reach another shelter near old town Clifton.  It was a small town of only 100 or so people, and about five miles away from the closets town of any size.  

Rumors had it that this was one of the better stocked and defended shelters.  It was only one of two that were still known to be in operation when they left Lorton.  Most of the people were screaming to one another to try and make it to Clifton as they were fleeing.  Only eight or so cars made it out of the previously abandoned prison.  Out of 212 people who were logged in, Lindsey guessed at best only thirty survived, five of those were hiding out at this old gas station.

“Armageddon.”  That was what one of the old ladies had called all this.  The biblical end of the world.  Lindsey had never been a religious person, but at a loss for any other rational explanation, it seemed to best sum up what was going on.  People were dying by the tens of millions, only to come back as dead things, as cannibals.
Slowly the sound of crickets got softer and softer, the wind and fatigue working together to lull her into sleep.


Chapter 6
Dale City, Virginia


Ben woke up suddenly.  He bolted out of bed, handgun clenched in his hands, ready to fire as he scanned across the room.   He felt his heart thumping in his chest as he looked around for the hordes of ghouls, ready to attack him.   The sound of his heavy breathing was the only sound audible.  He lowered the handgun and sat back down on the bed.

A nightmare!  He had been having a nightmare and woke up suddenly.  His clothes were drenched in sweat, as well as the guest bed sheets.   He sat up and began stripping off his clothes, which reeked of body odor and fish.  Naked, he gathered up the soiled garments and walked into the laundry room.  He threw them into the washing machine, with the disregard for opposing laundry colors only a bachelor could have, and started up the washer.  

Should he dare to go upstairs and to his room for fresh clothes?  With the shades opened, he risked being spotted if anybody was outside the house.  Opening the spare refrigerator, he took out a bottle of water and greedily drank the contents, catching sight of his watch in the process.  11:00AM.

“Shit!” he exclaimed as he put the empty bottle on the fridge.  He had slept away the entire morning.  Daylight was burning and he had less than 8 hours before night would come again.  Ben knew that only an idiot would try to travel at night in a situation like this.  The lack of visibility was the worst enemy he could have.

He’d have to risk a trip to his room to change and get items he’d need for the trip.  He needed to get moving, he needed to move now, fast and not waste any more time.  With gun in hand, he made his way upstairs and slowly opened the basement door.  He caught sight of the alarm panel again.  It was flashing red and he was still all alone.  If one of those things had made its way inside his home, an alarm would have immediately gone off, but given how much sleep he got, he was happy to receive the reassurance.  He walked across the kitchen and, from around the corner, looked out his front windows.  

There were five or six people on the street, moving slowly down the road.  One of them was in a tattered business suit, still clutching his briefcase as he stumbled.  None of them seemed to pay his house any attention.  He waited until he couldn’t see them anymore and then slowly walked over to the staircase, well aware that any movement inside would attract the creatures.

He made it upstairs and into his bedroom.   Opening his closet he grabbed an old gray T-shirt and light weight short sleeve over shirt.  He looked over the various jeans he had, and settled on a well broken in pair of Levi’s over a newer pair.  He wanted to make sure he could move around unencumbered.   He also spotted his new hunting vest, sitting in his closet, the store price tags still attached.  Ben had been invited to go hunting with one of his bosses in the fall, and given office politics it was an invitation he shouldn’t have turned down.  He had been hunting when he was in high school with his father, but never after that and he honestly preferred fishing to hunting.  Now it all seemed rather trivial, given he doubted he wouldn’t be able to do either for quite some time.

It was more of an interest of advancing in his department then a genuine love of hunting that had convinced him to purchase a vest.  It was perfect.  Multiple pockets, elastic bands up and down the front to hold extra shotgun shells.  He grabbed it and removed all the tags.  

Ben stopped in the middle of his room.  Time was of the essence and he didn’t need to get caught up in nostalgia.  He knew this would most likely be the last time he stood in his bedroom for a while, and he had to gather up things he’d need.  The bag down in the truck had several changes of clothes, some dehydrated camping meals and canned food, as well as boxes of shotgun shells.  

He crossed his room, over to the other closet and took out several boxes of 9mm rounds for his handgun, and an old pair of hiking boots.  The boat shoes down in the basement he had worn on the boat wouldn’t offer much protection.  He grabbed several pairs of thick socks and his handheld GPS unit.  

As he walked back near his own bed, he saw the picture of his parents and wife that he had kept on his bedside table.  He grabbed those as well and took out the picture, placing it with the small pile he had gathered.  He looked into the bathroom, wondering if he would have time to take a shower?  Ben considered it for a moment.  He didn’t want to risk the chance that the sound of the shower could be heard outside, so he turned on the faucet and grabbed a washcloth and soap, and started to clean up as best he could.  

He got rid of the week’s growth of beard and quickly got dressed.  He might not feel much better, but at least he smelled less.  Gathering up the rest of the items into a small backpack, he put on the hiking boots and vest, and made the careful trip back down to the basement, careful not to make any movements that could be seen from outside.

He threw some bottled water into his backpack and vest pockets and closed the door.  The wash was still running, but he couldn’t wait for it to finish.  He went back to the TV room and checked for any further television signals.  Nothing.  He looked around the room once again and made up his mind.  It was time to leave.  He grabbed the piece of paper from the end table and looked at the three locations and addresses the last broadcast told him were still active shelter locations.

Manassas Airport in Bristow, which was about eighteen miles away
Clifton Elementary School, only twenty miles from him.
Front Royal Town Hall, which was sixty miles.


Obviously the Front Royal location was too far away to try first.  It made sense however that this location might still be in operation.  It was almost fifty miles from the major sprawl of the DC suburbs, not as densely populated and was more rural in nature.  There would be a good deal of local citizenry who had their own weapons readily available.   If the other two locations didn’t pan out, he’d head out there.
Manassas Airport was the closest location he knew of, with Clifton just a few miles beyond that.  He decided he would make his way first to the Airport, and then if that location wasn’t safe, he’d try the other ones.

Ben checked his handgun once again, grabbed his backpack and made his way to the garage, resetting the alarm as he exited his home.  If it did go off while he was gone, there would be nobody to respond, but somehow the thought of not arming it felt wrong.

He climbed back into his truck, threw the backpack onto his duffel bag and checked his gas gage.  Only half full.  He might have to stop at a gas station along the way, and hope the pumps still had power as well.  He placed his GPS into a cradle on the dashboard and turned it on.  

Slipping the key into the ignition, he took a deep breath and wondered if this was the right thing to be doing.  Not wanting to second guess himself too much, he started the engine and hit the garage door opener at the same time.  The door began to rise and he could see several pairs of legs, starting to make their way up his drive.  He put the car in gear and drove around them, cutting a path through his lawn and over the sidewalk.  He closed the garage door again and started out of his neighborhood.


Chapter 7
Unknown Wilderness, Virginia


Lindsey felt the breeze whip through her hair as she sat in the lawn chair, atop the overhang of the gas station.  The sun had just started to crest the horizon and she gained more visibility over her surroundings with each passing minute.  Ever since she was awoken by the Hulk to take her turn on watch, she could hear moaning off in the distance.  Never more than one or two distinct voices, and always far away from them.  That was one advantage the survivors had going for them.  These things always moaned when they were moving, making their location known well before they presented any immediate danger.

She felt the cool steel of the shotgun in her hands.  Before these incidents took place, she had never fired a gun.  She was scared to death of them.  As an ER doctor, she was around guns all the time and saw their aftermath.  Since all hell broke loose, she was instructed on how to fire and use both a shotgun and handgun.  Most people got this instruction if they wanted to survive for more than a few days.  She had shot five of those things in the last week, never able to make a headshot.  Her aim wasn’t that good yet, and it always fell to somebody else to do the final killing.  

She continued to listen as the moans in the distance seemed to move off, away from her own location.  Lindsey knew better than to fall into a false sense of safety.  She had done that after arriving at the first shelter, and they had been overrun.  Over a thousand of those creatures, wailing and moaning had gathered outside one of the fences and easily knocked it down.  It was the same everywhere they went.  Anybody who had lived nearby became infected and then joined their numbers.  The larger cities fell quickly, the few remaining survivors within the city proper unable to defend against such massive numbers.  Even the suburbs ceased to provide safety, as those who started in the cities followed the fleeing survivors and eventually overran shelter after shelter.

This was the first night in a week that she managed to not see one of those monsters, or have to watch as their heads exploded from gunfire.  She continued to observe the surrounding area. Lindsey watched as it got brighter and brighter, the sun quickly warming the hills as the August humidity became very apparent.

From below her, she heard talking from inside the convenience store. It was barely 6:00AM and already Woody was complaining about something, droning on and on about some factor he didn’t agree with, and offering fifteen different solutions to a problem only he saw.  

With only an hour’s worth of sleep, she climbed down the ladder, and put the safety on the shotgun.  Inside she could see everybody was awake and moving around.  The Hulk and Roy were taking the remaining food supplies and putting them in empty boxes to be taken with them.  Granny was up and still clutching her purse against her chest, drinking a bottle of water, and Durgen was flipping through what looked like a Playboy.  

She approached the door slowly, and made sure that everybody inside knew it was her.  She knew Roy still had his own pistol with him, and the last thing she wanted was to be mistaken as one of those things and shot in the head.  Surprisingly she walked through the door, and other than a few calm glances, nobody seemed to be alarmed.
Roy finished putting some cookies in the box and looked over at her.  “So how we doing, doc?” The question seemed rather ridiculous given the state of the world and their present situation, but Roy had been in a persistent good mood since they left Lorton.   She handed him the shotgun and grabbed a bottle of orange juice.  

“Our friend out there found something else to interest him.  It’s been almost thirty minutes since I last heard anything.” She removed the cap and took a drink, looking down at the contents of the box.  Sugar-laden cookies, candy, sodas.  Enough for a quick energy boost, but not enough to keep the group going for any appreciable time.  
She shook her head in disagreement.  “Guys, guys. . .you’re focusing on the sweets and crap food.  This stuff wouldn’t be healthy for you in the normal world, let alone now.  Grab some of those Power Bars, that fruit over in the far refrigerator and all the canned food you can, and don’t worry about soft drinks. . .just focus on the bottled water, juices and if there is room left, the sports drinks.”

She watched as they started dumping what they had already, and loaded up on the items she pointed out.  “The last thing we need, is to have a sugar-high fail us when we need it.  Most of that stuff will only keep you alert for half an hour.  The rest will be good for hours on end.”  

From behind her, the unmistakable nasal whine began his tirade. “Um, I..I..I don’t know if it’s. . .such a good idea, to . . not. . . take the candy bars and sodas.  In the mornings I find that a sugar rush can be quite invigorating, and can help you be alert and awake.”  

Lindsey felt the anger welling up inside of her.  She would never let any orderly or any first year intern question her orders like this.  She didn’t mind being questioned if the person had any knowledge of what they were talking about.  But having some layman second guess what she had said was one of her hot buttons.  She rolled her eyes and without turning to face Woody and addressed him.

“Look, if you want to load up your pockets with that crap, nobody is going to stop you, but when you come crashing down off that high, and we need you to help the group out to continue surviving and you can’t. . .”  She stopped herself from saying it.  She had seen others over the past week, make decisions on who was and wasn’t worthy to survive.  So-called community leaders who, out of fear or panic, killed severally injured people who hadn’t even come into contact with the creatures, but were hurt from something mundane.  They were either scared that they would come back as those monsters, or flat out said that supplies couldn’t be wasted on the ill and injured.
She tried to reason with them, only to be dismissed as an emotional woman, or as a “tree-hugging liberal,” as one country-bumpkin had addressed her.  She refused to allow herself to become that callous and to lose her own humanity.  She had sworn an oath when she became a doctor to do no harm.  For as much as she disliked Woody and his constant whining, she wouldn’t make those same decisions on the worth of a person’s life.

She finished her speech while the others continued to pack.  “If you can’t help out because you’re drained from eating nothing but sugar, you’re a burden.  Do us all a favor and keep at least a handful of those nutrition bars along with the candy.  That way when we do need you, and God help us if we do, you’ll be semi-reliable.”  
Durgen chuckled slightly as he flipped the page of his girly magazine.  “I still don’t understand why we didn’t leave his ass back in Lorton.”  He looked up at Woody menacingly as he flipped over another page.  Durgen wasn’t big on talking.  He never shirked any work or task he was asked to do, but it always came after an intense stare, like a bulldog who sized up some other dog before attacking.   Durgen had on an old pair of slacks and a light blue button-down denim shirt.  Except for the painted on number above the left breast, Durgen looked like an inmate who escaped from prison.  His demeanor or lack of one also gave off that impression.  He flipped another page and eyed the naked teenager in the magazine.  “I say we leave him here with his precious soda.”  

Roy finished putting an armful of water into the box and stood up tall.  “Look Mister, as much as you hate the idea, we’re all in this together.”  Roy took out a cigarette and lit it up.  “We either work together as a team, or we’re all gonna be in a world of hurt”.   He took a long drag from his cigarette as he waited for Durgen to respond to him.  Durgen flipped over another page and seemed to no longer be interested in the debate.  

Lindsey shook her head as she began helping the guys pack up.  
The Hulk finished putting some Gatorade in the box and stood up.  “This one is full, I’ll go ahead and pack it in the back of the van.”  Without any effort, he picked up the full box and headed for the door.  Woody ran to open it for him, starting his stream of consciousness dialogue once again, advising on the best way to load the box in the van, while not unbalancing the load or some such.

Roy came over to stand next to Lindsey who was already working on packing up the remainder of items.  “How you holding up, doc?” He asked with a sincere tone, reaching some of the items on a higher shelf Lindsey was too short to grab.  
She considered the words as she laid  the bottles in the smaller box on their side to make more room.

“All things considered, I could use another few hours of sleep.”  Roy continued to clear out the upper shelves and hand them to the young doctor, who was doing a remarkable job of making a lot of items fit in a rather small space.  “I’m also worried about the old woman over there,” she said in a hushed tone, motioning over to Granny.  “I was listening to her sleep last night.  Her breath was labored and she struggled to get air a couple of times.”  Lindsey had already run the list of possibilities through her head last night.  “She acted as if she was having chest pains and was coughing alot.  Now, without a full exam I can’t be positive, but it sounds like it might be Angina.”

Roy shook his head, unfamiliar with the word.  Lindsey finished packing the last few items and then stood back up.  “It’s similar to a heart attack in symptoms, but different.  It’s common for older people to experience these symptoms after any moderate to extreme activity. . .”

“Like fleeing for your life?”  Roy asked, taking another drag from his cigarette.

“Exactly, although in cases of Angina, that shortness of breath and cough persists well after the event is over, or even when nothing physically stressful is occurring.  Essentially, the heart isn’t getting enough blood and oxygen to function correctly.  If she doesn’t have any medication with her, we really need to find her some.”  
Lindsey watched as Roy glanced over to Granny, who was looking out the window, seemingly in her own little world.  She sat motionless, as if staring out her own dining room window, with a hot cup of tea in her hands, watching the neighborhood children playing.  Nobody had heard the old woman say a single word.  Nobody knew where she came from, what her name really was or who had brought her to a shelter.  She appeared to be deep in shock, and despite several tries by herself, Lindsey wasn’t able to get the woman to talk.

Roy glanced back to Lindsey and through his bushy western mustache, answered the thought before she even spoke it.  “I’m not sure stopping anywhere along the way is a good idea.  Those things may not run or have much in the way of brains, but they can swarm on ya real quick-like.”

Lindsey looked at him, considering the comment he had just made.  She knew it wasn’t wise at all, that any stop along the way came at great risk to not only her, but to the entire group of remaining survivors. She remembered a lecture that she had received during his first few years at medical school.  She reached over to take the dangling cigarette out of Roy’s mouth and stamp it out on the floor, leaving Roy with a confused look.  “I’m a doctor; people’s health is my primary concern.  We need to get that woman medicine, any grocery store, any drug store should have a pharmacy that will have something to help her.  We could also grab pain killers, medical supplies and first aid items.  When we get to the next Shelter, there’s no guarantee they’ll let us in.”  She grabbed hold of the full box and lifted it up.  “Having items in short supply may be the admission ticket we need.”   Roy nodded, admitting the young doctor had a point.

“And you shouldn’t smoke!” she said, matter-of-factly.  “It’ll kill you.”  Roy chuckled as he helped Lindsey to the door.  Durgen had finished with his magazine, rolled it up and stuffed it in his back pocket.   Roy opened the door and Lindsey started to the back of the van, where the Hulk was trying to reassure Woody that the load wouldn’t shift around during their trip.

“I’ll get the old gal ready to travel” Roy said to Lindsey as she walked to place the box next to the larger one.  Durgen walked out of the store, not saying a word to anybody as he walked to the side of the parking lot, unzipped his pants and with his back to the others, began to relieve himself of the various beers he drank after their arrival.
Lindsey put the box down; making sure it was in all the way before closing the rear doors.  She turned to face Woody, who was trying to shield himself from the sun with a paper bag he had found on the ground.

“Why don’t you go strap yourself in, we’re about ready to get underway.”   She turned back to see Roy, helping Granny shuffle to the van, leading her to the passenger side sliding door.  As he got closer he handed the shotgun to the Hulk, who checked to see if it was loaded and then waited for Durgen to finish up.  Roy helped Granny get inside of the van and buckled her in.  She still kept a tight hold of her purse.  She smiled slightly as she eased into the seat, looking out the window as if she was about to go on a Sunday drive.   Roy left the door open and joined the others at the rear of the van.  

Lindsey knew she would have to break the news about the side trip to the others.  “Alright people, we need to discuss something,” she said in her most authoritative voice.  The others gathered around, confused and concern looks on their face. “We need to make a side trip before we head to the Clifton shelter.”

Chapter 8
Outside of Manassas Airport.


Ben stood in front of his truck, looking through his binoculars as he scanned for any sign of life.  The large hanger stood smoldering, half of the aluminum siding ripped from its frame, the other half reflecting the sun overhead.   He had arrived only moments ago, seeing the smoke plumes from well over a mile away, his heart sank as he arrived to the present scene.

Through the binoculars he could see hundreds of the creatures, their soft moaning carrying over the open fields, well past where he stood.  Boxes and other items used as barricades had been strewn around, several bodies were laying on the ground, their heads partly exploded, and several army cots were visible through the partially open hanger door.

Ben lowered the field glasses and looked around the immediate area, making sure he wouldn’t be snuck up upon.   He was still a good half-mile away from the hanger, but the woods were dense enough around him that he felt any person approaching would easily be heard.  Because there was a modest size runway, the tree growth around the area had to be cleared away.  Ben had stopped just before leaving the treeline, to make sure this location was still safe.  He took another look out over the area, trying to estimate how long this shelter had been left abandoned.  A day, maybe two at the most.  

Trucks, cars, ambulances and even an 18-wheeler littered one side of the field. Some still had their doors open, blood smeared over the interiors.  It looked like the survivors who had been here, were caught off guard when these creatures attacked.  

There was a burnt ring of land, all around the hanger.  Debris had been piled a hundred yards all around the building and was still burning in several places.  The survivors must have erected a makeshift barrier wall and dumped gasoline over it, or even jet fuel.  When the large number of creatures began to advance on the shelter, they lit it, hoping that would kill the mob.  

Ben admired their tenacity, admired their plan.  They most likely were able to take a large number of the creatures down with them.  Given that several hundred were still around, there must have easily been twice that. . .maybe even a thousand when the siege began.

He thought for a moment.  Given the number of the dead that were walking around, moving in and out of the hanger, it was doubtful that any survivors were left inside.  Lowering the binoculars, he walked back to the cab of his truck, and took out the GPS unit.   He requested driving directions to Clifton.   The machine displayed the little hourglass which indicated it was plotting a course, and then displayed the course Ben should take.

The handheld unit churned for a few moments and then displayed a course. Route 28 North, to Centreville road, and then side roads to Clifton..  That would be a problem.  From his travel up to the airport, he had seen how the largest number of these creatures were in the middle of the big cities.  The route the GPS suggested would take him right through the middle of downtown Manassas.  That would mean driving slow to make it past abandoned and wrecked vehicles.   Those creatures could easily swarm him as he made his way through town.  While he could run over some of them, eventually his car would stall on the bodies, and then by sheer number they would be able to take him out of the truck.   He began looking around at other routes, seeing if he could find another path that would bypass any large towns.  

After a bit of looking, he had a route that would run completely around Manassas.  Prince William Parkway North to Route 66.  66 to Centreville and then on down to Compton Road.   The only possible problem would be outside of Centreville.  He’d have to exit at a shopping complex that would undoubtedly have a good size population near by. He’d simply have to deal with that problem when. . .

A twig snapped from behind him.  Ben turned, his gun stretched out and ready to fire. He looked around to see a thin man, extremely young, wearing a mud encrusted uniform and stumbling right for him. His hand was stretched out towards Ben.  He was only 20 feet away as Ben carefully aimed and slowed his breathing and got ready to fire.

“Puh. . .please”.  The thing was speaking.  Was this a survivor, was he infected and in the process of changing into one of those things?  He kept coming forward, straining to talk “Don’t shoot.”  Ben lowered his gun, taking his finger off the trigger.  Ben looked around to make sure there wasn’t anybody else close by.  

“That’s close enough” Ben said in a normal speaking voice.  He wanted to make sure he didn’t draw any other attention.  The man stopped about 10 feet away from the parked truck, and dropped to his knees, out of breath and wheezing.  He was wearing a local police uniform.  One of the sleeves had been torn off and other then his gun, he was missing everything from his police belt.   Even with labored breath, he tried to speak.  

“Please” he repeated again. “I’m not one of those things.”  His voice was raspy and horse.  “Water.  Do you have any water?”.  Ben watched for a moment, expecting the man to suddenly lunge forward, trying to eat him as he had seen the previous night on television.  He took a bottle of water out of his backpack, keeping his eyes on the young man and tossed it to him.

Clumsily, he tried to catch it, but it dropped to his side.  He snatched it back up, opened it and started taking little sips, careful not to take too much at one time.  He managed a partial “Thank You” as he continued drinking.  Ben looked around carefully, making sure they were alone.  He knew he couldn’t leave the guy here, but at the same time, he wanted to make sure this guy wasn’t going to turn into one of those things around the hanger, or try to overpower him and take his stuff.   Ben knew that in times like this, people would turn on one another if it meant they could survive longer.

Making sure they were secure, Ben leaned against the truck, his gun still at his side, just in case.  “What’s your name kid?”  He saw the name tag on his uniform read “Weis”, but wanted to see what the young man would say.  

“My name is Matthew Weis, I’m an officer with the Fairfax County Police Department.”
Ben watched as the officer continued to drink the water, almost near the bottom now.   He knew he shouldn’t stay here for much longer, and was trying to size the youth up.  He knew that in his present condition, he could handle the younger man if it came to that, but he doubted somehow it would.  He was too clean-cut and too young to have that much of a jaded outlook on the world.

The kid finished the bottle of water, shaking out every last drop and put it down beside him.  “I hope this isn’t asking a lot”. Matthew said, getting back onto his feet, albeit with some difficulty.  “I was hoping you’d take me with you, wherever it is you’re going.  I’ve been walking, looking for anybody ever since those things started to come out.”  He tried to steady himself, but wasn’t doing a good job.  Ben looked down towards the airport again.  The creatures must have heard him or caught his scent, because they were heading towards the truck.  

“We can’t stay here, that’s for sure.”  He put his gun back into his holster.  He looked back over to the officer and nodded towards his truck.  “Get in”.  Matthew managed a pitiful smile and quickly stumbled around while Ben unlocked the door from his side.  Both men climbed inside and Ben started it up.  He locked the doors and made a quick U-turn, following the directions he had put into the GPS.

He reached into the back seat and fumbled in his bag, pulling out some beef jerky he had left over from his boating trip.  “Hungry?” he asked, tossing the full bag into the officers lap.  Without answering, the officer tore into the bag just like he had seen those creatures do on television, quickly feasting away on the dried beef.

Ahead of him, Ben saw two of the creatures standing in the road.  He slowed as he approached, and easily worked his way around them.  Their hands grabbing at the side of the truck as it went by, causing them to stumble into one another and then to the ground.  

He continued on, listening to the kid eat as if he hadn’t had any food in days, which probably wasn’t too far from the truth.  He glanced back down to the gas gage to check the level.  He had only a quarter-tank left in the truck.  Ben knew getting to Clifton wouldn’t be a problem.  Even with the round about route, it was only 10 miles away and shouldn’t drain his resources.

On the other hand, if the Clifton location had been abandoned, there was no way he would be able to make it to Front Royal on less then a quarter-tank.  He was going to have to stop at a gas station, and the time to do that was soon, while there was still daylight to see by.   It would be much easier now with two people to get gas from a station.  Ben could keep a watch over the area while the officer gassed up the truck.  

Ben looked down at the officer’s side, seeing his gun in its holster.   “Does that thing have any rounds left?” he asked, moving his eyes back to the road.  The young officer stopped his eating for a moment, trying to get the much needed feast to slip down his dry throat.  

“Just 1 round.  I was saving it for myself, in case those things got to be too much and I couldn’t run anymore.”  He took one of the remaining strips of jerky and slowly ate it, savoring the taste.  

“What caliber gun do you have?” Ben inquired, slowly swerving to avoid a car, its doors and trunk open.  

“9 millimeter,” Matthew responded, his mouth partly full.  

Ben motioned with his right thumb over his shoulder.   “In my backpack I have a box of rounds.  Go ahead and reload your gun.”   As much as Ben might consider himself a loner, or independent, he knew he’d need more than himself if he was going to survive for long.    The officer looked back behind Ben, and took out a box of bullets from the bag, loading up a magazine he had first, and then taking out his service weapon and reloaded that.

Ben turned off the side road, pulling onto the main highway. “We’re going to have to stop off for gas before we reach the next safety location.”   He watched as Matthew placed his gun back into its holster and then finished the last of the beef jerky.  “I’m heading over to Clifton, but we’ll need to stop off in Centreville first.”  

The young man looked over at his savior.  “But what if the pumps have been turned off?”
Ben hadn’t considered that.  The kid was right.  Up till now he had been real lucky in having power still available at his home.  If the gas station he went to didn’t have any power to activate the pumps, or if they couldn’t find the key to turn the pumps on, then the trip will have been for nothing.  

“Good point,” Ben said, avoiding a group of creatures bent down, feasting on some poor soul who must have just died.  “We’ll have to chance it, and if we can’t get the pumps working, we’ll have to siphon gas from abandoned cars.”  Ben knew that meant swallowing a good deal of gas in the process, which he didn’t relish.  “We can find a garden hose out in front of a house, cut it down to size and get gas that way.”

“That’s a class 4 misdemeanor you know!” the office said jokingly as he looked out his window.  Squinting his eyes, Ben ran what the officer had just said though his mind again.  Then it happened.  They both started laughing.


Chapter 9
En route to Clifton Shelter.


Lindsey continued to look out her window, trying to catch sight of any place that might stock prescription medicine.  The sun still hung in the sky, peeking through the slight cloud cover. The discussion with the others about Granny’s plight hadn’t gone very well.  She knew that Woody and Durgen would be vocal opponents to the plan, but she hadn’t expected to hear the Hulk speak against it.  

In the end, everybody agreed that if they wanted to ensure they could get into any shelter they wanted to, it would be better to go in as fully stocked with as many various supplies as they could locate.  The deal agreed upon in the end was that they would stop at one location, and pillage what they could from that.  Woody, for as argumentative as he was, brought up a good point that the pharmacies are normally kept locked in the major store to make sure local druggies don’t try to feed their fix.   Chances would be good that a grocery or all-night pharmacy would have additional security and trying to break in would take too long.

It would be a gamble, but it was the only choice they had of helping Granny.  If they found a place that looked good, the plan was to have the Hulk stand outside the door with the shotgun, making sure their exit was safe.  The rest would go inside to grab a cart or basket to collect the needed supplies.  

Woody and Durgen were to take everything from the first aid isle.  Cold medicines, fever reducers, gauze tape and bandages, burn ointments, toothpaste, brushes . . .  anything medical or dental and after their carts were full, wheel it out to the van and start throwing everything in.  Roy was to take care of any of the creatures that were in the store already.  If it was empty and they were alone, he was to take a cart and load up on additional canned food, water, soap and anything else he thought would be useful.  Lindsey was to head back to the pharmacy to get Granny’s medicine, and any other prescription medication that might be useful, or hadn’t already been looted.  If she couldn’t find a way past whatever security they had in under a minute, she was to grab a cart and get cigarettes, booze and toilet paper.  That was Durgen’s idea.  

It didn’t shock anybody to learn that Durgen had been a “guest of the state of Maryland” up until 4 days ago when the world started to end.  It seems that while most of the correctional guards had stopped coming in, or were unaccounted for over the last week, several decided they wanted to hole up in a jail wing.  They let inmates loose three at a time, pushed them out the front door and then barred it behind them.  

Nobody really wanted to ask why he had been locked up.  At the moment it didn’t really matter as Durgen was right.  He said that when men are reduced to animals, constantly under stress and fear of death, feeding their vices and the ability to wipe an ass in comfort was worth more than gold.

A sudden thud sounded throughout the van as Roy hit the breaks.   He had just hit a ghoul dead on, sending him flying back.  Everybody watched as the thing stood back up, and started walking towards them, moaning with one arm limp at its side.  Roy drove around it effortlessly and continued on.

“Easy man,” the Hulk said, leaning forward to speak to Roy.  “If one of those things damages the radiator from being hit, we’ll be stranded.”  Roy didn’t answer, he just continued down the road making sure not to run into anything else.  Lindsey continued to look around the area as they drove, hoping that there would still be living people at this next shelter.

As they crested the next hill, she saw a large shopping center.  Not as big as a mall complex, but still a respectable size.  “Over there,” she pointed, hoping to keep the sound of excitement in her voice to a minimum.  She didn’t want to get her hopes up of finding anything useful.  The gas station they had stayed at last night was off a little used portion of highway, twenty miles from the closest town.  Looters never had time to get there, at least not before they did.

This was closer to a small township.  When the first signs of trouble were broadcast, people who lived nearby would have started panicking and picked the stores bare.  As they approached closer, Roy asked if everybody remembered what their jobs were.  Nervousness has obviously hit everybody at once, as even Woody was silent.  

The parking lot had only a few cars parked there.  Most were at odd angles, doors open and items strewn about.  The unmistakable movement of several people out front couldn’t be missed.  Thankfully, there were only four or five people that could be seen.  The group could easily handle that many.  The Hulk was already given the last twelve shotgun shells that Roy had.  Unlike her, the Hulk was good with firearms, and had killed close to seven of those creatures as they were fleeing Lorton.  It was why he was chosen to stay out front and stand guard.  Nobody trusted Durgen or Woody with a firearm, for obvious reasons.  Granny was non-responsive at best, and although he was older, Roy was the best marksman they had.  He would be needed inside the store, in close quarters where they would be the most vulnerable.

“Wait a second,” Durgen said from the back of the van.  “I have an idea.  Stop here.”  

“I. . .I. . .I think it would be a better. . .better idea to stick with the plan we have, that way people don’t get confused, because you know in high stress. . .situations…”  Woody continued to go on until he was cut off.

“Listen!” Durgen shouted with force.  “If you want to save your bullets for when we’ll really need them, and give us more time to get shit in the store, stop the car and let me out.”  

Roy looked over to Lindsey in the passenger seat, silently seeking her council on what to do.  She nodded her approval, not honestly sure what it was that she was agreeing to.  Roy put on the breaks, slowing the van to a stop.  Durgen forcefully moved his way past Woody, who sat next to him and slid back the side door.  He got out and turned back around, facing Roy.  

“Stay here.  If more of those dead things pop up and get too close, drive ahead and into the parking lot and I’ll meet you at the front door.  Otherwise I should be back here in a few minutes.  Keep the motor running.”  Durgen turned without hesitation and jogged down the road several hundred yards, zigzagging through the abandoned cars towards the parking lot.

The group watched as he came to a stop.  Durgen removed his shirt and started waving it above his head, shouting at the same time.  One by one, the shambling ghouls turned to see another meal.  Durgen was offering himself to them, and they seemed to be all too willing to accept the offer of a free meal.  A chorus of moans began as they stopped their wandering and started to head towards him.  As the small number began their slow advance, more began trickling out of the grocery store.  One by one, people who appeared gray in color, still dressed in their every-day clothes appeared to join the others, already on their way to Durgen.  

“What’s he doing?” Woody cried, his hands pressed up against the glass as he watched the slow march.  “He’s bringing them right to us, we should go.”  

Lindsey shook her head in disbelief.  “He’s not bringing them to us,” She said. “He’s leading them away from the grocery store.”   She watched as he continued to make a spectacle of himself. Dancing around, shouting obscenities at the slow-moving mob and drawing them ever closer.

After about five minutes of his distraction, and the rest of the group keeping a watchful eye for any other approaching creatures, Durgen turned to the van and began waving them to pick him up.  Roy put the van in gear as the first few creatures got within fifty yards of him.  He drove around the stalled vehicles and up next to Durgen, who was already tucking his shirt back in.  The Hulk opened the sliding door from the inside and Durgen quickly took his seat.

Lindsey turned to Roy “It took them almost six minutes to get to this point.”  Roy sped the van up, as much as he could without running into anything.

“I’m already ahead of you.  We have less then five minutes: thirty seconds people.  Start counting that down in your heads.”  Once he got to the open parking lot, he sped up and drove straight to the front entrance.  As he put the van in park, leaving the keys in the ignition, everybody piled out, leaving Granny and the Hulk to guard the front.  Roy took out his handgun and led the way inside.

A smell worse than any they had experience greeted them as they entered.  Rotting flesh and spilled entrails.  As he led the team inside, they were greeted by the harsh fluorescent lights and buzzing of flies.  A head peered up from behind a check-out line.  Roy was the first to see it.  It was a middle-aged man missing the left side of his face.  His teeth jutted out from the missing cheek and pieces of his skin hung by a thread on his throat.  Roy aimed his weapon and fired, striking the man square between the eyes and sending him back to the ground.

“Let’s move people,” he yelled.  “We’ve got less than five minutes.”  Both Durgen and Woody grabbed shopping carts from near the door as Roy and Lindsey started moving down the main isle, looking for any additional creatures.  

The supermarket was still fairly well stocked.  Several abandoned carts showed that several people had tried to stock up in the recent past, only to fall victim themselves.  Several spent rounds were still on the floor and Lindsey counted at least eight creatures face down on the tile, finally at rest.  As they moved down the connector aisles, Lindsey suddenly felt her head being whipped back.  One of the ghouls had grabbed a handful of her hair and had a death grip on her wrist.  She let out a scream as she turned to see what had grabbed her.  

It was a woman close to her own age, or at least she had been.  She was naked and had a Y-shaped incision down her front.  The dead woman’s skin was pulled tightly across face. Her eyes were sunken and clouded over; dark bags already formed under her bottom eye lids.  Dried blood was all over her face and down across her breasts.  

As Lindsey pushed against the snarling women, Roy’s arms suddenly appeared from behind the attacking woman and she was sent sliding across the floor.  Before the creature had stopped sliding, a single shot rang out and the thing’s face exploded.  Lindsey stood there frozen, trembling as the motionless corpse finally came to a stop.  

“Keep moving.”  The words made Lindsey jump again.  This was the first time she had been attacked by one of these things.  It was the first time she got an up-close look at one as well.  “C’mon Doc,” Roy said, his words now softer. “We only got us a little time in this store.”  She nodded as they continued their search.  

A voice inside the young doctor screamed, Get a hold of yourself, people are depending on you!  The voice sounded remarkably like her father.  She was never able to get a hold of her parents in New Hampshire, and wasn’t sure if they were still alive or not. She knew that now wasn’t the time to worry about that, and she strained to focus on the task at hand.

As they reached the last row, Lindsey saw the pharmacy.  Steel shutters were pulled down from behind the help desk.  A large brass padlock connected the shutters in the middle. With Roy leading the way, she headed for the side opening, hoping to find a way to get past those gates.  As they reached the back of the supermarket, they could hear Durgen and Woody making their first run out to the van, unloading everything they had collected thus far.  

Roy looked quickly behind the counter, making sure it was safe.  “Alright Doc, I have to check the rest of the place.”  He had the gun raised in front of him, in a classic Dirty Harry pose.  “You do what you have to do, but don’t take too much time.”   She nodded as he turned and kept jogging, now along the back connector row, looking down each long aisle as he moved on.

Moving behind the counter, she saw a young Indian woman, dressed in a store uniform lying lifeless on her side.  She nudged the lifeless woman’s stomach with the toe of her shoe, waiting for the body to reach for her.  As she nudged the body again, gravity caused her to roll onto her back, exposing a large bullet hole along her hairline.  

Convinced she was safe for the moment, Lindsey looked behind the counter for a key, a crowbar, or anything she could use to pry the lock off.   As she rummaged around under the counter, sending items flying to the floor, another gunshot went off from the other side of the store.  

“I’m ok.” Roy yelled as the sounds of carts came back into the market.  The guys were already on their second run, and she had yet to make any progress at all.   Continuing her search, she found a clipboard with a key attached to it by a chain.  As she looked at the clipboard, she saw a list of names and addresses.  Next to each name were small prescription labels.  It was the dispensing manager’s clipboard.  

When any drugstore dispensed medicine, they were required by Federal law to record down each person to whom it was dispensed, and how many pills were dispensed.  This way nobody could skim off the top.  She looked at the dispensing manager’s signature: Shavanira Malik.  Looking down at the lifeless body’s nametag, it read “Shavanira.”  

Lindsey took the key and went over to the padlock.  She inserted the key and turned it.  The padlock dropped open.  Lindsey smiled as she removed the padlock, opened the shutters and climbed in.

“Two minutes!” Roy shouted, as more carts raced outside.  She wasn’t sure if Roy was still patrolling the inside, or was now making his own supply runs.  She found a pile of stacked plastic mail bins next to the side door.  She unlocked the deadbolt on the main entrance to the back room, and then began tossing bottle after bottle of prescription medication into the bins, filing each one up to the brim, and then started on the next one.

As she moved across the room, she frantically sought out Enoxaparin, a drug she had prescribed in the past to Angina patients.  She filled up a fourth bin and continued around the storage room, grasping at as many bottles as she could.  As she continued packing up items, she found a label maker and empty prescription bottles. Dumping as many as she could into the bins, she spotted the medication she was after.

“Enoxaparin!” She shouted aloud, placing the large bottle in her pocket.   She would have loved to take some of the sorting machinery with her if she had the strength or time, but she knew she had less then a minute before everybody needed to be heading out.   Lindsey grabbed a few more items and then started to stack the bins as best she could.  She placed a heavy weight machine in the top bin to keep the tower from falling over, and began to slide the drugs with her out of the room.   As she walked out and made her way towards the main door, she saw Roy turn the corner with a cart half full heading her way.

“A little help over here.” She said, as Roy raced over.  They began stacking the drug bins in his cart and then turned to exit the market.

As they made it to the front door, they saw the creatures were now only twenty yards away, closing in on them.  As they quickly began piling the remaining items in the van, the Hulk started firing at the first line of undead people.   Roy took a quick look around them as they hurried to finish their loading.  “Why are there more of them than we lured away?”  He was correct.  There should have only been twenty or so.  She didn’t want to take the time to count each one, but she was sure there were at least fifty or more closing in on all sides.

Roy threw in items as the guys worked fast to put them anywhere they could.  He turned to look at Lindsey, just barely audible over the loud and oppressive moaning all around them.

“We’re in trouble Doc.”

Chapter 10
Exxon Gas Station; Centreville Virginia


Ben continued along the shoulder of the highway, ducking in every so often to navigate around the various standing cars as he saw the obstruction ahead.  The GPS unit in his truck said he was less than half a mile from the town of Centreville.  He looked over to Matthew; he was looking around at the various vehicles and the occasional creature who looked at them as a meal.

“What do you think it was?” Matthew asked, looking over at Ben who was concentrating on driving.   Ben turned quickly to avoid a Ford Taurus which was left standing at an odd angle.  Ben thought for a moment, trying to come up with what could have caused an event like this.  

“I don’t know.  A viral outbreak, maybe.  Something the government was working on to take out Al Qaeda, or maybe something some other government was working on to take us out.”  Ben had to admit that all he had at this point were guesses.   “Up until yesterday I was on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic.  I didn’t even know something was wrong until I got back yesterday.”  

Matthew turned to look at Ben, his face showing surprise. “You didn’t know?”  

“Nope.”  Ben began looking down the road, past the cars to look for a functioning gas station.   “I didn’t have any cell signal, I keep my ship radio off unless I need it, and I was trying to avoid working on my laptop.”

Matthew shook his head. “You were the lucky one then.  I’ve spent the last two weeks watching as things went from bad to hell on earth.”  Ben wasn’t sure that “lucky” was the correct word to use.  In a lot of ways he felt like he was at more of a disadvantage.  Most people had time to witness the events as they unfolded.  They were able to hear on the news and from papers what was going on and at least try and prepare.  He had been caught off guard, not let in on the state of things until after they were in full swing.

“Gas station!”  Matthew said, pointing down the road.   Ben slowed the truck and after making sure there weren’t any walking dead nearby, came to a stop.  

“All right, I’m going to have a look.” Ben put the truck in park and took the binoculars from his backpack.   He looked over at Matthew sitting next to him.  “Watch my back.”

The young officer nodded, “No problem.”

The pair opened their doors at the same time.  Ben walked out in front of the truck, holding the glasses up to his eyes and looked the area over.  He could see all the hand pumps were still in their cradles.  Boxes were piled up inside of the station itself, making it impossible to see what was inside.  

He saw two creatures on the edge of a field, about half a mile away from the station, and close to thirty in the parking lot of a strip mall across the street.  He lowered the binoculars and thought for a moment.  

“How’s it looking?” Matthew asked.

“Pretty damned good!” Ben said with authority.  He took another look through the binoculars.  “All the hand . . . pumping . . . things are in their bases and the station itself is barricaded from the inside with their windows intact.”

“This is good how?” The other man inquired, confused at how he could discern so much with a simple glance.

“Well, if the pumps were off and it were me, I’d leave them swinging and wouldn’t have returned them to their cradle. I would have tried to bust into the station and turn them on myself.”   Ben lowered the binoculars again, placing them upright in front of him as a visual aid.  “Since the barricade is on the inside of the glass,” He moved his free hand in-between the binoculars and Matthew, “and that glass isn’t broken. . .”

“It means it was put there by somebody who is most likely an employee, rather than somebody who had to break in first.”  Matthew finally saw what Ben had seen.  “But how do we know the guy isn’t going to take a shot at us when we pull in and start taking his gas?”  

Ben shook his head.  “Those things nearby are leaving the station alone.  The poor bastard most likely hung himself or took some over the counter pills they sold to kill him rather then let those things have him.”  

Matthew understood that logic all too well.  Ben patted Matthew on the shoulder. “Let’s go gas ourselves up.”  They both got back in the truck and closed the doors.  Ben put the truck in drive and started towards the station.   As they got closer, Ben kept the truck to a lower speed.  He didn’t want to accelerate and make too much noise.  He pulled into the abandoned store and parked near a pump.  Both men looked around and then got out.  

Ben walked back to the truck’s gas door, opened it and took a hand pump.  He hit the button to start the machine and put the pump into his tank, squeezing the handle.  Nothing came out.  

“Ok, the pumps are off.  We’ll need to get them back on.”  He started walking towards the station door. “We’ll need to find that employee.  They’ll most likely have a key.”  Matthew pulled on the door to the station but it wouldn’t budge.  He looked over to Ben and then back to the door.  

“We’re going to have to break it.” Matt said, looking around for something to shatter the glass with.  

“No.” Ben softly replied, keeping his voice low.  “We don’t want to let those things know we’re here.”  He walked back to his truck and took the file of paperwork he had on the boat, out of his duffel bag.  Opening the file, he took out several stacks of papers that were paper-clipped together.   Ben took two of the clips and walked back to the door.

“I never thought I’d be doing this in front of a police officer.” Ben quipped, as he straightened the two paperclips and inserted them into the lock.  Matthew smiled, looking around to make sure they hadn’t been spotted.  

“You’re going from petty theft to breaking and entering; see how it starts!”  Ben resisted the urge to laugh again and concentrated on picking the lock.  During his own youth, he and his friends had become quite adept at picking the lock on their parent’s liquor cabinets.  His best friend had learned how to pick a lock from his father, who was a locksmith.  It was a skill he quickly showed all of his school buddies, including Ben.

He fumbled with the clips for several minutes, finally getting the lock to turn.  As they opened the door, the unmistakable stench of death came wafting out.  Both men recoiled a step and covered their noses with their arms.

Through the feelings of nausea, they began quickly moving the boxes of motor oil and candy displays that had been piled up against the door.  Every so often they paused to look behind them, making sure they were still safe.  They continued their work, piling the boxes outside the station, pushing back display stands when they were clear of other debris and making a path inside.   Once the way was clear, Ben took out his gun and turned to face Matthew.  “I’ll go in and find the key.  Once you hear the pumps click, start pumping.”  Matthew nodded and started back to the truck.

Ben went in cautiously, not sure what awaited him.  Opened food items were everywhere, the drink freezer was open and most of the items were missing, piled up in a corner.  As Ben walked deeper into the station, he saw a pair of feet, sticking out from behind the counter.  He crept around slowly, ready to shoot the owner of the feet if they began to move towards him.  As the rest of the body came into view, he saw a young kid, about the same age as Matthew.  He had an empty bottle of sleeping pills in one hand, and a folded note in the other.

Ben leaned over, trying to block out the smell and the thought of touching a dead body, and began searching the boy for keys.  As he patted the body down, he heard a jingle coming from behind the body.  Ben rolled the dead youth over and saw the keys attached to the back of the boy’s belt.  Ben released the clip and took the keys off the belt.  

He stepped over the body and to the gas panel.  There in the center was a slot for a key that read “master switch.”  Ben started trying keys, one after another.  Finally he found one that fit in and would turn.  The panel lit up and a small LED display flashed the word “Ready.”

Ben hit all the buttons with numbers beside them and looked out to Matthew.  The small display started running the amount of gas being pumped.  Matthew gave Ben the thumbs up sign and walked out in front of the truck, keeping watch.

Stepping over the body again, Ben found several packets of Beef Jerky and some Twinkies that had been set on the counter, as if in the process of being purchased.  Ben took a handful of lighters from the front display, unsure if the need to produce fire would be imminent in the near future.  Stuffing them into an empty vest pocket, he looked back down to the dead employee.

He looked at the folded up piece of paper and then back to the employee.  This must have been a suicide letter he left.  Ben contemplated leaving it with the body; he didn’t want to take it in case somebody came looking for him.   He gathered up the items on the counter and looked around to see if there was anything else he should take.  Then he heard it, a gunshot off in the distance.

Ben ran out from behind the counter and to the front door.  He knew that gunfire meant survivors, and if they were shooting they were in trouble.  Ben bolted out the door to see Matthew looking across the street to the lot where they had seen several handfuls of creatures.

“You heard it too?” Bed asked, straining to see where the shots were coming from.  They heard another shot, this time several shotgun blasts.  Ben ran over to the truck, throwing the few items he had into the back seat.  He took out the binoculars and looked towards the sound of gunfire.  

He saw a white airport van pulled up along a shopping center.  The back doors were open and a group of people were throwing boxes and other items into the back, while a large guy in a tank-top was firing at an increasing number of dead people that were surrounding them.  

Ben looked back to the pump, the nozzle still in his tank dispensing gas.  By the amount he had pumped thus far, he doubted he was even three-fourths of the way full.  He knew he might not get another chance like this in a while.  On the other hand, he couldn’t let those people die.  He knew that more people with additional weapons meant better chances at living. Cursing his luck, he took the nozzle out, closed up his tank and stepped over to the driver’s door.

“Get in!” he yelled at Matthew.  

Chapter 11
Parkins All-Night Supermarket; Centreville, VA.


Roy now stood in front of Lindsey, standing in between her and the monsters, which now were less then thirty feet from them.  He took careful aim and fired, striking one in the nose, causing it to fall into several more behind it.   Without showing any signs of fear from the gunfire, the creatures kept moving towards them, never hesitating.  Lindsey struggled to close the back door.  Too many items had been stuffed inside and it was stopping the doors from shutting tightly.  Woody and Durgen were throwing items up front as fast as they could.

Lindsey still had a good amount of items left in the cart next to her.  Roy had told her to forget them and to get in the van, but she wanted to make sure their items wouldn’t fall out when the van sped off.  If they did the entire trip would have been for nothing.  Lindsey pushed hard against the doors, getting one to lock in place while the other refused to close.  

As Durgen leaned over, trying to make more room, Lindsey took hold of the cart handle, and pushed it towards the closest of the creatures, slamming the cart directly into it.  The approaching creature fell backwards, and the cart kept rolling.  The Hulk fired several more rounds from the shotgun, sending multiple ghouls flying away from him.

“If we’re leaving, let’s do it now!” He shouted towards the back of the van, punctuating his sentence with the burst of the pump action 12-gauge.   Lindsey turned back to the van as Durgen pushed a bar of soap out from the hinges of the back door.  He leaned back up and Lindsey put all her might against the door, pushing as hard as she could.  She heard the distinctive click of the door locking into place.

“We’re set, we’re good!” She yelled to Roy, turning to move to the front passenger door.  As she turned, her stomach dropped immediately.  Several creatures had grabbed hold of Roy, and pulled him to the ground.  A dead young woman on her knees bent down and started biting his neck. Another creature had him by the leg and was tearing into it, causing blood to spurt everywhere.  Several had already moved around the dog pile, and were coming towards her.

“No!” she screamed, wanting to run and help Roy, but reality telling her she’d never be able to get around so many creatures.  She continued to the passenger door, yelling at the Hulk as she reached it.  “He’s down, you’ll have to drive.”  The Hulk turned to face her, looking at her momentarily and then past her.  

Lindsey knew they didn’t have time for this.  She started to worry that the big man would freeze, unable to handle the site of Roy being devoured.  She contemplated climbing over to the driver’s seat and starting the van herself, but she didn’t want to lose another person.  She looked back and shouted to Woody to close the sliding passenger door.  Without whining in the least, he leaned over and slid the door shut.  She turned back to the Hulk, still looking past her.

“I said we’re leaving!” She screamed at him, ready to move over to the driver’s seat if he didn’t move right then.  He pointed past her and yelled back.

“We got help.”

Lindsey turned to see a dark gray truck speeding towards them.  She looked at the creatures, which were now only ten feet from her.  There would be no way those people in the truck would get here in time.  Other than the Hulk’s shotgun which must have been running low, the only other weapon they had was lying next to Roy’s cold dead hand.

She quickly got into the passenger’s door and closed it, locking it securely.  She climbed over to the driver’s side and put the car in gear, making it lurch forward and directly next to the Hulk.  She stopped the car and opened the door, screaming at the large man.  “Get the fuck in here now!”

The Hulk moved back to the van as Lindsey moved back over to the passenger’s side.  He quickly got in and locked the door behind them.  He started the vehicle, bumping several creatures out of the way.  He drove forward, past the approaching mob and towards the other end of the parking lot.  The gray truck followed them and pulled up along side as they slowed.  Lindsey rolled down the van’s window as a thin man from the driver’s side did the same.  

“You guys alright?” The man asked looking in his side view mirror, making sure none of the things had grabbed a hold of their vehicles as they went by.  

“We lost one of our people back there.”  Lindsey said, trying not to feel anything over having lost somebody else she knew.  She looked at the man and noticed he had another person next to him.  He wore a blue uniform and had on a badge.  “You guys police?”  She asked.

The driver nodded over to his partner. “He is, but I’m not.” He looked once again into his rearview mirror.  “Look ma’am, this isn’t the best place to chat.  We’re heading to the Clifton safe-location to see if it’s still there.  Why don’t you follow us, it’s only a few miles away.”

Lindsey nodded in agreement “We were heading there ourselves.  You lead the way and we’ll be behind you.”  She started rolling up the window.  Ben nodded back and started off slowly.  From behind them the moaning was now a deafening roar as forty more of the creatures had appeared and joined up with the others.  Both vehicles drove towards the exit and turned onto the main road.  

Lindsey felt a tear starting to roll down her cheek.  She turned away from the others so they couldn’t see.  She never allowed herself to cry in front of others.  Not even her closest friends could claim to have seen her ever shed a tear.  At work, Lindsey was a woman in a man’s world, and she would be dammed if she ever let them see her cry.  She refused to allow them to use that or anything else against her.  Lindsey fought hard to keep anymore tears from coming out. She yelled at herself internally, mentally pushing against her eyes, forcing the tears back into their duct. From behind her, she heard a frail, soft feminine voice.

“I’ll miss him too.”  It was Granny.  She put a thin aged hand on the young doctor’s shoulder, patting her tenderly.  
Link Posted: 9/19/2007 1:20:16 PM EDT
[#1]
Good story so far.  I can't wait for more.
Link Posted: 9/19/2007 2:47:30 PM EDT
[#2]
great read!
Link Posted: 9/19/2007 5:15:28 PM EDT
[#3]
awesome story so far man
Link Posted: 9/19/2007 10:44:06 PM EDT
[#4]
Great read cant wait for more.
Link Posted: 9/19/2007 10:49:38 PM EDT
[#5]
Love it so far
Link Posted: 9/19/2007 11:05:27 PM EDT
[#6]
Great start, I have my fingers crossed for a full story !!!
Link Posted: 9/20/2007 12:23:17 AM EDT
[#7]
Woot Dale City!!11!!11

Reads well.
Link Posted: 9/20/2007 12:45:55 AM EDT
[#8]
this is not a tag
Link Posted: 9/20/2007 2:16:19 AM EDT
[#9]
sweetkeep it up!
Link Posted: 9/20/2007 2:28:40 AM EDT
[#10]
Very cool!! keep writing!
Link Posted: 9/20/2007 3:03:09 AM EDT
[#11]
Good work.
Link Posted: 9/20/2007 11:10:23 AM EDT
[#12]
Great start.
Link Posted: 9/20/2007 1:20:01 PM EDT
[#13]
You hava gift, now don't waste it and pump out more chapters
Link Posted: 9/20/2007 9:45:27 PM EDT
[#14]
Ohh.. I wondered what happened to this story. I had started reading from another site and it went away - well access to the site at least as a guest.

More, more...more...

Garrrrrrawww....Brainnnsssss...
Link Posted: 9/21/2007 11:54:17 AM EDT
[Last Edit: Shadowbody] [#15]

Originally Posted By Tonto_Ohio:
Ohh.. I wondered what happened to this story. I had started reading from another site and it went away - well access to the site at least as a guest.

More, more...more...

Garrrrrrawww....Brainnnsssss...



Thanks Ohio!  yeahhhhhhh, that "other website" where I first posted my story went through a real rough patch about a year ago and the site matured into something that I didn’t hold with.  Thought it best to just fade away rather than to go out with a stink, which I hate.
I’ve made a number of changes to the story you remember from the other site.  I actually scrapped the entire last two chapters and rewrote them as I thought it was a bit too “campy” for the overall theme I was going for.

Hope you enjoy!
Link Posted: 9/21/2007 4:56:40 PM EDT
[#16]

Originally Posted By Shadowbody:
I’ve made a number of changes to the story you remember from the other site.  I actually scrapped the entire last two chapters and rewrote them as I thought it was a bit too “campy” for the overall theme I was going for.

Hope you enjoy!


Whats this, you have more finished and have not posted it!!!  where is my villagers with pitchforks emoticon when i need it.
Link Posted: 9/24/2007 11:06:56 AM EDT
[#17]

Originally Posted By vader17:

Originally Posted By Shadowbody:
I’ve made a number of changes to the story you remember from the other site.  I actually scrapped the entire last two chapters and rewrote them as I thought it was a bit too “campy” for the overall theme I was going for.

Hope you enjoy!


Whats this, you have more finished and have not posted it!!!  where is my villagers with pitchforks emoticon when i need it.


LOL!  There is in fact more, but I need to scrub it to make sure all my "Your" and "You're" are squared away, not to mention the Their and theres.  When you get into the zone and your fingers are flying across the keyboard. . .you tend to loose sight of these things.  That's why I love my editor (the missus)
Link Posted: 9/24/2007 11:51:38 AM EDT
[#18]
I have refused to start reading any of these until the entire story is posted.  I like to be able to read without waiting for the next update.
Link Posted: 9/24/2007 12:12:32 PM EDT
[#19]
Tag for when I have time to kick back and read
Link Posted: 9/24/2007 1:03:15 PM EDT
[Last Edit: Bodie] [#20]
WOW!!, Thats fantastic, cant wait for the next bit
Link Posted: 9/24/2007 1:58:25 PM EDT
[#21]
Brains, more brains.  Good read, keep up the good work.  



Ron
Link Posted: 9/24/2007 1:59:13 PM EDT
[#22]
tag
Link Posted: 9/24/2007 5:06:13 PM EDT
[#23]

Originally Posted By pyro6988:
I have refused to start reading any of these until the entire story is posted.  I like to be able to read without waiting for the next update.


As "mister instant gratifacation" myself, I can relate.  
Link Posted: 9/25/2007 11:06:52 AM EDT
[#24]
Good update, the villagers have put out their torches for now but the pitchforks are still in the ready position.
Link Posted: 9/25/2007 3:12:05 PM EDT
[#25]
I admit, I'm hooked on this one.  Good story so far.
Link Posted: 9/27/2007 7:14:27 PM EDT
[#26]
great so far, keep it up.
Link Posted: 9/28/2007 12:35:32 PM EDT
[#27]
Good story, nice style..I like it.  Now, get to the editor's booth and give us more!  plus, I need something to read while i'm here at work..  

Mike
Link Posted: 9/28/2007 2:42:22 PM EDT
[#28]
Keep it going' man!  Don't take punishment for creativity.  Do it your way!
Link Posted: 9/30/2007 9:11:44 PM EDT
[#29]
Great story!!  PLEASE- please finish it!  Even if it is horrible just FINISH it.

It is great so far, keep it coming!
Link Posted: 10/1/2007 12:00:49 AM EDT
[#30]
I remember this story for another site as well.. It was great then and is great now. Please continue.. Thank you lil
Link Posted: 10/1/2007 9:12:26 AM EDT
[#31]
Thank you for posting frequent updates.
Link Posted: 10/1/2007 4:34:50 PM EDT
[#32]
Awesome story telling
Link Posted: 10/2/2007 6:19:54 AM EDT
[#33]

Originally Posted By Shane333:
I admit, I'm hooked on this one.  Good story so far.


+1
Link Posted: 10/2/2007 4:47:44 PM EDT
[Last Edit: Shadowbody] [#34]
Chapter 12
Marine Corps Base, Quantico Virginia


Colonel Eric “Guts & Glory” Graham sat behind his desk looking over the supply list he had asked a staff sergeant to prepare for him.  As he flipped trough the pages and eyed the inventory he switched the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other.  He continued looking over the report, listening to the squads of troops outside his window as they patrolled the grounds.

He finished the report, placing it on the center of his desk.  Graham stood up and looked around the office.  Until last week, this office had been Lt. General Edward Hanlon’s and he never would have thought he’d be sitting in that chair.  When the order to lock down the base came through, he was the most senior officer left in command.   The last they knew was that General Hanlon was with the President when he and the joint chiefs were escorted to Andrews Air Force Base.  Graham couldn’t be sure, but he suspected the General to be with the President at NORAD.

Graham wasn’t fazed in the least to be in command of the base.  He had aspirations of one day becoming commanding officer of Quantico, but his sudden field promotion came to him unexpectedly.  Despite the circumstances, Graham knew he was ready for this.  He had already sent for his belongings and had them moved to the General’s office.  He looked at the clear plaque his father had given him after his promotion to Major.  

"Be not afraid of greatness; some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them."

Shakespeare had written that for his play Twelfth Night. Scene two; Act five.  Graham always considered himself a renaissance man as well as a military man.  It was one thing to send his men into battle to die for their country.  It was another to do so and have an understanding of the inspiration that could help you in such difficult times.  

From behind him came a knock at his door.  “Enter,” he barked, unhappy that his thoughts had been cut off.  He turned to see a young Lance Corporal standing in his doorway, saluting.  Graham returned the salute and approached the Marine.  “What is it, son?”

“Sir!  As the Colonel has requested, 1st Battalion, 2nd Marines has been deployed on the perimeter and are actively patrolling.  8th Marines have advanced into FBI headquarters and secured the compound.    No casualties reported.  Command staff of FBI headquarters has been detained by the Colonel’s orders, and were confined to cadet quarters, sir!”

Graham puffed at the cigar.  He knew those government fucks wouldn’t be able to hold out against his men.  Fools didn’t even put up a decent fight.  They were running around without a clear cut mission objective and were wasting valuable resources.  They were reckless and lacked any sense of discipline. Graham nodded at the Lance Corporal.  “Get on the horn to the 8th and find out what their prisoner headcount is.  Then I want you to relay orders that they are to ascertain who their ranking agent is and have that person brought to my office.  Dismissed.”  

“Yes Sir!” The Corporal saluted and then stepped backwards out the door, closing it behind him.   Graham had suspected that when he made his move against the FBI that they would have put up a significant fight rather than be overrun.  After the base had been ordered into lockdown mode he had ordered his men to keep an eye on the federal compound.  He wanted to see what would happen when the academy didn’t have any military to depend upon for security.

Over the course of the next few days he received reports that the FBI’s perimeter had been overrun no less than eight times.  Each time those reanimated civilians made it into the FBI’s ground, they wound up infecting a handful of agents and young cadets.  To make matters worse, some of the Marines who still had friends in the FBI reported that there were no efforts made to ration supplies.

Knowing full well that the dead would continue to breach their fences, and with the threat that would be facing the Marines should those creatures overrun the bureau, he decided to settle the matter himself.   He ordered his men to enter FBI headquarters and secure the compound, along with the surrounding grounds.   The operation began at 06:00 hrs this morning and only took a few hours to resolve.  From the initial reports it sounded as if the agents inside welcomed the Marine invasion and a more secure home, as compared to what they had been used to before.  Graham knew the senior agents inside weren’t going to be happy with the change, but they were damn well going to get use to it.  

The phone on his desk began to ring.   Graham crossed the office and went to the desk, taking a deep breath before he picked up the handset.  “Colonel Graham,” he said looking to the report that sat upon his desk.  

“Sir, you’re needed in command and control,” the voice on the other end said.  Ever since the order to lock down all military bases was given by the joint chiefs, each location was required to establish a command and control center, or C&C.  It was here that the base commanders kept in contact with each other and provided updates on their present situation.  Everything was monitored by NORAD, where the President could issue any orders he needed to.  

“On my way,” Graham said, hanging up the phone and making his way out of the office.  He walked down the hallway which housed the senior command offices, passing several of his command staff along the way. Most had adopted the BDUs now as their everyday wear.  As the president had officially moved the armed forces to DefCon 2, class B uniforms were more or less abandoned.  Camouflage uniforms were now being worn as standard daily dress.  

Graham walked to the elevator and hit the button for the sub-basement.  It was there that C&C was housed, along with a war room and a large shelter that could hold up to 500 if the need arose.  As the elevator made its descent, Graham pulled out his sidearm and checked it.  He still had a round chambered.  He did this almost as a nervous habit, a need to reassure him that he stood ready to stand by his men when the moment arose.  The elevator slowed as he put the weapon away and prepared himself.  The car came to a stop and the doors opened.  The men on guard outside of the elevator came to attention as he exited the elevator and saluted.  Graham returned their salute and walked past them, down the long hallway and to the large steel door that stood open.  

The door was hydraulically operated and took almost a full minute to close.  Once closed it could only be opened with a security code that was in a safe in his temporary office underground.  The bunker was built during the cold war, and had been meant to survive any direct nuclear strike on the base. Over the years as the technology advanced, systems and equipment had been updated to keep the bunker prepared for just such an emergency.

While the base as a whole had not been compromised, Graham knew there may come a time where he had to seal the doors and wait out the creatures.  He walked through the bunker, past the armory and filtration systems until he came to the large C&C room.  Large monitors filled one entire wall, showing various news broadcasts from regions of the United States that had yet to be fully overrun.  Several displayed news broadcasts from foreign nations, who all seemed to be undergoing the same crisis.

One wall displayed two maps on a clear, transparent glass display.  One map was of the United States, and showed the locations of all domestic military bases, each represented with a red dot.  Below them was the name of the base and the current commanding officer.  Each base that had fallen, or couldn’t be reached was represented with a blue dot.  The same was true of the other map, which displayed the rest of the world and locations of foreign US bases.  Both maps had a larger concentration of blue dots than red.

In the center of the room were two rows of desks with keyboards and monitors built into the furniture.  Each station had a Marine sitting at it, checking on various aspects of remaining US activity, both civilian and military.   Several stations had Marines with radio headsets that had a secure communications line to other bases and key points which were unknown to the general population.  

The door to an adjoining room opened and Graham’s second in command, Major Pruitt came out.  He came over to join the Colonel in the center of the room, overlooking the main display screen.

“Sir, we were just informed of the operation to invade the FBI compound.” Pruitt didn’t look happy and Graham wasn’t surprised in the least.  Pruitt hadn’t been involved with the initial planning sessions to secure the FBI facilities.  Ever since the outbreak had occurred, Pruitt has been presenting opinions which did not rise to meet the ongoing threat.  Pruitt wanted to take a more humanitarian role and provide aide and comfort.  Even after the lockdown had been ordered, his suggestions had persisted.  Graham knew there would be a complaint coming from the Major.

“With all due respect sir, these are US citizens and people we have been charged with protecting.  Taking over their facilities in a hostile manner will only. . .”  

Graham cut him off abruptly.  He wasn’t in the practice of having his orders questioned.  He positively wasn’t going to allow such as the new commanding officer of Quantico.  He moved the shrinking cigar to the other side of his mouth to speak.

“Major, time isn’t a luxury we have available to us now. In the time in takes to negotiate with the senior staff of the Bureau, their compound could be overrun four times.”  Graham was getting impatient with the constant questioning of the orders he issued.  General Hanlon may have put up with such behavior from those under his command, but Graham felt such was not appropriate.

“At the rate they were using up their provisions, and due to the haphazard way they dealt with securing their own border I made the decision to secure their grounds for them and to assume command over both facilities.  It’s a decision that I didn’t relish making, but it was one that had to be made nonetheless.”

Major Pruitt didn’t show any expression on his face.  Graham had no doubt that the Major wasn’t happy with this explanation, but if it went beyond a simple dislike for tactics, he was hiding it well.  

“Now is this what I was called down here for, or is there something actually worth my time?”  Pruitt motioned over to a control station which was being used by a young female sergeant.  She was entering a series of commands on the monitor in front of her as the two men approached.

“Sergeant, play the communication on the main monitor.” Pruitt commanded, as he placed one hand on the console, watching as the young woman began recalling the data file. He turned to face Graham.

“Sir, at 13:20 hrs, approximately 10 minutes ago, all military bases at home and abroad received a video message which was sent by NORAD.  It was run through standard decryption protocols and has just been prepared for viewing.” As Pruitt finished, the large monitor in the center of the room flashed to a blue screen.   The screen flickered slightly as the imaged changed to a podium with the Presidential Seal, standing before the American flag.  

The sounds of footsteps could be heard and then a man Graham didn’t recognize stepped into view.  He was a middle aged man, not much older than Graham was.  He had on the typical suit of a bureaucrat and looked to have a combination of fatigue and nervousness on his face. He took his position behind the podium and looked into the camera.  All activity in the room stopped, and people in adjoining rooms had now joined the senior officers in the C&C.  The man in the image began to speak.

“My . . . my name is Howard Deakins, I’m . . . I mean I was the Secretary of Agriculture. Earlier this morning, the President, Vice President and Secretary of Defense were killed when the . . . infected civilians overtook a section of this complex and overpowered base soldiers and the President’s security staff.”  Graham looked on as Deakins took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his forehead.  There was a quiet murmur throughout room as mention of the President was brought up.

“Although NORAD was in lockdown mode, several groups of civilians were brought in beforehand for medical treatment.  Base doctors and scientists are still working with theories, but the best we have to go on is that some of them had come into direct contact with other infected civilians and they in turn became infected.  It appears at this time, that any direct contact with active dead . . . with these creatures carries a high probability of infection.”

Graham knew that such was most likely the case.  If this contaminant or infection had been transmitted through the air, the infection rate would have been a lot worse at the onset of the initial reports.   Deakins looked to be referring to notes on the podium as he continued on.

As the President, Vice President and Sec-Def have been confirmed dead; with the Speaker of the House, President Pro Tem-Senate and Sec-Tres reported dead with the fall of Fort Benning and Camp Lejeune; with the Sec-Interior, Attorney General and Sec-Interior still unaccounted for, I was informed that as of 10:30AM mountain time, I was next in line to act as President of the United States as dictated by the Presidential Succession Act of 1947.  I have just been sworn in and have assumed the office.”

Graham shook his head, not believing what he had just heard.  “Fantastic, we have Farmer Fred leading the country now.” Graham knew that this wasn’t the news that everybody was hoping to hear.  With the President and most of the political leaders dead, he was positive once this news made it to civilian sectors, they’d be dealing with the existing crisis, as well as survivors getting out of hand.  Graham looked back up to the message.

“I’m meeting with the remaining joint chiefs later this afternoon, and at that time we will confer and determine what the best course of action is and how to proceed.”  Deakins leaned forward slightly.  “We don’t know what happened, where this came from or who is responsible.  We don’t even know what this is.  However, I have no doubt that God, in his infinite wisdom will show us mercy.  I cannot believe that he would allow us all to die off.  In the meantime, I only ask that you continue to do your duty and keep our fine country alive.”  Deakins stood still for a moment and the screen went blank.    

There were several silent moments as people in the C&C looked at one another in shock, not believing what they had just heard.  If the President and the majority of cabinet positions had fallen, the country would quickly fall into disarray.  This was a situation that America had never faced.  Having the dead rise and attack the living was one thing, but to have government falling at this pace was just adding insult to injury.

Graham bit down on his cigar, making sure it wouldn’t fall out as he spoke.  

“Alright people, let’s not start digging our own graves just yet.  We still have our complex secure and we’re going to keep it that way.”  The marines turned back to their consoles, those who had come into the room from other locations turned and left quickly.  The room again became a constant buzz of activity as Graham turned to look at Pruitt.

“Major, get communications established with all remaining military bases.  I want to consult with the commanding officers by 17:00 hrs.”   Pruitt looked as if he wanted to object to some other aspect of this operation that Graham has set in place.  The Colonel just scowled at him, teeth clenched around his cigar. “Is there a problem Major?” He asked, waiting to swat down the Major once again.

“No Colonel.  17:00 hrs, I’ll have everything put into place.”  Pruitt stood at attention, waiting to be dismissed.  Graham just garbled something under his breath, showing his disgust and walked out of the control and command center.  

As he walked down the long hallway and past the large steel door once again, he took the cigar from his mouth and dropped it to the ground.  As he crushed it with his foot, he considered what he had just seen.  There was no longer any clear chain of command above him, only scared paper pushers with no experience in military operations.  With the President and Vice President dead, and potentially all of NORAD now infected by those things, the situation could only get worse, not better.

Graham walked to the elevator and pushed the button to the surface.  He watched the numbers on the wall slowly light up as he felt the car begin to rise.  Graham took out his sidearm once again, flipping it over in his hand and checking for the round still chambered.  

He knew he would have to act . . . soon.  


Chapter 13
Clifton, Va.


Ben turned a corner and drove down the narrow road towards his destination.  On either side of his path, tall thick patches of trees guarded their approach.  The escape from the shopping center had been mostly uneventful.  Several times a handful of the monsters had wandered onto the street and blocked their path.  If Ben drove slowly enough, he could either knock them out of the way or drive over them without too great a risk to his truck.

He constantly checked his rearview mirror, making sure the white van kept up with them.  Ben had counted what he thought was 4 or 5 other survivors in that van.  The people looked scared and exhausted.  He could only imagine what those people had been going through over the past 2 weeks.   The blonde woman had said they just lost one of their group, but she hardly looked phased.  Whatever was going on with the world, Ben was happy that there were other people who kept their heads about them, rather then falling to pieces.

“Ben!” The shout made him jump in his seat as looked back to the road before him.  The road they were on was placed on a small hill, which had a steep drop-off.  At one time there had been a guard rail to protect travelers from careening off the road, but that had been removed. To the other side of them was a hill which was cut into to allow this road to be in place.  As the truck turned the corner Ben caught sight of what Matt was yelling about.  In front of him stood three men, dressed in worn and dirty clothes.  Each held AR-15 rifles with various sights attached and all were pointing directly at him.

Ben slowed the truck to a halt and watched as the men took several steps ahead.  Matthew undid the snap on his holster, but was quickly stopped by Ben.  

“Hold up.  Let’s not make the situation worse then it has to be.”  Ben put the truck in park and slowly opened the door.  Once he had it open, he put his hands into view and finished opening the door with his knee.  He kept the men in sight as he finished his thought aloud to Matthew.  “But be ready just in case”.

Ben stepped from the truck, his hands in full view.  The men stood their ground, their weapons still pointed directly at him.   Ben stopped just short of the front of the truck, ready to dive for cover if needed.  He cleared his throat, not sure what it was that he would say.

“Hello there.” He started.  He knew this sounded incredibly lame, but having rifles pointed at him was a brand new experience. “We’re looking for the Clifton safe location.” Ben mentally screamed at himself.  He should have come up with something better then this.  These guys looked as if they had been out here for a while, and he wasn’t sure they would hear what he was saying.   The man in the middle, heavy set with several days growth of beard was the first to answer him.

“Shelter’s closed mister, no more space.  Ya’ll need to be turning around now.”  Ben looked at the other two men that stood with the speaker.  One had turned his weapon towards Matthew in the car.  The other still had his weapon trained on him.  Ben didn’t like the look he had.  The man looked overly nervous and shaky.  His finger was on the trigger, and he knew he stood the chance of being shot if he became too agitated.

“Guys!” Ben pleaded.  He made sure his hands never left their sight as he spoke. “We have a group of people here who are scared and just watched their friends die.  We’re not looking to make things more difficult, we just need a place to collect our thoughts for a bit before we move on.”  He watched as the man with the rifle on Matthew, shifted his eyes to look at the one doing all the talking.

“Maybe you don’t hear so well Mister.”  The man in the middle took one step forward, never lowering his rifle. “I said ya’ll need to git.”  Ben knew this wasn’t leading anywhere.  Even with whatever weapons the group in the van had behind him, there was little chance they could get past these guys.  Even if they did, they might have to explain to the group at the safe location what had happened to the men on watch, and how they got past them.  If they weren’t welcome now, they’d be even less so once they reached the safety of the school.

Ben took a deep breath, ready to capitulate and have the small caravan turn around when he saw a blur to his left.  It was the woman he had spoken to in the parking lot of the shopping center.  She marched right past him and towards the riflemen.  As she did this, all three pointed their rifles at her, ready to fire.  

“Listen to me you inbred white trash hillbillies!”  Ben felt his stomach drop out from under him.  This woman was about to get everybody shot with her tirade.  She stepped in-between Ben and the three men.  She looked at each man in turn and then continued, shouting as she addressed them.

“We have an elderly woman with us who has a serious heart condition, and unless she gets some rest she’ll die.” Now all the men were acting twitchy.  Ben knew it was only a matter of moments before things would get downright deadly.  “I’m a doctor and I have the ability to not only treat her, but anybody else you might have that needs attention, but I can’t do that in an overloaded van that keeps bumping along these roads.  We have a boatload of medical supplies that we’re willing to share with you in exchange for getting in, but I swear to you that unless you let us past, I’ll personally kill each and every last one of you bastards!”

The three men stood their ground, all weapons still trained on the woman.  Ben watched, expecting the men to open fire and to kill the Doctor on the spot.  From the tall hill next to the other side of his truck, Ben saw several more men, all dressed in camouflage step from the bushes, all had various rifles and all were trained on the group.  This was worse then Ben thought, he had to do something to defuse the situation. . .and do it now.  He slowly stepped forward from the side of the truck, his hands remaining in the air.

“Ok, we get the message guys, we’re not wanted!” He shouted, making sure he was heard.  “We’ll be on our way now.”  The blonde woman didn’t turn to face him, she continued to stare down the three men in front of her, oblivious to the snipers on the hill above her.

“Bullshit!” she yelled. “We’re not leaving.” She emphasized the word not. “We’re going to that shelter. If you want to stop us, you’ll have to shoot living people, not those things out there.”   Ben watched as nobody moved.  He didn’t doubt that this woman would stand her ground.  He was equally as sure that these men would fire at them any moment.  He watched as behind the three men came a tall slender woman with tied back brown hair, holding another AR-15.  She had the top of the gun resting on her shoulder as she walked forward.

“You’re a doctor?”  She yelled as she continued to move ahead, past the three men in the road and stopping in front of the short woman.  The woman had on a fresher looking pair of fatigues.  Ben noticed that the camouflage had army insignia’s on it was much better kept then her male counterparts.  As she stood there, looking at the doctor, he saw the name “Hasser” stitched on a solid green patch.  Two stripes on her sleeve identified her as a Corporal.

“Yes, I am.” The doctor responded, looking the woman squarely in the eye.  It were as if they both were waiting for the other to blink first.

“We’ve been having problems with raider groups over the last few days.”  She said looking past the Doctor to Ben first, and then to Matthew in the car.   Ben knew what she probably was referring to, but he had to ask none the less.  

“Raider groups?”  

The tall woman looked back to the Van which sat directly behind the Truck, and then slug her rifle over her shoulder, centering the strap across her chest.   “Some are from other shelters, desperate for supplies and weapons they lack.  Some are local gun nuts who either had an existing arsenal, or went out and got one after all hell broke loose.  If those dead things weren’t bad enough, now we have to be on guard against vultures.”

Ben knew this was his chance to try and defuse the situation.  They now had a foot in the door.  He thought if he could just find the right words, he could calm everybody down and get the group to safety.  

“We know that your space is limited in the shelter, and the last thing you need to worry about are more people getting in the way.”  She looked on as Ben spoke, listening to him intently.  “We may be in the position to help one another out.  We need a place to rest and to gather ourselves; a place where we can think for a few moments without having to worry about those things out there swarming on us.  If you have as many people as that guy. . .” he motioned to the rifleman who had spoken to him earlier. “. . .said you had at the shelter, your supplies must be running thin.  They have a fully stocked van that should get you some breathing room.”  Ben took a step forward, his arms still out.  “How about it?”  

The woman considered it for a moment.  She took a deep breath and then looked back to the doctor.  “Let me see these supplies first.  If they’re real I can get you inside, but I don’t promise how long you can stay. . .that isn’t up to me.”

The doctor nodded her head, looking frustrated.  “This way”.  

Ben watched as the two women walked back to the van.  The doctor opened the side door and several items fell out.  One of the men in the van, a short man who looked oddly like the programmers Ben dealt with at his office, began a tirade as soon as the door was opened, his hands raised as if he was surrendering to her on the spot.  The corporal picked up the items which had fallen out, tossed them back into the van and closed the door.  She made a hand signal and the men in front of the truck, along with the ones on the ridge lowered their weapons.

“We’re good here.”  She walked up to the driver side of Ben's truck and stopped at the back door.  She looked at Ben who had been watching the entire exchange. “I’ll ride with you back to the shelter and get you in.  Once you’re there you can talk to Frank and make your case for staying a while.”  Ben walked back to his truck, still not sure the danger was immediately over.  Both he and the woman got into the truck.  She took a seat directly behind him, no doubt with a handgun ready to shoot him in the back if they tried anything.

“Joe, you’re in charge until I get back.” She said, just before closing the door.  Ben took the truck out of park and followed the directions the woman gave to the shelter.
Link Posted: 10/2/2007 5:09:17 PM EDT
[#35]
New chapters?!!!!!  Hell yeah!!
Link Posted: 10/3/2007 3:31:28 AM EDT
[#36]
Thank you for the update.. Please keep it going when you find the time. Great story...
Link Posted: 10/3/2007 1:24:29 PM EDT
[#37]
Great work on the story and keeping up with the updates!  
Link Posted: 10/3/2007 2:12:48 PM EDT
[#38]
Great story keep it going.



Ron
Link Posted: 10/4/2007 5:03:00 PM EDT
[#39]
keep it coming.. good job
Link Posted: 10/5/2007 4:49:23 PM EDT
[#40]
Very nice! Cant wait for the next chapters.
Link Posted: 10/7/2007 6:05:11 PM EDT
[#41]
more please...

hey shadow, are you up in NOVA? if the invading masses of undead get to thick up there, just slide on down the valley. myself and armedsuspect are also working on a similar story together, to be set further south, down here in the shennandoah valley. perhaps we can cordinate or incorporate a little crossover in the stories, if you're interested hit me up. we always have room for another arfcommer. well, we have room, if you have more story anyway...    
Link Posted: 10/8/2007 12:57:41 PM EDT
[Last Edit: serixx3241] [#42]
I...I...I need a fix....


Good story!  I remember it from a while ago, but lost it at some point, I am really looking foward to reading it again and further this time.
Link Posted: 10/8/2007 3:53:04 PM EDT
[#43]

Originally Posted By Kar15:
more please...

hey shadow, are you up in NOVA? if the invading masses of undead get to thick up there, just slide on down the valley. myself and armedsuspect are also working on a similar story together, to be set further south, down here in the shennandoah valley. perhaps we can cordinate or incorporate a little crossover in the stories, if you're interested hit me up. we always have room for another arfcommer. well, we have room, if you have more story anyway...    


I have one foot on the Fairfax county line and one foot on the Prince Willy county line, so fairly well planted in the Northern Virginia area, although I have a rough outline for my story and where things will go.  While it's not totally crafted out fully just yet, I do know that the story will encompass areas outside of NOVA, although I hadn't intended to cover anywhere in SW VA.  

Funny you should mention tie-in's.  Along with Halffast, another writer who inspired me to begin my own story was Len Barnhart, who has written and self-published a trilogy of zombie fiction in my own AO of Northern Virginia.  Like me, he has a very well thought out story, but suffers from lack of an editor !  I actually paid homage to him in the last chapter when I mention a nightclub used as a shelter.  It was a setting he used heavily in his first book.  I wanted a passing mention to is as an unofficial tie in.  So if you two want to reference something from my work I'd take it as a compliment.
Link Posted: 10/9/2007 12:40:49 AM EDT
[Last Edit: Kar15] [#44]

Originally Posted By Shadowbody:

Originally Posted By Kar15:
more please...

hey shadow, are you up in NOVA? if the invading masses of undead get to thick up there, just slide on down the valley. myself and armedsuspect are also working on a similar story together, to be set further south, down here in the shennandoah valley. perhaps we can cordinate or incorporate a little crossover in the stories, if you're interested hit me up. we always have room for another arfcommer. well, we have room, if you have more story anyway...    


I have one foot on the Fairfax county line and one foot on the Prince Willy county line, so fairly well planted in the Northern Virginia area, although I have a rough outline for my story and where things will go.  While it's not totally crafted out fully just yet, I do know that the story will encompass areas outside of NOVA, although I hadn't intended to cover anywhere in SW VA.  

Funny you should mention tie-in's.  Along with Halffast, another writer who inspired me to begin my own story was Len Barnhart, who has written and self-published a trilogy of zombie fiction in my own AO of Northern Virginia.  Like me, he has a very well thought out story, but suffers from lack of an editor !  I actually paid homage to him in the last chapter when I mention a nightclub used as a shelter.  It was a setting he used heavily in his first book.  I wanted a passing mention to is as an unofficial tie in.  So if you two want to reference something from my work I'd take it as a compliment.


western VA yes, but not exactly SW VA. actully AO is in/around the 'burg and rockingham county aprox. 1hr. south of winchester, completelly understand on the plotline/storyboard already being in motion though...

kinda funny though that you include the marines stationed @ quantico, as that is what and where "suspect" was, while he was property of uncle sam...

any links to where i may find len barnhart's stories?

perhaps if some of our survivors get a ham setup going they'll overhear some radio traffic from a "safe area" set up @ an old school an hour or two north...

btw. great stuff so far...
Link Posted: 10/9/2007 4:17:11 PM EDT
[#45]
Thanks for the compliment, and do let me know when you all start posting your tales.

Len barnhart's webpage is at http://www.reignofthedead.com/ he has two books out thus far, with the 3rd (a prequel) slated to come out "any time now."
Link Posted: 10/11/2007 6:12:26 AM EDT
[#46]
thanks, now i'll have to head over to the local BAM and pick up the first two...

suspects started writing, and we keep coming up with more ideas for interesting twists and side stories(really need to start taking notes and drawing up a timeline/storyboard during our weekly brainstorming sessions before we forgetting shit) and once a week i get to read what he's actully written, and then offer advice, fill in extra detail, help work out technicalities, plot out future development, etc.

i think we're gonna wait till we have it completed(probabally not fully edited but finished in entirity) before we post anything...

keep cranking the chapters out man, i'm really enjoying the read...
Link Posted: 10/12/2007 4:14:53 PM EDT
[#47]
Great story so far.  Keep the updates comin!
Link Posted: 11/8/2007 3:49:55 PM EDT
[#48]
Hellooooo !?

(Tumbleweed rolls by...)

Anyone here !?

Link Posted: 11/8/2007 6:52:06 PM EDT
[#49]

Originally Posted By JAKE-T-SNAKE:
Hellooooo !?

(Tumbleweed rolls by...)

Anyone here !?



The next chapters are here Click Me
Link Posted: 12/14/2007 1:11:17 AM EDT
[#50]
Excellent work!!
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