After being inspired by all the great stories posted on this site the last couple years, I have decided to attempt to add my own. I have been working with a buddy and we have the outline done to what we consider a pretty decent piece of zombie fiction. It is a work in progress but we will finish it, and already have a good start. I will post updates here as well as list the chapters as we post them. Thinking a chapter or so a week until completion. Feel free to add input and point out any errors.

Enjoy!

The Slow Burn Into Darkness

Prologue..........................................Page 1.....added 08/13/10
Chapter 1: Game Time..........................Page 1.....added 08/13/10
Chapter 2: Shots Fired..........................Page 1....added 08/20/10
Chapter 3: Heavily Engaged...................Page 1.....added 08/27/10
Chapter 4: Tactical Redeployment............Page 1.....added 09/03/10
Chapter 5: Well we made it....Now what?...Page 2.....added 09/10/10
Chapter 6: We're from the Government
..............and we're here to help............Page 3.....added 09/17/10
Chapter 7: Acts of Betrayal....................Page 3.....added 09/24/10
Chapter 8: Unexpected Allies..................Page 4.....added 10/01/10
Chapter 9: Bullets & Beans.....................Page 4.....added 10/22/10
Chapter 10: Lone Wolves.......................Page 5.....added 10/29/10
Chapter 11: Trick or Treat......................Page 5.....added 11/05/10
Chapter 12: Thou Shall Not Kill.................Page 6.....added 11/12/10
Chapter 13: Sweat and Blood..................Page 7.....added 11/21/10
Chapter 14: A Glimmer of Hope................Page 8.....added 11/26/10
Chapter 15: A Line in the Sand................Page 9......added 12/10/10
Chapter 16: The Best Laid Plans..............Page 10.....added 12/18/10
Chapter 17: Till Death do us Part.............Page 11.....added 12/27/10
Chapter 18: Darkness Falls.....................Page 11....added 01/04/11
Epilogue...........................................Page 11....added 01/04/11

Prologue
09/18/11

Capt. Matvei Volkov was still trying to put to rest the feeling of dread that had been creeping into his gut. Everything had just been business up to this point, and Matvei had made his life's business one of warfare and killing. Now face to face with the end result of his plan, the horror he was about to unleash on all of humanity was finally sinking in.
"There is no longer any turning back." Matvei said to the guard standing next to him. "It is now just a matter of time, and our world will never be the same again."

At 6’2” 225lbs, and dressed in his usual Russian Para Brown VSR camouflage uniform, Matvei was an imposing figure. He was also a hard man who had seen and done many things in his past that would have broken most others. Even the actions in his past he was not proud of would fail to hang on his conscience for long.  
‘The past is the past.’ Was a motto that Matvei lived by. 'You cannot change it so why worry about it.'

Hardened by battle, Matvei had learned to never second guess himself in the field, and hesitation often meant death. Now, as he watched several families loaded into trucks for the drive north, he had to again remind himself of his own motto. Mothers were carefully handing off their small children to outstretched arms in the back of the trailers before being lifted in themselves. Dozens of trucks had already left the rest were loading their human cargo now.  
“Man up you fucking pussy.” Matvei muttered to himself. "You have seen this all before."

Matvei fished a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket and lit it with his lighter, exhaling a long smooth drag. His right hand reached for and instinctually came to rest on the butt of his holstered HK USP .45 while he smoked the cigarette with the other. Both the heavy weight of the loaded .45 and calming effect of the cigarette smoke gave him solace as he reflected briefly on the many events in his life that had led him to this place and time.

Born in Koltsovo, Novosibirsk Oblast Russia in 1972 to poor parents who worked in a large armament factory, Matvei entered the Soviet and then what later became the Russian Army in January 1989, while the war in Afghanistan was winding down. He was a natural soldier who craved action and a born leader who commanded respect by his mere presence. Matvei quickly got promoted to Sgt. and fought in the first Chechen war around the capital city of Grozny from December 1994 to February 1995 and then again during the second conflict, from October 1999 to February 2000. The fighting was brutal and Matvei soon became callused to the looting, rape and torture that was all to custom during both conflicts. He became immensely popular among his men, due to his leadership style and personality, and this was noticed by his superiors. They also noticed that he got things done in the field and they were always looking for results at any price. Matvei soon received a commission, being promoted to the rank of Captain. He was eventually transferred to the 76 Guards Airborne Div. and as his luck would have it (he thought) Matvei saw more action, leading his company of paratroopers during the war with Georgia over South Ossetia in August 2008.

But this time around the Russian Army knew that the rest of the world was paying a little bit more attention than during the Chechen Wars, and the top commanders were less than pleased with some of the atrocities committed by the men under the command of the now Capt. Matvei Volkov. Matvei resigned from the army under threat of prosecution for war crimes and secured a ride on a cargo ship bound for Mexico, along with four of his most trusted men. The drug war was again heating up and there was always a place for men with his specific skill set. Matvei had no trouble leaving his life behind in Russia, for he hoped to return someday with a fortune earned by hard work, determination and of course blood. Matvei also was comforted by his 'ace in the hole.' This 'ace' was a family secret which he had only recently been made aware of. Matvei held this new found secret close, knowing the implications involved. He also hoped that the situation to use it to his advantage would present itself.  

Matvei hired on with the Gulf Cartel based in Matamoros in the Mexican State of Tamaulipas, across the Rio Grande from Brownsville TX. His ruthlessness and effectiveness moved him swiftly up the ranks of the Los Zetas, the mercenary army of the Cartel. The fighting with other cartels and government forces along the U.S. border was nearly as fierce as Chechnya, and when it was done Matvei had helped secure vital trafficking routs into the United States for both narcotics and human cargo. The money to the Cartel was again pouring in and Matvei was rewarded by seeing his power and influence on the rise.

Soon however, some troubling trends had started to emerge in the United States. The Arizona Immigration Law, once challenged by the Federal Government, finally went into effect. Results could soon be seen both in the United States and Mexico. As the border became more secure it became more difficult to traverse, more shipments north became confiscated and the street price for the Cartel's goods was on the rise. Soon other states including Texas were enacting similar laws and several political candidates were campaigning and winning in the polls on the notion of a secure border. The American people wanted a stop to the illegal immigrants, drugs and violence that were continuing to leak across the border. Matvei himself had tried to limit the violence to Mexico itself, but had been met with mixed results. He knew that if the United States decided to really crack down on the Cartel, it could get ugly real fast.

A new string of wins by “Tea Party” candidates in the following mid-term elections only escalated the matter and by the following spring it looked like serious reform and security measures might actually happen. The current Administration in the White House even got onboard, after a violent skirmish between the Cartel and the Border Patrol left two agents dead and several others wounded. The public outcry was so great that the President outlined a new proposal consisting of a large National Guard presence along the border. The Cartel was now facing a serious threat to its main source of customers, money and power.

The final straw was when Matvei began hearing reports from his own intelligence officers of covert U.S. Military action against the Cartel in Mexico itself. The media was left totally in the dark, and Matvei was sure that it would be considered illegal, but Special Forces units were conducting a successful campaign against Cartel drug manufacturing facilities, distribution centers and security installations.  They had the advantage of complete air superiority, satellites, and the ever present Predator UAV's. Matvei himself was nearly killed twice. Once while in a vehicle convoy that was attacked by a UAV, with a missile taking out a top Cartel boss that was riding in the vehicle directly behind Matvei’s.  The second occurrence was when a small Cartel retreat was attacked by helicopter only minutes before his scheduled arrival for a security meeting.    

This is when Matvei, after much internal deliberation, played his ‘ace.’ Matvei convened a top secret meeting of the bosses and made his proposal. In exchange for a top place in the Cartels power echelon, Matvei would produce a weapon that would bring the United States to her knees. In the power vacuum that would follow, the cartel could move in and set up shop, becoming a world power in a matter of months! The top bosses sat in stunned amazement as Matvei laid it all out……

Matvei’s home town of Koltsovo was also the home of the Vector Institute, the Soviet equivalent of both the U.S. Center for Disease Control and Army Biological Weapons Center. His own uncle Aleksey Volkov worked there in the late 80’s and early 90’s. It was at this facility that the Soviet Army first dealt with the Marburg Virus, named after a town in Germany which suffered an outbreak in 1967. With effects similar to the Ebola Virus, it was a terrifying sickness that quickly consumed the body. The symptoms included jaundice, rapid weight loss, delirium, neuropsychiatric symptoms, and multi-organ dysfunction, with liver failure most common. External hemorrhaging from body orifices was also common and terrifying to watch. The disease was contagious and transmitted originally by saliva and other bodily fluids.

The initial work with the weaponization of the virus had been done by a Dr. Ustirnov who soon accidentally caught and subsequently died from the virus. The autopsy of Dr. Ustirnov’s body showed that the virus had mutated and was now even more lethal. This strain, known as ‘Variant U’ became weaponized by the Soviet military in 1990. The program was cancelled in 1992 after the breakup of the Soviet Union, but Matvei’s uncle Aleksey carried on the work in private. After several years of hard and difficult work, his result was ‘Variant Z’ and it was the perfect biological weapon with a near 100% mortality rate if infected. Aleksey hid the results and kept several vials frozen in a deep freezer at his farm. Aleksey wasn’t being paid worth a shit at the Vector Institute and knew that the right buyer and a ticket out of ‘Mother Russia’ would someday present itself. Aleksey was shortly thereafter unexpectedly killed in an auto accident and the vials were kept safe by his wife, who although terrified by what her husband said the virus was capable of, felt unable to safely dispose of it or turn it in for fear of punishment. Matvei was made aware of all of this as he was saying goodbye to his aunt prior to leaving for Mexico. He was the only one she felt like she could tell, and Matvei promised that he would figure out a way to help her.

Matvei went on to explain that given to a person via an injection, the human carrier became the tool with which to spread the disease. The initially infected person would carry the weakened virus for about one week (a slow burn) before symptoms would become evident. As the virus affected their central nervous system they would become more and more agitated, eventually violent, aggressively biting or injuring future victims spreading the disease through bodily fluids. The longer the virus remained in its human host the more lethal and mutated it became. It reacted quicker to the new host the longer it remained in the blood stream, with less of a dormant stage. The person eventually ‘died’ but the body amazingly continued to function at a limited level. This ’animated body’ would be able to sustain massive amounts of damage and still function as long as the central nervous system stayed intact, able to further spread the virus to other living host. After a six to eight week period host would eventually stop functioning as the high 107 degree temperature and lack of nutrition weakened the muscles and brain enough to stop all functions, with the virus consuming all remaining cells in the body.

With a terrifyingly fast and effective means of transmission combined with the fact that the virus itself could not survive outside of the human body for more than a few minutes, it was a fearsome biological weapon. And then combine that with the expected 80% casualty rate to the host population, (4 in 5 would contract the virus) in a matter of a few months you would have a decimated population base and a biologically safe, while still fairly intact infrastructure to move into and conquer.

At first skeptical, the payment of 50 million USD cash to Matvei and his naive aunt secured safe shipment of the vials to Mexico. From here a test was set to be conducted on several captured Federal Police Officers as well as a few locals who had ‘gotten in the way‘. The shots were given out and the cartel waited anxiously for the results to unfold. On the fifth day all of the subjects began to run a fever which accompanied severe Diarrhea and vomiting. They became more aggressive to one another, easily agitated over the slightest thing. The men became a mild shade of yellow and started having bloody noses. The first attack happened the next day and in a matter of a few minutes it was all over. Most of the victims had suffered what should have been mortal wounds but soon revived in a semi-conscious state. Matvei and his men used them for target practice from a safe distance and were amazed at the damage the subjects could sustain. A shot to the head, destroying the brain was about the only thing that would bring them down. It was decided to kill all but one subject and keep the one that had been restrained in a separate room strapped to a gurney for testing, and as a source of more vials of the “Z” virus.

Only the Cartel bosses and Matvei knew of the ‘Z’ virus and the plan that was taking shape. If word got out it would have spread like wildfire and Matvei was sure that the United States would stop at nothing to prevent them, possibly even using nuclear weapons. Matvei did let his trusted friends from his army days in on it and the zombie jokes which once were tossed back and forth over beers became less funny as reality began to set in for all of them. When HBO played Dawn of the Dead one late night, Matvei just sat staring at the TV as the credits rolled an empty bottle of Vodka on the coffee table. Nobody said anything as they walked off to their own rooms.  

Matvei had first began to have reservations in following through with the rest of the plan while seeing the grotesque way that the infected attacked one another and other prisoners whom they were “fed” with ferocious abandonment, and secondly due to the fact that the last subject had not yet died off after nearly 3 months on being infected. Matvei felt like this ‘little experiment’ could quickly get out of hand and maybe there was another way to slow the American onslaught against the Cartel.
“We can’t kill all the customers!” He would halfheartedly joke to the bosses as he suggested a more limited deployment of the virus. The cartel bosses however were very pleased with the killing power displayed and even treated the carnage during the testing as a game, similar to the Roman Coliseum. They had tasted blood, and wanted more. The rest of the preparations were placed in motion.

The world economy had slowly deteriorated since 2008 and Mexico was certainly catching the worst of it. The unemployment rate was officially 12% but was really around 25% and the corrupt, inefficient government was powerless to turn it around. The Cartel had little problem recruiting several hundred families with the promise of a job, home and prosperity waiting for them in America. Close families with both parents and several children where specifically chosen with the knowledge that they would quickly provide care to one another when they became sick, rapidly spreading the infection.

Allied Hispanic gangs in the United States prepared housing in the target cities and often arranged work in positions that would quickly offer maximum exposure to the public. Children were arranged to be enrolled in schools. Nothing was left to chance. The target cities themselves were familiar names to many and were spread across the entire continent.

New York, Buffalo, Newark, Camden, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington D.C. Richmond, Norfolk, Raleigh, Greenville, Atlanta, Smyrna, Macon, Augusta, Tampa Bay, Jacksonville, Orlando, Miami, Montgomery, Birmingham, New Orleans, Nashville, Littlerock, Louisville, Knoxville, Memphis, Cincinnati, Columbus, Toledo, Indianapolis, Pittsburg, Cleveland, Minneapolis, Rochester, St. Louis, Des Moines, Postville, Dallas, Houston, Waco, San Antonio, El Paso, Albuquerque, Phoenix, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Oakland, San Diego, San Jose, Las Vegas, Seattle, Portland, Boise, Denver, Oklahoma City, Lincoln, Kansas City, Detroit, Milwaukee, Madison, Lacrosse, Dubuque, Rockford, Springfield, Chicago, Elgin, Aurora, and Joliet.

With a continued sense of foreboding Matvei stayed mostly clear of the families that were being chosen and instead became immersed in the vast logistical obstacles that needed to be overcome. He used an old Russian Military contact and with the help of some American Dollars secured 2000 AK-74 assault rifles and 8 million rounds of 5.45x39 ammunition along with several hundred RPG7’s and RPK light machine guns. Trucks and supplies were gathered and the ranks of mercenaries were increased for the push north.  Matvei figured food and fuel would be readily available once in country. With the lingering doubt still festering in his mind, Matvei did spend his private new found fortune quietly and skillfully on a backup plan for himself and a few others in case the whole plan and world for that matter went to complete shit. Among these was a newly purchased 1500 acre ranch in Arizona, and a ship, loaded and fueled up, waiting just off the gulf coast.  

Now, several months later and with summer beginning to wind down, the ground work was done. On the morning of September 18, 2011 Matvei, watched in silence as several members from each family heading north to their ‘new life’ in America were given what they were told was a flu shot. The virus was carefully administered by a local doctor accompanied by several large and well-armed men who stood by watching intently. All were then loaded into trucks along with a few meager belongings and family mementos. Matvei was personally put in charge of this last critical step, to insure its successful completion. Matvei, with his reminiscing and cigarette finished, walked over and stood by as the last truck was loaded. Javier Garcia, a husband and father of four was going to be the last one in and Matvei just wanted this shit over with.
“This truck is headed for Joliet Illinois sir.” A mercenary remarked to Matvei.
Javier suddenly turned, walked up and attempted to shake Matvei’s hand.
“Thank you for this opportunity sir.” Javier stated in broken English.
Matvei felt a slight involuntary recoil in his body as he took a step back, knowing that Javier was already infected and contagious as well.
“Good luck.” Was all Matvei could mutter as he turned and quickly walked away.
His heavy jump boots echoed through the warehouse as Matvei fished the pack of Marlboro cigarettes from his right front pocket and grabbed another cigarette.

Javier shrugged, turned and hopped aboard the truck, putting his arm around his wife Maria as the big diesel rumbled to life. There were 45 people aboard just this one truck and they had a safe & secure crossing arranged with which to enter the United States. The Cartel has provided everything. All they asked in return was the use of his former simple residence in Mexico for their operations.
“What a small price to pay” Javier remarked….
The real price for Javier and all of mankind was much, much higher. A mere two hours later they and the virus, yet unnoticed by the hosts, slipped across the border into America.

********

That night Matvei lay in bed smoking, quietly gazing at the woman who had been his realtor while he searched for a secluded ranch in Arizona to purchase. Matvei had never had a problem finding women, they always seemed drawn to him. His latest conquest was no exception. With long dark hair and beautiful features, she had been successful in finding Matvei the perfect place, and had also proved to be very good at other things as well. She gently slid up next to him with her warm firm breast touching his chest, her head on his shoulder, biting his ear as her left hand moved down his torso. Normally he would have forcefully taken her on a night like this, and while the thought was intoxicating, Matvei could only see the haunting faces of Javier’s children as the truck had driven by on its way out of the main gate. She moved down and kissed his neck but Matvei just shrugged her off.
“Not tonight baby….” Matvei sighed.
“What is the matter with you?” She asked. “Your acting like the weight of the world is on your shoulders.”
“No, it is nothing. Just some problems at work that don‘t concern you. ” Matvei mumbled. “Now just leave me alone.”
She pulled away from him and watched with a puzzled look on her face as Matvei stared at his cigarette as it slowly burnt out in his hand.
   
********

As the three day journey to Joliet drew to an end, Javier began to feel ill. Constantly tired and growing more restless, he had a splitting headache and couldn’t keep his food down. The smell of vomit permeated the truck as more than one person had become ill. Maria had her hands full taking care of their youngest daughter who had come down with the flu as well. But the truck was hot, noisy and the ride was rough, so nobody was overly concerned. Their destination was worth the trip!
“Don’t worry Maria, everything will be fine.” Javier assured her. “I spoke with the driver at our last stop and we should be there shortly. We can then get out of this truck and into our new home. Who would have thought we would have a chance like this three short months ago, with a chance at a fresh start.  We have new jobs for us both, with better schools and medical care. I never could have imagined!”

Javier leaned over, kissed Maria on the forehead and tried to smile through his headache. She seemed reassured momentarily, but that soon changed. Others in the truck seemed sick as well, including her oldest son Jose, and her maternal instincts were telling her something was very wrong.
“Why would the Cartel want to help us?” She had asked her husband before they left. “They are bad men who don’t do anything for free.”
Javier had dismissed her concerns then and was doing it again now as he sat back down and tried to make his daughter comfortable.

Soon all across the country the hosts arrived at their new destinations and settled in. A few days later, with madness in his brain, Javier Garcia did something he never imagined he would ever do. He bit his son…

Chapter One: Game Time
Monday September 26, 2011
1300 hrs

The over packed black Chevy Colorado rocketed down the I-88 toll road towards the route 47 exit that would lead into home, Joliet IL.
“You had better slow the fuck down, and call ahead to the Watch Commander." I suggested. "And let them know you are going to be late to work.”
The driver, Stephen Walker, a Joliet Police Officer, was calmly weaving in and out of traffic that appeared to be doing the legal speed limit.
“You know me, Mike.” Stephen responded. "I always cut it close to start time. If it's not one thing making me late it's another.”
I chuckled and reached for my ever present can of Copenhagen tobacco.
"That is one thing we can both agree on." I replied. "You always being late."
After putting in a delicious chaw of dip, I thought about having to work as well tonight on the midnight shift. Stephen works afternoons at the police department, and I recently had left afternoons for midnights, which due to the lack of sleep I was beginning to regret.
“Well, if we get pulled over since you are doing 30 mph over the limit, we can show our badges.” I say.
“Yeah well this takes a good 45 minutes off of our trip." Stephen remarked after laughing. "I just hope that it isn’t some rookie trooper that drags us out at gunpoint when he sees all the guns stacked up in the truck.”
In fact there were several handguns lying in holsters in plain sight.

Agreeing, I think back at the last three days we, along with another co-worker Chris, spent at Stephen’s property in Wisconsin. Stephen had grown up in the area and still had family nearby. He had recently purchased about a dozen acres of timber for himself and with the help of a buddy’s heavy machinery, had made a fancy private shooting range. It came complete with an earthen berm outlined in railroad ties, barricades and target stands. It was my first time getting to get up to see the place and our time was spent shooting firearms and pounding beer. (Not at the same time)  

Three days of camping, trigger time and getting shit faced really helped relieve a lot of stress that I didn’t know had accumulated. Not to mention some quality CQB training! No TV or contact with the outside world. His property did not eve have electricity, Nextel did not have a single bar of reception!….it was great! Three days of annoying his neighbor with what sounded like a small scale drug war shootout. Too bad Chris had to take off a day early to go back to work.
“Hey.” I said. “Maybe next time we should let the County Sheriff’s deputies shoot some when they get dispatched out to your place after your neighbor complains again.”
“Fuck that tree hugger.” Stephen stammered, punching the steering wheel. “It’s my property and I will shoot as much as I want to. That's why I bought the place out in the middle of nowhere.”
Besides being a police officer, Stephen was a huge 2nd Amendment believer and avid sportsman. He knew exactly what was and wasn’t legal when it came to guns, shooting, and private property rights.
"I only get back there like once a month anyway!" He remarked, still frustrated by my snide remark.  

As we drove on Stephen turned up the radio and we listened to the end of the Rush Limbaugh show broadcast on 890 A.M. We hear on the news break that followed of an apparently new strain of Influenza that has started to fill the emergency rooms in several cities around the country. The symptoms, the reporter states, are high fever, headaches, vomiting, and delirium all the way up to a coma like state. So far the outbreaks seemed to be contained to a limited number of patients and the news was quoting some expert who was saying that most people just had the common flu and were merely overreacting.

As it turned to weather Stephen remarks. “Man, we are off the grid for a few days and the country goes to shit.”
“No doubt.” I say. “I hope I don’t catch the flu, I hate to puke and don‘t want to burn anymore sick time, especially if I really am sick! I called in sick for this trip actually.”
The Garmin reminded us to take the next exit and the Flu talk was quickly forgotten. Stephen was bitching that he had to work today and I was busy making sure all my shit was together before Stephen threw me out of his truck once we arrived at his house.

A short while later, Joliet came into view. Stephen lived in a subdivision on the far west side of town. My old van was still parked out front.
“Well looks like home sweet home, just how I left it” Stephen said. “I will let you unload your gear and shit while I grab my gear. Could you check on my dog, who the neighbors been watching for me, while I hop into my squad and beat feet for work?"
"Oh yeah, no problem." I reply.
"Looks like I am going to be late after all.” Stephen then adds.
“Told you so dumb ass.” I kidded as I grabbed my cased AR-15 and rucksack. “Hopefully tonight is slow. I am beat and I still gotta clean my duty weapons.”
“It should be.” Stephen said, getting into his squad after throwing his uniform onto the passenger seat. ”It’s the beginning of the week. It’s usually dead.”
As he closed the door of the white Chevrolet Impala squad Stephen rolls down the window.
"At least I cleaned my guns before we left slacker!"  He remarks and drove off with the squeal of rubber hitting pavement as he gunned the gas.

I gathered my belongings and secured Stephens truck in the garage before taking off. I arrived at my home; a simple ranch style house with a full basement located 15 minutes east of Stephens, and carried my gear inside. My German Sheppard ‘Bruiser’ met me at the front door, barking madly and wagging his tail.
“Hey buddy, I missed you boy!” I said as I scratched him behind the ears.
Obviously the dog had to go out, because he immediately ignored the fact that he hasn’t seen me in three days and started pawing at the screen door. “Ah, what loyalty, I know you like Mattie better.” I said as I let him out to crap in the back yard. Damn dog leaves crap piles the size of cattle. Dragging my gear down into the basement, I drop it onto my work bench. I’m not feeling in the mood to clean my firearms, nor wash my clothes from the trip just yet. Instead, I grab a Monster energy drink from my mini fridge and prepare to workout, sore as I am from a four hour drive. My pride and joy is my home gym I have assembled down here over the years. It is actually better than the police department gym and I don’t have to wait for anyone to use whatever equipment I want. Plus, I have four huge house speakers that blast heavy metal loud enough to wake the dead. No sissy commercial gym aerobic music in my gym. After spending most of my life regularly working out 5 days a week…whenever I miss a day or two it drives me crazy. Soon Bruiser is barking again and I am forced to head back up and let him back inside. He makes his living pissing off the neighbors with his loud bark. He also scares the hell out of the mail man and generally everyone who walks by. In fact, Mattie and Stephen are about the only two other people he likes.

Turning on the stereo, I crank some Lamb of God, and walk over to the bench press to work on some chest. Time to get some work done; as the reps flew by, I started to sweat out all the booze and brats from the past three days of gorging myself. My smartass co-workers kid all the time on how old I am getting to be. The ripe age of 39 quickly approaching the big 4-0 makes me focus on weight training all the more these days. At 210 pounds and still being able to bench over 400, I can crush all the young pups on the force. When they talk shit I just shake my head and remark at how bad of shape they will be when they reach my age.
“Sucks to be them” I say to motivate myself as I pile on more weight on the bench bar, enough to make it visibly bend.

Normally I would use Stephen, who works out with me several times a week, or Chad to spot me on bench days. Chad, a long time buddy and fellow cop, makes it over several times a week as well. This is later in the day and Stephen and Chad are both at work already. But it’s not a big deal as I feel good today. The music I call Anger Metal has me pumped, and thinking again of all the ‘old man’ wisecracks gives me an adrenalin dump.
“Fuck it! Can’t get results from going half speed.” I say aloud to myself, and flop down and rep the weight off my chest several times.
Soon I feel the familiar burn as my muscles adjust to the shock of lifting again after the time off.  

********
1430 hrs

Arriving at the police station with seconds to spare, Stephen makes it to his seat with seconds to spare. He finds a seat near the front and sits by a buddy and fellow officer that he used to ride with.
"What's up Johnny?" Stephen asked. "Did I miss anything good while I was gone?"
"Nope, it was a quiet weekend." He replies. "Day shift got busy today though; there is something in the air. They tried to call me out early but I had to watch the kids. I know Mattie and a few others did come in early and are already on the street"
"Speaking of something in the air." Stephen replies, while looking and nodding at the TV that was on in the front of the room.
It was on a news channel and the anchor was showing video footage of an apartment complex in New York City. It had been quarantined and several dozen people were sealed inside. Men in full hazmat gear could be seen walking in the building and the reporter on scene. He was speculating that it could be related to the developing story of the emerging new Influenza strain.
"That's a pretty big jump there son." Chad Evanston yells at the TV from the back of the room. "How are you drawing that conclusion?"
Chad works out with Stephen and Mike and many good natured discussions are held revolving around Stephen's prepping and Mike's interest in terrorism, and whether or not an event would ever happen in Joliet.
"It will never happen here!" Is Chad's usual response.

Others are drawn into the conversation and then it goes quiet as Commander Terry Coleman walks into the room to start roll call. When a Commander handles roll call there is usually a reason. Commander Coleman commands the PD's SWAT team and also coordinates with the CDC and FEMA during Biological related events. He first hands out the days zone assignments, and Stephen is disappointed that he is riding with Ray in zone one.
"Sucks to be you." Johnny says. "I am ridding with Ryan in zone five."
"Ok guys." Commander Coleman interrupts. "The other reason I am here is to address these emerging stories on the news about this new influenza. The CDC is telling everyone that the media is latching onto this and blowing it way out of proportion. Similar to the Swine Flu a couple years back. But expect a low level of anxiety in the public today and a full emergency room at the hospital if you end up there today. Also, as was the case with the Swine Flu, if you feel sick go home and get some rest. Call in until you get better. If this is legit, we don't need the whole department coming down with it. Now hit the street, radio told me that the calls are stacking up."

As roll call dismisses Johnny and Ryan walk out with Stephen.
"Are we going for coffee?" Ryan asks.
"Let's try." Stephen responds. "I gotta pick up Ray by his car, I'll meet you at Speedway."
"Roger that." Ryan replies.
Within minutes their coffee plans are disrupted as the dispatcher gives out disturbance calls to both units.
"Looks like it is going to be one of those days." Stephen sighs.

********
1515 hrs

Stephen looks over at his partner Raymond in dismay. A small man, with almost feminine features small boned, and looks as if he never touched anything heavier that a text book in his life. He even wonders how Ray passed the Power Test in order to get hired. Word at the department, is that Ray has a relative on the City Council who pulled strings to get him on the force. Stephen can’t believe what he hears...
"Damn it, this is the third fight call and it isn’t 1530 hrs yet." Stephen yells. "What the fuck?”
As Ray thinks of a suitable answer, Stephen also is thinking. ‘Of all days, today I get stuck with this pussy. I am going to need to go for a drink tonight after work….Hmmm…Maybe at Triple Threat sports bar?'
“Hey!” Stephen says, snapping out of his daydream. “If I go hands on again, you think maybe this time you can help me out instead of impersonating a fence post?”
Stephen reaches up to the control panel of the squad car and activates the emergency lights and siren with a snort of disgust.
Ray sheepishly replies “I have a feeling something bad is coming, I had this same gut ache right before my pet ferret died last month.”
Stephen blares the squad’s horn and yells at some drunk bum who walks right in front of his push bumpers and freezes, not allowing him to pass. “Well shit, if you are not going to help, let me know now so I am not expecting it!” Stephen says. “I’m not asking for much. Just watch my back, and try not to cry like last time!”

********

Finally done with my workout, I reluctantly start to clean my AR-15. It’s a Colt M4 carbine, complete with the 3’rd switch and a Trijicon Reflex scope that I was issued when I got onto the city’s SWAT team. It takes me all of about 20 seconds to fully disassemble it, and I’m not even trying to be fast. Taking it apart was knowledge painfully embedded into my DNA from my Drill Instructor when I was in the Army years ago. Shortly after the rifle is cleaned and lubed, I give my Duty pistol, a Glock 17 with a Streamlight M3, a quick cleaning. A lot of my fellow police officers do not like the Glock 9mm, but what I like is having 17 rounds per magazine, and the ability to run dry and dirty. Not to mention the pistol is idiot proof. After the Glock is cleaned, I put them into my gun locker and head upstairs for a long, hot as possible shower. Three days of sweat and funk is hard to remove. Later, after the hot water is long gone, I drag my tired ass out of the shower. Wearily walking into my bedroom I flop onto the bed still wearing my towel. As my eyes slowly close, I think about just resting them for a minute or two….

********

Pedro does not feel good, and he definitely should not be driving. Not only because he has only been in the United States for a few days and does not have a valid license, but also because he feels like shit. He had been tasked by his new employers to drive a car from Chicago out to Joliet. He did not know what was in the trunk but he had a feeling if he got caught he would be in a lot of trouble. Now to make matters worse he was finding it more and more difficult to keep his car, an older Ford Taurus, between the lines on I-80, a major Interstate. Pedro was going downhill fast. He was burning with fever and his head was pounding. Feeling something wet on his face Pedro checks it with his hand and discovers that he has a bloody nose.
"Oh mi Dios," Pedro says aloud before briefly losing consciousness.

Pedro's car veers to the right, cutting off a semi-truck that was in the lane next to Pedro. The driver slams his breaks and tries to avoid slamming into the Taurus, and this causes several vehicles following the semi to collide. Pedro finishes his maneuver by clipping a large SUV in its back quarter panel and rolling over, careening of the highway into the ditch before coming to a stop on his roof.  

********

Firing up his pickup, Chris Jacobs hears the rumble of the black GMC 2500 crew cab’s diesel come alive. Putting the truck into reverse, Chris backs out of his driveway and begins making his way into work at the P.D. for the 1530 roll call. Still having to make adjustments of getting back into civilian life from his recent tour in Afghanistan, Chris notices it’s the little things that weird him out. Things like toilets that flush. Not having to burn human waste is a luxury that if you never have done it, one cannot understand. Air conditioning is truly a gift of the Gods indeed! Seeing everyday people not carrying some type of firearm is also weird. Not having to wear heavy ass body armor and a helmet everywhere is a godsend, and he still finds himself reaching for his M4 carbine that never was out of arms reach for the past year and a half. Speaking of air conditioning, he reaches over and cranks it up to full blast.
‘It’s way too hot for the end of September.’ Chris thinks as he tries to call Stephen on the phone to see if he called off sick today from work.
He hoped not because he wanted to know if the County Sheriff ever got called back out to the shooting range. Stephen’s only neighbor seems to be the anti-gun type who has a stick up his ass over the fact that the new guy (Stephen) is a trigger happy gun nut from the ‘city‘. He chuckled to himself as he neared the police station. At the employee parking lot, Chris noticed squad cars leaving the station with lights and sirens going.
“Wonder what’s going?” He mutters to himself. “Probably just another random shot fired call.” In Joliet’s low income residential area, this is a common, almost every day occurrence.
Parking his truck in the lot, and receiving no answer from Stephen, Chris begins the walk to the station as other co-workers begin to arrive.
"Man, it is crazy out there today, fights all over the place.” Officer Langston says while walking in holding his trademark cup of coffee.
“You’re on afternoon overtime again you whore?” Chris says, “I didn’t have my radio on, what did I miss?”
“Fights and more fights” Langston says.  “A few of us are out on injury already. I heard Stiles is at the hospital now. Maybe I should have stayed home.”
As they reach the doors Langston pauses, stating. “I’ll see ya inside I’m gonna finish this smoke.”
Chris watches while Langston then fishes a fresh cigarette from his pocket.

Entering the station Chris heads over to the roll call room where the Watch Commander usually goes over the crimes and arrests from the last two shifts and the assignments for the officers working. It provides a short break before the shift starts and Chris is looking forward to it. As he entered Chris observed his supervisor walking his way. His supervisor, a fat, greasy looking man, the type who gets off on telling others what to do, fast walks at Chris soon as he sees him.
“Hey Chris, we are getting swamped with fight calls." He orders. "I need you to hit the street right now and help out with calls for service.”
“Roger that Sgt. Henderson." Chris answered.  "Let me check out a squad and I will hit the street.”

After filling out the paper work and getting the squad keys, Chris jogs out to the motor pool lot where the spare, high mileage and abused squads were located. Starting up the Ford Crown Victoria, Chris accelerated up to where he left his truck and began loading his police gear into the squad. A large duffel bag contained all forms that he might need during his shift. His report tin and ticket tin he tossed onto the front seat. First Aid kit, ballistic shield were tossed into the truck. Along with his police issued 870 Remington 12Ga shotgun that he mounted a Surefire 618 forend light onto. His emergency Go-Bag, filled with extra shotgun slugs, 9mm pistol ammo, extra magazines, medical supplies, energy bars and water also was placed into the trunk. Slamming the trunk lid, Chris advised dispatch the he was clear for calls. Immediately Chris is rewarded with a several car accident with injuries in the 600 block of Gardner.
“Roger that. I’m en route.” Chris responds, while activating the squad’s lights.

While still en route to the accident, dispatch advises Chris that several vehicles actually crashed through the guardrail of Interstate 80, which is elevated through that area, and landed onto the street below.
“Well fuck me.” Chris says to himself. “This call is going to tie me up for hours.”
Chris, when arriving on scene, has a bit of a flashback to a similar scene from his recent past, an IED attack on his convoy in Afghanistan. There were at least six or seven vehicles involved in the accident, each with varying types of damage. From simple fender bender up to flipped over and crushed. Joliet fire trucks and ambulances, as well as an Illinois State Trooper and a Will County Sheriff squad were already on scene when he pulls to a stop and blocks southbound traffic with his squad. Already there was a very large crowd of gawkers that always show up for the pretty lights, doing their best to get in the way and take pictures with their cell phones.

Looking at the path of destruction from the street, up the dirt embankment to the Interstate, Chris could see a jackknifed semi-truck on the Interstate, which is probably the cause of this mess. Chris started to make his way past the roaring diesel’s of the fire engines and ambulances while dodging out of the way of running paramedics. He takes a bit of time to yell at civilians who are not staying out of the scene, and chases them back a distance.
'Might need crime scene tape for this mess.’ Chris thinks while turning back to begin to write down vehicle types and license plates as the medics check with the occupants for injuries.
Some obviously were hurt bad enough that after the stretchers were loaded, the ambulance took off with sirens blaring. Chris noticed some steam coming from a large clump of trees and vegetation that was up the embankment several yards from the main accident scene. Upon investigating, he observed a vehicle that was obscured from view of the street. The vehicle, an older Ford Taurus was upside down. The damage was considerable and the vehicle made ticking and pinging sounds as the engine cooled. The steam was made by a busted radiator that had a large piece of guardrail stuck through it. Ducking down and pulling away several small broken trees, Chris could see a male Hispanic driver was trapped between the seat and steering wheel and door.
“Can you hear me? Are you hurt?’ Chris yelled.
The only response that Chris got was the man moaning, apparently in considerable pain. Due to the damage on the vehicle Chris was unable to get to the driver on his own. Several attempts to open the door himself proved futile.  

Seeing this, Chris began to shout for the paramedics, and due to all the loud emergency trucks and other yelling as well, no one could hear him. He eventually gives up and runs down and grabs a fireman who wasn’t busy at the moment.
“Hey, there is a man stuck in a vehicle up on the side of the embankment." Chris yells, pointing up at the spot he just ran from.
The fireman runs to where Chris pointed out and begins to say something on his fire radio. A few seconds later, several firemen and paramedics descend on the vehicle with extricating tools and equipment. Within minutes, the sound of the saws and hydraulic metal cutters make the overall racket deafening. Trying to get onto his police radio to advise dispatch of life threatening injuries, Chris walks back away from the running fire trucks, and sees a State trooper heading his way.
“Hey there officer.” The trooper says to Chris. “Are you taking the report for this accident?”
Chris stops in his tracks and looks at the trooper in confusion, he then looks at the several vehicles involved, then follows the path of destruction all the way up to the twisted guardrail of the interstate where State Police has jurisdiction, and where this cluster fuck clearly began.
Chris turns back to the trooper. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Starting to lose his cool as the trooper gives some lame ass excuse about having some disturbance calls in his district and he needs to clear out; Chris throws his hands up in the air angrily.
“Fine….Whatever! We are busy as hell too you know!" He is yelling now. "At least get the drivers information on the vehicle the fire dept. is working on.” Not waiting for an answer, Chris stomps away from the trooper dork before he punches him and wiped his ass with the trooper’s trademark hat.

********
1600 hrs

The sudden blaring of my cell phone rips me out of a dream that was just starting to get interesting, as usually happens when they involve a hot MILF. Fumbling for my Blackberry, I finally hit the right button.
“Hello?” I say wiping the sleep from my eyes.
I initially think I overslept for the midnight shift but see only an hour has passed. The reply was full of swearing and obscene things that apparently are illegal in most countries. Looking at the caller ID I see it is Stephen.
“Calm the fuck down bro I cannot understand you.” I reply.
“Don’t tell me to calm down jackass.” He yells. “Thanks for leaving me hanging, with Ray as my only backup. Where the hell are you?”
“Ray? Ouch!" I answer. "I am in my bed, taking a little nap before work, what’s up?”
“I’ll tell you what’s up; the city is going up for grabs.” He snarls. “They are calling out all off duty cops they can find to help with all the disturbance calls and what not. I know for a fact they have tried you several times. I personally threw you under the bus and told them you were home”
“What the hell are you talking about? What’s going on?” I say.
“Half the shift is hurt and the rest of us are running our asses off. Just get your ass now!” Stephen yells, and then hangs up on me.

I stare at the phone for a few seconds, seeing all the missed calls from the watch commander’s office, then shrug and swing my feet out of bed. I quickly pull on my uniform and boots. Grabbing a freshly charged battery for my police radio, I replace the old one and place it on the charger. Good thing I shaved and brushed my teeth earlier, and since I cut my hair on the lowest setting with the clippers I don’t have pillow hair to tend to. Walking into the basement I open the gun locker and grab my duty pistol and AR-15 rifle in its carrying case with five extra 30 round magazines. Putting out a fresh bowl of food for the dog along with clean water I say goodbye to the huge shepherd and tell him he is on guard duty till I return. Walking out to my squad I turn on the police radio and immediately I hear several units getting dispatched to fights all over the city. All round, I can hear sirens in the distance going to their assigned calls.
“Man, Stephen was not kidding. Wonder what is in the drinking water this time?” I say aloud to myself.
Finally there is a gap in the radio traffic and I am able to advise dispatch that I am available for service. Quickly I'm assigned sector 2 (which had been manned by officer Stiles) by Janice, an out of breath dispatcher who sounds a bit frantic. I’m then immediately sent to a domestic battery that also has a runaway 13 year old involved, on the north and mostly Hispanic end of my sector.  
"Great!" I tell myself. "I got out of bed for a runaway who doesn’t like to get disciplined from his parents."
En route to the address I was given dispatch advised that an ambulance is also on the way for several injured persons.
“10-4” I acknowledge. It sounds like it is brewing up to be a real cluster fuck now.

Arriving on scene, I walk up to the two story brick home. I can tell when it was new it was a beauty, now it looks like it has been divided up into a few apartments. Locating the correct one, enter the open front door and announce myself. Entering the family room I see the mother and several children ranging from about 2 to 15 years of age. Once they see me they all begin to yell at me what has happened, and of course it is in Spanish….and I do not understand a word they say.
“Okay…okay I‘m officer Thorsen and I’m here to help." I plead. "One at a time please, and preferably in English.”
An older kid, who I find out is a neighbor, steps up and says he speaks English.
“Outstanding!” I answer. “Can you tell me what went down here and why everyone here is bleeding?”

********

Chris walks back to hit squad, cursing every step of the way about the trooper trying to pawn this mess onto him. Reaching his squad, he takes a minute to cool off mentally by taking a few drinks from his water bottle while standing next to his opened car door. The more he thought of it, the more he got angry. That’s it! He thought, he cannot take this report because it all started on the interstate. Where all the vehicles ended up is beside the point.

Unbeknownst to Chris, as he was walking to his squad, the trooper he was referring to reached the mangled Crown Victoria just as the Firemen reached the trapped occupant. As the paramedics attempted to stabilize the subject, its head snapped forward, locking its jaws onto the medics arm. The paramedic screamed as the trapped occupants jaw scissor’s back and forth, ripping a mouthful of meat from his arm. The paramedic looks at his bleeding arm in stunned horror as another fireman attempts to immobilize the driver with a chokehold as he drags the male Hispanic from the wreckage. The driver promptly sinks his teeth into the bicep of the fireman who howls in pain trying in vain to free himself from the crazed man. The trooper, standing frozen in his tracks, looks on in shock. The injured driver, who should be incapacitated from pain if not already dead from his clearly crushed lower body, was hungrily tearing into the fireman’s arm while he screamed for help. The trooper pulls his Glock 40 and begins to order the driver to stop. The fireman, trying to stand up, trips over a piece of the wreckage and the crippled driver scurries up the fireman’s torso and begins to savage his throat with his teeth. Blood jets from the fireman’s neck and into the face of the driver. Screams of pain and horror are quickly cut off as the vocal cords are ripped free, and choking, gurgling sounds are replaced by the sounds of someone feasting! The trooper snaps out of his daze and starts to shoot the driver. So shaken is he that he inadvertently shoots the fireman in the head, but several rounds still hit the crazed driver. Terror fills the trooper, who thinks has just accidentally killed an innocent man. As his mind try’s to comprehend this, he doesn’t register that the driver is now crawling his way with a blood crazed look. Neither does he notice the other paramedic who was first bitten, and shortly thereafter gone into convulsions, approaching from his right with a gaunt and dead look in his eyes. That is until his teeth rip into his right arm and hands rip at his face.

Chris, stomping his way back to the accident is walking past one of the fire trucks when he hears of a very large fight in progress in one of Joliet’s housing projects getting dispatched.
'Great!' He thinks. 'I will make the trooper handle this and go assist with the fight call.'
As he passes the engine of the truck, he swears he just heard gun shots. Unable to pinpoint where they came from, Chris hurries around the backside of the fire truck. Looking up the dirt embankment he sees the trooper go down with now 2-3 subjects wrestling with him. Chris can see that two of them are paramedics and one is who appears to be the injured driver. About 15 feet from the fight now, he sees the trooper stop moving as the other three continue to assault him.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Chris yells as he pulls his Glock 17 from the holster.
All three blood covered heads snap up from the trooper’s body simultaneously. In a fleeting instant Chris can tell the trooper was KIA from the torn throat and intestines hanging exposed above his gun belt. With a savage look of hunger in the eyes of all three, or was it now four sets of eyes? Blood dripping from their mouths, they give away their intentions for young officer Jacobs.

********

I begin to take down notes of what happened as the neighbor kid relates what happened and how they all were injured. It appears that the father, a Javier Garcia, who along with the rest of the family had recently arrived in country from Mexico, was having an argument with his oldest son Jose. The argument was about Jose not listening to his mother Maria, and going out all hours of the night, hanging out with the local Latin King gang bangers. At one point Javier, who was still sick from the long trip, began to physically fight with Jose, became enraged and even bit the ear of Jose who then ran out the front door, and after the rest of the family returned from looking for him outside, the oddly enraged Father began to fight with the rest of his children and his wife. Javier was jaundice and bleeding and had scratched and cut everyone else in the house, with the exception of the youngest, who was also still sick from the journey and in bed. They were scared as Javier had never acted this way before. They were able to lock and their father into a second story bedroom, barricade the door and called the police.

While I am listening to him related this story, I hear dispatch send several units to the projects nearby in sector 1 for a very large fight in progress. Just then, Joliet paramedics arrived on scene and began to administer first aid. Saying that the bite marks look infected, they insist on transporting them all to Silver Cross Hospital. One of the medics asks me how long ago were the injuries sustained. I replied about 20-30 minutes ago. The medic advised that couldn’t be possible as he points at the red and black streaks that were starting to streak out from the injuries on the family victims who were now running fevers and had blood pressure through the roof when it was checked. I tell the paramedics and the family victims that I would meet them at the hospital for Domestic battery photos after I placed the father, Javier in custody.
I keyed up my radio, “Joliet, from sector 2, can you send me a unit to assist on an apprehension for Domestic battery?”
“Negative, all units are tied up at this moment.” Dispatch advises.
“10-4” I say.  My day just keeps getting better.

I reach into my pocket and pull out what I call my ‘beat down’ gloves. Black leather gloves lined with cut and puncture resistant Kevlar. Don’t want to have split knuckles and get some of this assholes blood all over them. I pull them on as I turn and head back into the strangely ominous house as the overloaded ambulance drives off with lights and siren screaming.

********

Esteban had only arrived in Joliet this week from Mexico, but already he had learned a few things. Despite being set up in a decent house, it was located near low income housing projects, and Esteban figured out right away that it was not a good place for him to be. He stayed clear of it and started his new job soon after his arrival. They had him moving boxes in a warehouse located just south of the downtown area of Joliet. It was going well but Esteban had started to not feel well as of yesterday. After his headache caused him to not pat attention and smash his hand pretty good at work, he was sent home by the foreman after, he helped him stop the bleeding from the large gash on his hand.

Today Esteban was delirious with fever and his head was pounding even harder. His roommate was sick in bed as well and all Esteban could think was how thirsty he was. Esteban left the house, intending to walk to the store. He instead ended up in the housing projects. As he walked helplessly a small crowed of young male blacks gathered around him.
"I think he is sick." One of them said.
"Yeah! He looks like he might die!" Another added.
An older and larger then stepped up. "He's not gonna need any money where he is headed!"
"Yeah, Yeah! Grab that mother fucker’s wallet." Several of the delinquents added.
As the older gang banger pushed Esteban to the ground and grabbed for his wallet, Esteban screamed and bit the banger on the arm, tearing away a large chunk of flesh.
"Kill that mother fucker!" He screamed. "He just bit the fuck out of me! It's self-defense."

As one of the bangers grabs a pistol from his waist band Esteban rises to his feet and attacks another banger who was standing nearby. Stunned the banger with the gun shoots Esteban twice in the back. Esteban falls to the ground, stunned but still moving.
"Get him!" One of them yells and begins to kick at Esteban as he is squirming on the ground. "He bit Reggie!"  

********

Stephen puts his squad into park and sinks his face into his hands and rubs the exhaustion from his eyes.
“What in God’s name is wrong with people today?” He says to no one in particular, not looking for an actual answer.
Ray, thinking Stephen is talking to him says “I think since we work in a predominately African-American neighborhood that also has had a recent influx of Hispanics, it is inevitable that tensions will be high and confrontation and physical violence will occur.”
Stephen looks over at Ray through his fingers. “Learn that in a college did you?”
“Yes sir, Western Illinois University bachelor’s degree.” Ray replies.
“That is what I figured."  Stephen says. "Say, do me a favor and shut the fuck up. Since we are parked a block from the Housing Projects, at least we won’t have far to go for the next ‘inevitable physical confrontation’ call.”  

Stephen’s cell phone rings and sees it is that smoking hot Greek officer that just about the whole department is after. Taking the opportunity to ignore Ray, he answered the phone.
“Hey what’s up Mattie? Are you still babysitting that shit bag up at the hospital still?" …..“I can’t believe we have had eight officers injured today from all the fights”….. “At least they should all should be ok.”
It seems only poor Officer Glenn Styles was seriously hurt with a real nasty bite to his rib cage when he had a crazy Hispanic guy from the Aztec bar in a headlock while trying to break up a fight. Mattie tells him that most of the officers injured were sent home with antibiotics for their minor bite wounds and various scratches, and when the arrestee from Styles fight gets medically cleared; she will transport him to the county jail. However, it appears this mutt is not doing well. He is feverish and has a pale, almost yellowish look to him. For the last hour he has been screaming incoherently.
“I Hope it’s not that new flu I was reading about online today before work.”  Mattie states as she begins to tell Stephen how she managed to handcuff the suspect by pulling the guy off Styles and slamming his face into the push bumpers of the squad. Then, while he was momentarily stunned, cuffed him and threw him in the back seat.
“That a girl!" Stephen exclaims after hearing the story.
“Oh yeah thanks, just part of the job… Hey how was your camping trip by the way?” Mattie asks. "Did you have a good time?"
“Real good." Stephen replies. "Hey....I hope we get a bit of a break soon. The Watch Commander has called out most of the other shifts and off duty personnel to help us catch up on these calls. When that finally happens I can fill ya in on all my neighbor drama then.”
Almost on cue, their radios crackle to life. “Sector 1 from Joliet.” Janice from Dispatch calls.
“Damn, we are getting a call, got to go.” Stephen groaned, and hung up the phone before responding into his radio. “Go ahead”
“Be advised we are getting multiple calls on 911 of a very large fight in progress in the first projects.” Dispatch relays.
“10-4!” Stephen says, as he puts the car into drive. He looks over at Ray who has a look of anguish on his face and is squirming in his seat.
“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Stephen asks.
“I, uh…um, I have got to go pee.” Ray stutters before answering meekly.
“Well!" Stephen snaps. "You are going to have to hold it missy, because it is GAME TIME!"

********

Capt. Matvei leaned back in his chair in the state of the art, climate controlled command center that occupied a semi-trailer which was parked south of the boarder for now. Matvei was in better spirit’s the last couple of days. After the infected had left for America Matvei spent a couple days off at his new ranch to relax and take a step back. Tamera, his realtor turned lover, had accompanied him and she made for a nice distraction. Matvei also brushed up on his shooting skills, getting trigger time with his USP .45 and new found rifle, the HK G36.
“The Germans sure knew how to build a good gun!” Matvei smirked, as he admired the rifle which was now lock and loaded, leaning against his desk.
Compared to the simple yet effective AK-74 he was used to, the G36 was a refined yet lethal work of art.

After the short vacation he felt much better. He allowed Tamera to stay at the ranch and had even insisted that she invite a few close family and friends out for a week or so vacation while he attended to some business out of town. Matvei knew what was coming and he did not need her turning into a basket case with worry as the world went shortly to shit. He figured with her friends and family with her she would handle it all a lot better. Matvei had grown fond of her and he didn't know how many good women would be left after this all played out.

Now as he sat watching local news reports via satellite from the large bank of LCD HDTV screens he had a renewed sense of confidence that this idea may actually work. The infection would spread quickly but there would still be survivors, and his men could soon head in to clean up the mess. The yet minor disturbances that were now filling Joliet had not yet made any news but several now emerging stories had caught Matvei’s eye.

In Atlanta’s Turner Field, where the Braves and Mets were in a four game series with the division lead on the line, a large disturbance had broken out. Several thousand fans had stormed the field on live television during the 3’rd inning and images showing a large fight were now being shown via helicopter from WGCL Atlanta as the game feed had gone down while camera crews fled the stadium. One witness, who had gotten out of the park, stated that the fight started when a male Hispanic hot dog vendor attacked a small child in the stands.

In Los Angeles a very large traffic accident had occurred on the 405 involving several hundred cars. It seems the culprit may have been a stalled 18 wheeler on the highway that was full of illegal aliens that jumped out of the trailer and caused a major pile up. KCAL news had a helicopter on that scene which was showing a huge mob of people flowing down the highway, away from the crash. Matvei chuckled as watched. He had personally set that one up and expected a rapid infection rate from it.

Boston had a story as well. WHDH Channel 7 news was reporting that a massive riot had broken out in the waiting room at the Boston Medical Center. There was a long line due to concern over the flu and a fight broke out. Responding security units were overwhelmed and now it appeared that the police were being overwhelmed as well. Victims could be seen pouring out of the building in a state of panic.

WWJ-TV in Detroit was reporting on a developing situation where a man may have taken hostages at a large grocery store. He was no longer responding to police who were stationed outside. The police had not issued any statements in regards to rumors circulating that a cashier had been transported to the hospital with severe wounds on her arms.    

KCNC-TV in Denver was reporting on a school attack at an urban elementary school. There were no reports of gunshots at this time but the school was being evacuated.  They were not yet reporting on the three sick students who were with their classmates in the parking lot.

And Finally in Dallas, KTVT was reporting on a large fight at the Galleria Mall that had started in the food court and quickly escalated into a full blown riot. Images taken from the parking lot confirmed a huge police response, in which officers could be seen entering with assault style rifles. The area was quickly being cordoned off from the media and the reporter was now hearing gunfire coming from the building.

Matvei had the last TV on CNN. As the anchor began to report unrest in several hospitals around the country, Matvei turned to his aids that were in the room.
“It has started.” Matvei told his aids. “Soon America will be ripe for the taking. All we have to do is sit back and wait. Once the virus reaches full strength it will take hold in a new host in mere minutes."
“Congratulations Sir.” Hector, one of the aids replied with a grin. “Soon all will be ours.”
Matvei wasn’t as convinced.

Matvei knew that in a few hours reports would be flooding in from all over the country and the full scope of the disaster would soon be known to the entire world. Matvei walked out of the command center for a smoke and to take care of the one last thing he wanted to do to make himself feel better.
‘Americans always did make the best smokes.’ He thought as he lit a cigarette. Matvei made the short walk to the infirmary and entered the room where the one remaining ’infected’ was kept. Matvei looked at the creature with sunken eyes that once passed as a man. Yellow skin, drawn tight around his cheek bones, with dried blood around his nose and mouth. Even in this deteriorated state the infected man let out a sickening hiss and tried vainly to grab Matvei. In a smooth and calculated move, Matvei drew his USP .45 and shot the infected man once. Right between the eyes.

Well done sir.

Mikey

Nobody does the speed limit on 88!!  

Chapter Two: Shots Fired
Day 1

The squad car crests the top of the hill that the downside of leads into the housing projects where the fight is taking place. He slams on the brakes and stops as both officers’ stare at what is unfolding before their eyes.
“Holy… shit!” Stephen says quietly.
Ray can only sit there shocked and shake his head from left to right, as if he was unconsciously telling himself he did not want to go in or even any closer.
What both officers see is what appears to be several hundred people all involved in one huge melee. From this distance, about 75 yards, it is difficult to make out individual persons. It is just one mass of people in the street and parkway churning violently like ocean waves during a storm. “Call for back up.” Stephen orders Ray, who as passenger is the designated radio man.
A few moments pass without a response and he looks over at Ray who is having the ‘fight or flight’ syndrome, and it looks like the ‘flight’ part is winning.
He reaches over and punches Ray in the arm. “Hey dip shit, snap out of it. Call for back up now!” He yells.
Ray, already geeked up and on edge, flinches from the contact and grabs his radio mic on his shoulder and literally screams “Joliet, send more units NOW!!!”

Stephen starts to shake his head at the rookie response to a large disturbance and prepares to tell dispatch to slow responding units down but keep them coming as he hears his brethren on the radio answer a scream for help. As he was about to do so, he hears several sharp retorts of gun fire from inside or near the vicinity of the melee.
“Joliet, be advised we have multiple shots fired from the fight in the projects, with a few hundred people actively engaged.” Stephen says into the radio. “We are waiting for back up to proceed in. Have all units meet at my location, top of the hill to the south of the main entrance.”
Unbeknownst to Stephen, several other officers at the same time were trying to get on the air and they all cut one another off into a bunch of intelligible garble that no one could comprehend.

Stephen reaches down and hits the button to open his squad’s trunk and exits the vehicle.
“I have never seen anything like this…Keep an eye on the fight Ray, I’ll be right back.” He says.
Outside of the squad, Stephen is amazed at the volume of noise coming from the fight that is a good block or so away. Screams of pain, shouts of anger and desperation from the people mix in with the sound of breaking glass. This in turn mixes with more gun shots and the sounds of revving car engines, horns and alarms. The sum total is deafening from this distance! It sort of reminded Stephen of what a mosh pit was sounds and feels like at one of the many heavy metal concerts that Mike goes to. But it doesn’t sound like Metallica is playing down there.

Opening the trunk lid, he reaches inside and pulls out his Tactical Plate Carrier Vest that contains a set of level 4 ceramic plates. Inside the magazine pouches on the front of the vest are 2 rows of three 30 round magazines for his department issued Armalite AR-15 carbine. Stephen opens the rifle case and retrieves the carbine. After donning his vest and putting the single point sling over his head he grabs his shoulder carried Go-Bag containing among snacks, water, med kit and an extra surefire 6P LED light. It also contains 3 extra loaded magazines for his Glock 17 service pistol.

Now ready to rock, Stephen slams the trunk lid shut and looks down the length of the squad at the melee that if anything looks even more violent than just a few moments ago.
“Very strange, they usually scatter whenever somebody starts to crank off rounds.” Stephen says, walking up to the open driver’s door.
“Oh my goodness,” Ray squeaks. “I think people are eating each other down there!”
Just as Stephen is about to tell Ray to ‘shut it’, he hears responding squads passing his location from the next block over, and can tell from revving engines and wailing sirens that the responding units are not waiting and plan on entering the projects as soon as they arrive. Stephen goes to warn off the arriving squads over the radio when he sees the first squad sped into the projects from around a blind corner. Before the squad can even came to a halt, it is literally swarmed over by the enraged residents which drive it to a stop. The sounds of gunfire and breaking glass came from the densely pack mob which stiffens and doesn’t break. People are now up on the squad as the emergency lights are kicked out. The Officer does not even have time to get on his radio to cry for help.

Suddenly and almost on queue, several additional squads arrive around the same blind corner. Stephen is momentarily frozen in shock, watching in morbid fascination as what can only be described as a train wreck unfolds. The next squad to arrived crashes into the mob pinning 2 or 3 subjects between his push bumper and a parked car. The squad tries to reverse and backs into the third arriving squad driven by Officer Langston. The last two squads veer off on the flanks to avoid a similar fate. The first hitting a railroad tie retaining wall at an angle and flipping over while the other, veering right, crashes directly into a two story housing unit. Langston exits his squad, unsure whether to help the officer in the flipped squad or deal with the mob, but is forced to  pull his Glock, pointing it at a large shirtless man who he sees attacking a female. Langston was yelling for the man to get on the ground from what Stephen could make out. Blood could be seen coming from the females mouth and at that moment Langston fires several shots, striking the man in the base of the neck, dropping him quickly. Langston must have had tunnel vision because several additional subjects came at him unseen from his right side.

Stephen, finally breaking the paralysis, begins to run toward his fellow officer, yelling for him to “get the hell out of there.” Due to the roar of the mob and the fact that Langston was focused solely on his use of  deadly force, he could not hear the warning. Stephen fires several shots wildly with his AR-15 at the attackers, knocking two of them down. Langston turns his head to the right just in time to be tackled by three or four attackers with more coming. His pistol discharges 3 or 4 times as he is overwhelmed.

Stephen sees the next moments in slow motion.  At the distance he was at now, maybe what Ray said was right. It did look like they were eating one another. As the screams from Langston were drown out, the size of the mob on top of him was so large that not one piece of his uniform was visible. Stephen carefully began to fire his rifle into the large pile of bodies with little effect. Stephen’s bolt locks back on the 20 round magazine he carries in the carbine while it is cased. And at that moment the huge mob slowly starts to ground to a halt. Screams of pain and anger echoed off into the distance. Over the radio Stephen hears that the other arriving units had entered from the north and were now losing the fight for their lives. His ears, ringing from the carbines report, adjust to the now eerily silence which still seems damn near as loud. Stephen slowly lowers his carbine, staring at the mob, his police radio now bussing with dispatchers trying to find out the status of the fallen officers. The next sound is an empty magazine hitting the ground as Stephen pulls and seats a fresh 30 round magazine without looking down, just how he had trained the last three days. The blood soaked ground was now littered with bodies, some moving and others still. There appeared to be people fighting over corpses on the ground. Were the bodies being robbed or eaten? The female that Officer Langston gave his life to protect now had his severed right arm in her hands.

Backing up slowly to give himself some additional distance, Stephen hears his partner Ray scream.
“Lets get out of here!” Is all Stephen can make out.
This unexpectedly draws the attention group. Stephen watched as nearly every single head from the blood soaked mob, slowly turned and looked at him hungrily. Only a few seemed to engrossed in their task to notice. Stephen hears Ray squeak in fear several yards behind him and the squad door slams shut, followed by the sound of the doors locking. As if that was what broke the spell, hundreds of voices roared in unison at Stephen with an intense hatred and unswayable hunger, as they rose and began moving his way….

********

Inside the house now I approach the dark stairway. Seeing the light switch, I turn it on and ascend the creaking wooded stairway. Nearing the top of the stairs I can hear a loud thumping sound coming from a room at the back of the hallway that had furniture piled in front of it.
“Javier this is the Joliet Police. Step away from the door, I am coming inside. I need to talk to you.” I say.
Inside the room the thumping sound stops, and now is replaced by a deep growl that is mixed with a foreboding moaning sound.
‘Nice, now this bastard thinks he has beer muscles or something. Well I am not some skinny 13 yr old he can smack around.’
I begin to grab furniture, tossing it aside, finally reaching the door.
“Ok fucker,” I say as something hits heavily on the other side of the door. “If you want to play, let’s do this.”
I rip open the door and nearly get my face bitten off as Javier’s teeth descend on me. I can see dried blood crusted around his mouth. My left forearm comes up and catches Javier under his jaws in the throat. My right hand blasts him between the eyes, knocking him back into the room. Adrenaline dumps into my blood stream, as I realize that when Javier was knocked back, he had a hold of my radio mic cord. Now I stare at him holding one piece while the rest sits on my gun belt.
Fuck me running.

Javier drops the chord and comes at me again, but seems a tad slow. Maybe it’s the booze, maybe it’s the punch to the head. Maybe he needs another as I one, two combo him right in the teeth. As I pat myself in the back, my new sparring partner Javier almost gets me into a bear hug. Apparently he can take a punch as I redirect his momentum and push his head clear through the nearby wall. Now that had to hurt. I figure now be stuck baby-sitting this drunken fucker all night at the hospital after I drag his head from the wall!
‘What the fuck?’
I can see bits of plaster and slivers of wood packed into cuts on his face as he pulls himself free. I try to talk to Javier but he isn’t hearing me, must be on PCP or some other drug which is helping deaden the pain. I try to pin him to the floor and proceed to handcuff his left wrist. Javier’s right arm is now trapped under his body and every time I reach for it he tries to bite me, which earns him punches to various parts of the body and head. They gain me not one bit of compliance in Javier’s part. ‘He is going to be one sore mother when his high wears off.’ is all I can think. I notice that Javier is burning up and wonder if its from the drugs.

Javier now begins to convulse so heavily I get off him. Fear of lawsuits in this day and age makes cops very nervous when it comes to claims of excessive force. I back up into the hallway near the top of the stairs and my spider senses kick in, telling me to draw my service pistol. Seconds later from the dark room Javier rushes me once again. I trip over some of the furniture that was outside the door and fall down backwards. Javier lands on top of me and immediately tries to bite me in the face or neck. Again I force Javier’s head up, but Javier is overweight and my adrenaline dump is fading. His teeth edge closer to my neck. In desperation, I press my Glock into his ribcage and put two rounds into his side.
No reaction???….I should have stayed in bed.
At this point in time as his snarling, drooling teeth are inches from my jugular I promptly go berserk. It’s a bad habit I have during brawls that I blame on my Norwegian Viking ancestors. Roaring like a lion I pick him up off me and toss him into the stairwell banister, which breaks under his weight. Stalking up to Javier, who is trying to get up again, I grab the banister post and snap it free. Using it like a war club I proceed to beat Javier’s skull to a bloody pulp. It seems like hours when I finally regain my senses and see that Javier is no longer moving. Judging from the amount of blood and brain matter splattered everywhere, he damn well better not be.

“Shit” I say. “I better call my supervisor because I think I just killed the dude. I grab Javier’s wrist and check for a pulse….yep he is dead.”
I retrieve my hand gun and holster it. I then run back downstairs and out to my squad car to use my phone. As I stand there listening to recordings of ‘all line are currently busy’, I am thinking of the ‘Officer of the Year’ award that I had in my grasp and probably just gave away due to the mess I just made of Javier’s skull. I’m sure it will be all over the paper amid cries of ’Police Brutality.’ I pop my trunk to retrieve my ‘crime scene’ tape to rope off the area for the evidence technicians, and hopefully keep the media at bay.
“Man, my trunk is a mess.” I say as I shove my SWAT gear around looking for the tape.
In the back of my mind I notice I no longer hear squad sirens and without radio communications I have no idea what is or isn’t happening. I close the trunk and jump back as a car skids to a stop next to me. I look up and an attractive female Hispanic gets out of a grey Toyota Camry and starts to run to the red brick grade school that is across the street.

The mostly Hispanic Columbus Elementary School has an after school program for the children of single or working parents. She suddenly stops, screams and runs right back to me. A stumbling adult male wearing a blood soaked button up shirt and tie appears from around the corner right behind her. The man has nasty wounds on both arms and as he gets closer I can see he isn’t approaching me for help, he has that same hungry, malicious look in his eyes that I was just forced to deal with a few moments ago.
As the female takes cover behind me, cowering in fear, I draw my pistol and tell the man to stop and get on the ground.
No, response from him, in fact he doesn’t even say anything other than that damn ominous moaning that Javier made. ‘Son of a Bitch’

When he starts shambling faster at me, I shoot him twice in the chest, with two crimson rings appearing on his chest. This makes him stumble back a step or two but he comes at me again as if I had just pushed him with my hand! What the fuck is going on? How can someone take two Speer Gold Dot hollow points to the chest and not even say ‘ouch’?
My next shot, now at a mere 5 yards, takes him right between those hungry looking eyes. He drops like a puppet with the strings just cut…‘Get the fuck out of here, someone tell me these are not like the zombies from movies where you need head shots to stop them?’
If that’s the case, it all could make sense. The infection, the biting, the resistance to pain. I shudder when I think how many times Javier’s teeth were about to take a chunk out this old white boy’s ass. If bitten, I surly would have become one of them, and that’s not how I planned on going out.

“Officer, my baby is in there!” The female behind me says pointing at the school and snapping me out of my daydream.
“Go wait in your car Ma’am and lock your doors.” I tell her. “It seems these people can spread some sort of infection through bite wounds.”
She gives me a description of her child, named Lucy, and a general idea where her little girl is located as I pop the squad’s trunk again and retrieve my Swat issued Colt AR-15 complete with ACOG reflex sight. My five 30 round magazines I place into my cargo pants pockets. Closing the trunk lid I can’t help but pause to take a good look at the woman. At about 5’5, 125 lbs with long black hair, extremely attractive with a low cut white tank top that leaves a  large amount of cleavage showing! ‘What an amazing rack!’ I rip my gaze away from her chest and look up into here dark brown eyes. ‘Damn, I just got caught looking at her tits. C’mon Mike, game face!’  Giving her a little ‘ I’m busted’ smile I turn and start jogging up to the school door. Screw ‘Officer of the Year’, I’ll take a reward from her any day….

********

The slamming of the car door, followed by the clicking sound of the door locks engaging reminds Stephen of a hammer nailing his coffin shut. Nervous sweat rolls down his back as he begins a slow walk backwards.
“Open the door Ray!” Stephen says calmly, hoping to convince Ray to come around. Stephen continues to walk backwards as screams and moans come from the huge mob heading his way. Reaching the still locked drivers door, Stephen now yells, “Ray! Open the god damn door now!”
Ray doesn’t say a word, as he actually puts on his seat belt and then closes his eyes.
“Ray!” Stephen says calmly. “I need you to unlock the door so we can leave.”
Ray, face white with fear, continues to ignore him but does open his eyes to stare at the mob that is quickly covering ground. Stephen looks up to see what Ray is looking at. The dozen or so destroyed vehicles and squad cars behind the mob made for a hypnotic light show. Stephen still has a hard time believing what he sees. Scores of subjects peel off from the main host and smash through the windows and doors of apartment buildings to the left and right sides of the street as they head towards him. Cries for help begin again.
Almost without thinking Stephen raises his carbine and squeezes the trigger. Nothing happens as he quickly realizes he never slammed the bolt home on his fresh magazine. A brisk slap with the left palm and he is back in action. Now reacquiring his target he fires. Center mass…The target falters in his tracks but does not fall. The mob continues to move ever closer as Stephen can now add smell to his sensory overload. A quick assessment and a double tap at the same target and it finally goes down. But it looks more like he was pushed down from behind as the others caught up. Picking up the pace Stephen begins to fire as soon as his he comes on target, striking three with a quick six shot string.  Stephen swings his rifle back to the lead subject and momentarily freezes.
“What the hell?” Stephen mutters.
This subject, whom he knows just took two tight grouped .223 rounds center mass, is still not only up but trying to come at him? Stephen take a quick second to look more closely at the mob. Not a single subject shot has fallen! Stephen looks down at his rifle accusingly as if it is the rifle’s fault they are not down.

Now with the mob a mere seven yards from him, Stephen has to start a fighting retreat since Ray still has not opened the damn car door. Stephen takes a few slow and controlled steps to the rear and fires a single aimed shot. This target goes down and stays that way. Stephen remembers seeing brain matter fly on that one from a definite head shot! The fact that the remaining subjects are not deterred is still lost on him. Stephen fires again, another head shot causes a rather obese female to fall unmoving. A third target takes two rounds to fall as the first one goes low right, knocking of the jaw of the determined goon. The remaining crowd neither sprints forward to close the gap or retreats. It merely continues on in a look of hazy determination.
“No fucking way.” Stephen says aloud himself. Thinking…‘Just like in those damn zombie flicks, head shots kill; all others just piss them off and wastes ammo.’
Stephen raises his rifle again, lining up another several head shots and downs them all in one or two shots, when he notices he has burned through another magazine! Retreating, he quickly drops the empty and reloads again, this time slapping the bolt home on queue. He has backed up past his squad car now and can see Ray inside it cringing away from the windows as the mob reaches the squad car. At least he has drawn his pistol.
“Ray, get the fuck out of there!” Stephen screams.

The mob, this portion of it still at least 100 strong, flows around and over the top of the squad like flood water over a levy. ‘Well maybe he will be ok as long as the windows stay intact’ Stephen thinks.
Just then a loud bang comes from within the squad followed by the sound of glass breaking. Stephen can only stand there and stare at Ray’s last and final stupid rookie mistake, of shooting at someone through the closed window. Screaming in pain and fear, Ray is quickly, and not smoothly, pulled from the squad through the broken window…in pieces! Stephen tries not vomit as Rays intestines unravel. With his last living movement Ray tries vainly to hold them in. A large portion flows past the feeding frenzy and heads for Stephen. Now, of all times, Stephen has a sudden urge to pee as well…

********

Chris, seeing the trooper being eaten, is disgusted but not deterred. By spending time in a similar nightmare in Afghanistan, he has seen bodies dismembered by I.E.D’s on convoys. The results turning fellow soldiers into piles of chewed up meat. Chris trains his front sight of his Glock onto his nearest target, the crippled driver of the Crown Victoria, who is now crawling towards him while dragging his broken legs. A easy shot so close to a slow moving target, Chris fires a round off which strikes the cripple in the top of his skull and takes off a large portion of his jaw as it exits. The cripple drops motionless onto his chest and what is left of his face. Quickly looking up, Chris sees a paramedic stand up and turn and face him. The medic has a large piece of what appears to be a internal organ of some type belonging to the trooper hanging from his mouth. Chris shouts commands to get on the ground, and gets no sign of comprehension or compliance from the medic. Chris snaps off two successive rounds to the medics’ chest, which rocks him back a step or two. The medic then resumes his advance upon Chris. Behind his line of fire Chris sees the other medic now lurching to his feet and also starts to stumble in Chris’s direction. Chris also sees the body of the trooper begins to convulse and twitch. Chris quickly rattles off four consecutive rounds at the first medic who still does not fall.
“What the hell?” Chris yells as he backs up.
A shout of anger behind him is the only warning Chris has when he is tackled from behind.
“What the hell are you doing?” screams the fireman who tackled him.
Watching his pistol fly out of his hands, bouncing into the street, Chris muscles himself onto his back and blocks a punch to his face with his forearm. The fireman thinks he is protecting his friends from a crazed cop!

As Chris grunts for the fireman to get off him, he sees the face of the paramedic he shot descending with teeth bared to take a chunk out of Chris’s neck. Chris grabs the fireman’s canvas fire coat and rolls him up putting the fireman between himself and the crazed paramedic, all the while still pleading for the fireman to listen. The last thing Chris can see is the medics’ blood covered face closing in. The fireman shrieks in sudden pain as teeth tear into his neck. With a mighty heave, Chris pushes the fireman to the side and atop the medic who is still worrying at the fireman’s neck. Weaponless, Chris regains his feet and retreats as the former dead trooper struggles to his feet and falls upon the weakly screaming fireman along with the other medic. Knowing when to fight and when to get out of dodge, Chris turns and runs like a gazelle to his squad car.

Fumbling for his key, Chris gets his trunk open, grabs his city issued shotgun along with his Go-Bag. Stepping around the rear of his trunk Chris begins to rack a round into the shotgun’s chamber when he sees the bloody medics and fireman attack the large group of on lookers who failed leave when told to. Several males try to fight but are quickly bitten. One large black dude in a black t-shirt looks like he is using an aluminum baseball bat to good effect, buying time for several females to run away in every which direction. Two younger boys have found his Glock in the street and are now running south bound with it.
“ Shit” Chris stammers in dismay, at the same time also seeing the bloody trooper stumble up to and then enter the rear of an open ambulance where others from the initial crash were still being treated.
In the matter of two minutes this scene has gone to complete fuck! The remaining, obviously unable to take a hint, bystanders now scream in fear and scatter, in the process knocking over several smaller females and kids, who are quickly attacked by the crazed firemen. As screams and curses fill the air, a few remaining firemen bolt for the large fire truck near Chris’s squad and jump inside. The driver punches the accelerator and head right for Chris. He jumps to the side as the truck goes roaring past him and slams directly into the side of his squad car, which was still blocking traffic. As pieces of the squad fly through the air, his poor squad is shoved a good 30 feet until it is slams to the curb as the fire truck speeds off into the distance. Chris gets to his feet and watches the rapidly retreating truck, then looks at his totaled squad car in anger as several dragging foot steps closed on him from behind….

********

Janice, a Joliet Police Dispatcher for the last 12 years, has never seen it this bad. She has tried to reach the officers sent to several different disturbances without success. For the last five minutes she has repeated requests for status updates and now is frankly tired of hearing herself talk. Exasperated, she throws up her hands and takes off her headset.
“Someone fill in, I am going on a quick smoke break girls.” She says and pushes her chair away from the computer console.

Leaving the control room, she heads down the stairwell to a back door leading into the alley in the rear of the Police Station. Exiting the door which locks behind her, Janice reaches for her pack of smokes. At a pack and a half a day, she has not had one in over two hours with all the excitement, and is starting to get real bitchy. Lighting up her cigarette, she takes a long deep drag and blows it up towards the smoke tinged sky. ‘Much better… now what the hell is happening out there? And why is there no one answering the radios?’ Deep in thought, Janice begins to pace back and forth in the alley and can hear faint sounds of gunshots to the south of her. Nothing new there. Sadly, shootings are a everyday occurrence here in Joliet, but the difference is that she doesn’t hear the sirens of squad cars responding to them. Starting to pace once again and lighting up another smoke, Janice notices a young Hispanic female had entered the ally from the south. Janice can see that this female is limping and obviously injured from cuts to her arms and face. Janice rushes down the alley to see if she needs medical assistance.
“Are you alright hun?” Janice asks.
The woman does not reply other than a moan in apparent pain. Janice can see that she is walking on an obvious broke ankle, distorted and swollen at a grotesque angle, hence the limp.
“Oh you poor thing, let me help you sit down.” Janice says and reaches out to hold the woman’s arms for support.

Fingers like talons of bone dig into Janice’s arm in a vise like grip, unyielding with the pressure. Janice, not expecting to be assaulted, freezes in confusion. The woman’s head whips forward as she drags Janice’s arm to her gaping mouth, and buries her teeth into Janice’s right wrist. Janice screams in pain and shoves the woman down but not until after she rips meat and tendons from Janice’s wrist. Staring at the profusely bleeding wound, Janice stumbles backwards to the locked door. The employee entrance has a electronic key pad that a specific code will work for that individual employee. Janice, suffering from pain and shock, punches in the wrong code, on the second attempt she gets it right and quickly opens the door. As she moves to enter, the female attacker once again drives her teeth into Janice’s left shoulder. Janice screams in pain again and twists out of the grasp and bite of the female dislodging the woman, but loses a sizeable chunk of meat from her shoulder in the process. Sobbing in considerable pain, Janice bolts inside but fails to secure the door behind her. Before the door closes on its own, a bloody hand, missing a few fingers, blocks the door from closing, and the attacker burst into the now unsecured hallway.

Janice breathing hard and bleeding heavily reaches the key pad leading into the secured room of the dispatch center. Fingers shaking, Janice punches in the correct code as heavy footsteps follow her up the stairwell. Dragging the door open she falls into the room screaming for help. Several women shriek at the sight of Janice all bloody and crying on the floor, as one dispatcher slams the door shut before the unknown intruder could reach it. As Janice tells her co-workers what had happened to her, others watch in disbelief on the police station’s closed circuit TV monitors. The station is nearly empty with all available units responding to calls. Two or three apparently hurt subjects are now wandering freely in the station. They see a civilian front desk worker attacked as she leaves the restroom and walks directly into her own death. Someone grabs a headset and calls out to anyone who could respond that the police station was under attack. Silence follows with the sound of Janice’s weakening sobbing is all that they could hear. As the seconds passed by finally one officer did respond on the air, Officer Chris Jacobs.

********

Hearing the footsteps behind him Chris slowly turns and sees several subjects approaching him. All have the same dead look to them and are not showing any reason or emotion. Just a steady walk right at him with a hard stare and haunting moan which pierces him. He also sees more subjects on the ground starting to twitch and convulse, with blood coming from their eyes, mouth and nose. Some remain still, being almost completely consumed. Several subjects are also heading up the dirt embankment to the interstate where the vehicles were probably backed up for miles due to the jackknifed semi trailer blocking the road. They had it slow going up the steep incline but seemed undeterred.

Chris rips his gaze back to the group in front of him. Much closer now, he can see that every one of them has a significant wound to their body. Arms, legs, face, and torso’s have what looks like bite wounds or lacerations with chunks of flesh removed. Most had considerable bleeding at first from the way they were covered. It appears that blood flow has slowed, but he could see the raw open gashes and rips in their flesh, often down to the exposed bone. ‘They almost look like zombies.’ Chris thinks.

His shotgun roars and a 12 gauge slug tears through the chest of a particularly maimed individual, the bad ass in the black t-shirt. The subject is blasted onto his back as Chris keeps an eye on the others who give zero response to the fact he just fired into their midst. The guy he just shot, you and could actually see all the way through him from the shotgun slug, now clambers to his feet and comes at him again. Hmm….Just like zombies….‘they are recovering from wounds that would kill most people….’ Chris again thinks. While processing all this information he sees others that had been twitching moments ago start to get to their feet.
Taking careful aim, Chris fires another slug to the head of the subject, which rips everything from its eyes to the back of its head off in a haze of bloody mist. The subject drops motionless to the ground.
“…..Holy shit!” Chris says……… “Fucking ZOMBIES!”
Chris’s brain sends a message that seems to take forever to reach his legs. Once his legs receive it, they take their sweet old time to read the message and then implement it. The message was simple…………..RUN!!!

Chris turns and runs at a highly motivated speed north bound to the next intersection. He sees that the screams and shotgun and emergency vehicles have drawn dozens of infected people which almost have him boxed in. Chris sees the only gap in the noose is the elevated rail road tracks to his west. Reaching the tracks he can see it is too high to jump and reach the top, so he follows it quickly to the north where a large support beam allows him to climb and reach the tracks. Standing on top, Chris can see the chaos below. Several car fires from the accident now rage out of control. Vehicles left abandoned on the highway and in the street. Several kids left unsupervised (or even left behind by uncaring adults) and unaware of the danger were getting attacked these ‘zombies‘. Interstate 80 was going to get real nasty in a few minutes he had a feeling. He could see a group of people on foot out of their cars that were about to find out that a traffic jam was the least of their problems. Already cries or pain and pleads for help could be heard in the distance. Disgusted by the scene Chris looks to the other side of the tracks at a different part of the city. It almost seems as if they have no idea what is happening on the other side of the tracks. He can see several groups of derelicts and degenerates loitering about, drinking alcohol, listening to car stereo’s loud enough that Chris can make out the lyrics. Traffic on the streets is acting normal from what he can see, like any given Monday. ‘Probably can’t hear or see what has happened,’ Chris wonders in amazement. Motion from the south makes Chris look back and observe what must be now dozens of zombie figures spill out from under the train viaduct that passes over the street. ‘Well.’ He thinks. ‘They are in for a rude awakening.’

As Chris reloads his shotgun with spare ammo from his Go-Bag, pondering on whether to fire some warning shots, Chris hears dispatch yelling for assistance. He most likely couldn’t hear any previous transmissions from the loud fire engines and gunshots earlier. Chris advises he could try to make it back to the station and warns dispatch that there are zombies on the loose…..

Cheers erupted inside the dispatch center when Officer Chris Jacobs acknowledged, cutting off the latter part of what he said. The dispatcher didn’t see it was important, just that someone would try to reach them. Others were getting Janice to lay down that her bite wounds looked infected and she looked feverish. To make matters worse Janice also had a bloody nose. Kelly, a senior dispatcher, broke out a first-aid kit and tried to administer medical attention as Janice began to twitch….

Chris takes care to watch his step as he slowly jogs down the tracks. Don’t want to twist an ankle now, he thinks. As luck would have it, the train tracks pass right along side and to the south of the police station. If it looks like a lost cause at least the truck is right there nearby, he thinks. A nagging cramp starts to chew into his left. ‘Man, I’m just out of the sand box and getting soft already’
“Officer Jacobs to dispatch, I am about two blocks away, on foot.” Chris says, now winded. When dispatch acknowledges, he can hear cheering in the background. “Don’t cheer just yet ladies, I’m alone and worse is on the way.” Chris says.
“Someone hold her legs and arms, she is having a seizure.” A dispatcher says. Janice jerks and spasms uncontrollably as two dispatchers hold her down with considerable effort.
“Get something in her mouth so she does not chew her tongue off.” Kelly orders, trying to take charge of the situation. When nobody offers, Kelly rolls up a magazine and attempts to pry Janice’s sweat soaked jaws apart. Janice snaps open her eyes and latches her teeth onto Kelly’s fingers. Kelly yanks her hand back, pulling Janice into a sitting position and freeing herself. The Dispatcher holding her legs crouches there in shock, frozen. That is until Janice reaches out with both hands and grabs fists full of hair, drags the new dispatcher across her lap and buries her teeth into her jugular….

As Chris stands on the train tracks and stares helplessly at the police station. He is now suddenly not getting an answer from dispatch over his radio. He counts well over two dozen zombies going into and out of the obviously unsecured structure. Only having around 15 shotgun shells left after trying to thin the heard of zombies following him from below, it’s a tough decision on whether to try and enter the station. Scanning the building however, Chris can see into the dispatch center’s windows from where he stands. The fact that he can see blood splatter on a broken out window, and several females that now appear to be zombies inside, makes it an easy decision not to try and make a rescue attempt. It looks as though one dispatcher had jumped out of the window and lay dead in the parking lot with a broken neck. It looks as if at least two made it out using a fire hose which was hanging out a window, and were now long gone in their cars judging from the two empty parking spots. The decision made for him, Chris passes the station and jog’s the last 100 yards down the tracks which pass the parking lot at ground level and makes it to his truck without further incident.

Hammering the diesel engine, the trip home seems a blur. Quickly passing cars in traffic, and several stopped in unattended accidents. In one yard he sees a Hispanic landscaper attacking the little old lady homeowner who had brought him out a bottle of water. He was to late to help her as he pulled into her yard, tearing up all the landscapers hard work. Chris lowered his 870 out the drivers window and shot them both in the head at point blank range from his cab, not even coming to a complete stop. Back on course he makes several calls to his live in girlfriend Megan, which are met with no answer. Megan was a second grade teacher at Columbus Elementary and should have been home from school by now. Chris is becoming more and more worried as he is arriving at his residence, a two story house with the typical beige vinyl siding and cookie cutter landscaping. He sees that Kelly from dispatch, who lives across the cul-de-sac, has made it home. Her car appears to be running in the driveway and the garage door left open, a trail of blood leading inside.

Chris lowers and shakes his head and turns in his driveway, Megan’s car is not there. In Dismay he discovers a bloody smeared handprint on his front door that stands ajar. He is greeted by more blood in kitchen, dried on the hardwood floor, and follows the trail into the garage. Shotgun at the ready, Chris enters the still closed garage. Using the Surefire light on his shotgun, he sees that his girlfriend is not there, and neither is his gift from his father for returning home from Afghanistan. A restored 1969 red Camero that Chris’s Grandfather had given to his son (Chris’s dad) after he had returned from Vietnam. “The bitch stole my fucking car!” He yells.

Unfortunately, Chris has other more pressing concerns. Remembering that just a few days ago a plan was hatched while talking over beers around the camp fire. The plan being that if the shit ever hit the fan, he along with Mike and a few others would try to make it to Stephen’s place as a rendezvous point. Chris cleared and secured his residence and pulled in his truck, backing it into the empty two car garage. Closing the garage door he quietly and packed his essential belongings. Taking care to bring all the gear, ammo cans, and staples he could he load in his truck, knowing he might never make it back. Green army bags containing his uniforms and most of his gear from Afghanistan were still packed and an easy load. His cooler, still with Miller Lite on ice, was also loaded. Chris wondered if soon there would no longer be any cold beer left. Now that would be sad…..

Chris pulled his S&W AR-15 rifle with an EoTech 552 and x3 magnifier out of the Browning gun safe in the basement. The sight had been on his rifle in Afghanistan and he had just checked the zero at Stephen’s range and changed out the batteries to it and his Surefire scout light. Chris also grabbed his Beretta 92FS pistol, just like the M9 he carried as an MP, only with night sights. The Army also generously and also unknowingly supplied him with a dozen or so spare mags for both firearms. Four cases of  U.S. Army MRE’s were the last in and Chris took one last look around his house. Satisfied that he had everything, he got in his truck, hit the garage door button and headed the few miles west to Stephen's place. Chris recalled that he never did find out if Stephen made it into work today and hoped he hadn’t and would find him at home, hopefully with a few others as well.

Great start, looking forward to the next chapter.

one word




WIN

this thread is full of it

tag

Alright it's FO time! excellant start lets keep it going please, we need Moar............

tagged for reading after "Normal"

Cool story.  Can't wait to find out what happens once the group is all together!

TAGGED

one more day and counting

Off to a great start JPD!
Keep it coming.

Thanks for the replies so far. Here is chapter three and it's a long one!

Chapter Three: Heavily Engaged
Day 1

Stephen drops to his right knee, carbine swinging up onto target and began rapidly firing into the infected hoard flowing his way. Body after body drop onto the asphalt, spilling its blood and gore onto the hard unforgiving surface. Stephen doesn’t realize that he had been shooting until the rifle’s bolt locks back….out of ammo again! As he reloaded, he scans the scene and knows in his gut he is fighting a losing battle. There were far more zombie types than the amount of remaining ammo he carried. Needing something to slow them down, Stephen begins to feel panic setting in.
“Get a grip.” He tells himself. “I need to slow these assholes down.”
Stephen doesn’t hesitate any longer. Blasting away the few zombies between him and his squad, that is now 20 yards away, he begins firing upon the squad’s fuel tank. Fuel splashes onto the ground from several hits and pieces of the rear bumper and trunk fragment from the rounds. Doubt begins to creep in, thinking that it will not work, when a huge fireball blasts out into all directions. The force of the blast and the accompanying heat knocks him down. As the fireball races skyward Stephen can see from where he has fallen, that a huge chunk of the zombie mob is now burning like candles. He did not get them all, as many have resumed their advance.

Scrambling to his feet, Stephen decides to make a hasty retreat as some of the zombies appear to move at a slow jog. Knowing he doesn’t have much of a window to rest, he heads south bound, towards a nearby tree line thinking the thick growth might slow down his pursuers. Stopping between quick sprints to lay down fire and sweating like a whore in church, Stephen makes the 300 yards and slams into the thick trees and brambles of the timberline. Too bad the thick vegetation works against him as well, as thorns and vines tore at and tangled up on his equipment. The ground angles downward, and after several yards Stephen bursts out onto Woodruff road. Knowing precisely where he is from working this neighborhood for the past few years, Stephen angles his path to the southwest, toward the second tree line on the other side of the road. Stephen, not really sure of what his next move beyond losing pursuit, is hoping that the zombie like people chasing him cannot track by scent, and wants to lose them by getting out of sight. Eventually he tears out of the thick undergrowth onto pavement, and is confronted by a huge fenced in lot. The area in front of him is the East Joliet & Elgin train yard. Hearing a faint crashing sound approaching he turns to see several pursuers closing in.
Turning back to the 7 ft high chain linked fence, Stephen scrambles up the side, and promptly gets his chest rig caught up in the barbed wire that is on top of the fence.
“Son of a Bitch, this is all I need!” Stephen curses angrily.

Now hearing the loud crunch of gravel, Stephen struggles franticly which just allows his straps and equipment to get even more lodged in the fence wire. With a frenzied burst of strength, Stephen manages to get himself flipped over the top of the fence, but still has not freed his gear from entangled with the chain links and barbed wire. In doing so he falls over the top of the fence and comes to a stop with his boots a foot from the ground with his back against the fence.
“Well, I guess it could be worse.” Stephen muses "I didn't rip my balls off."
He reaches down to try and reach his sheath knife on his chest rig. Locating it he draws the blade and prepares to cut himself free by slicing through the straps of his equipment. A sudden sniffing sound makes his blood run cold. Turning his head he sees seven zombies on the other side of fence smelling him like a dog. Frantically he saws at the chest straps with the knife; the sudden movement makes the zombies howl and moan, clawing at him through the fence. Moments later, Stephen falls to the ground, breathing hard looking up at his body armor still hung up in the fence along with his Go-Bag containing his three magazines of 9mm rounds. Knowing he will need the pistol ammo, Stephen blasts all seven in the skull with no remorse, dropping them in quick order at point plank range with great satisfaction. Reaching up, he retrieves his Go-Bag and leaves the heavy body armor. Turning back to the seemingly empty train yard, at least so far, Stephen ponders his next move. Stephen attempts to key up his radio and realizes it is no longer on his person. The sprint through the thick undergrowth must have knocked it loose from his gun belt at some point and in his haste did not see or notice its absence until now. “Just fucking great.” He says

Taking a minute to catch his breath, Stephen tries to remember what squads and officers he saw respond to the huge melee in the projects, wanting to figure out who was not slaughtered and might still be alive. He remembers a few officers along with his friend Chris were at several different incidents on the south side of the city. Stephen seriously doubted that Chris had made it to his fight call before it went to shit and was possibly still alive. As he went through his mental list, he remembers Mike had gotten called out early and had been dispatched to a domestic disturbance nearby. But for the life of him, he could not remember where the hell he was sent. About the only officer that he knew exactly their location and most likely was still there was Mattie at the hospital! Luckily the long train yard ends literally across the street from the hospital. Stephen heads out again at a slow but steady jog. Even though the train yard was mostly flat, it was at least a one by two mile chuck of yard that had tons of debris and hundreds of train cars sitting in it. It wasn’t going to be an easy stroll through the park to get there by any means.

********

Officer Matilda (Mattie) is bored. Bored of sitting in this almost sound proof hospital room with Officer Style’s prisoner awaiting treatment. Tired of the damned moaning and growling the man makes whenever she gets close to his hospital bed. If it was not for the leather restraints on his hands and feet, she is sure he would attack her again. The way he keeps trying to bite here reminds her of an old ex-boyfriend. She stands up impatiently thinking 'it stinks like ass in here, he probably crapped his pants.' As the man reacts to her presence, he thrashes on the bed again. 'Yep just like her ex-boyfriend.' She closes the hospital room door with a giggle and takes a deep breath of stale air; well at least it did not smell like a barn out here.
Across from the room was the nurses’ station and overheard a group of them talking.
“Is it a full moon out there tonight?" One said. "We are full to bursting and people are lined up out the door waiting for treatment.”
“Looks as if the panic of this flu epidemic is hitting us hard.” Another says.
As Mattie stretches her shapely arms over her head, she hears a cart roll to a stop next to her.
“I am here to get a blood sample.” The young female tech says.
The hospital routinely takes blood samples to figure out what drugs patients are on to properly administer medication to counter them or treat illnesses.
“Have at it, just be careful, he is a biter.” Mattie cautions her.
“Oh great”, the tech says, “Phew! And he soiled himself.” She says fanning the air with her hand and she entered the room.

Mattie leaves the tech to do her job and walks down a few rooms to see how Officer Styles is holding up. Pushing the room’s curtain to the side, she enters his room and sees him lying on the bed with his eyes closed.
'Wow, he looks like shit.' She thought.
He is sweating feverishly, white as a ghost and the bandage on his ribs where he was bit is soaked with blood. Styles cracks his eyes open at the sound of the curtain closing.
“How are you holding up Styles?” She asked.
“Not good."  He replied dryly. "My ribs hurt where that guy bit me and my body feels like I was hit by a truck.”
Styles looked down at his bandage and peeled it back to look at the wound. The injury was nasty; the edges of the bite mark had angry red and black streaks radiating outward from it. If that wasn’t infected, she hates to see what was.
“Great, I will probably get HIV or some weird shit from that dude.” He groaned.
“It doesn’t look good." Mattie says. "I will go grab the doctor.”
“Gee thanks for cheering me up." Stiles mumbles. "And can you bring me back some water? My mouth is dry as hell.”

Leaving the room a little worried for him, she walked back to the nurse’s station where the on duty ER doctor was talking to several nurses needing his orders for treatment of patients. Hospital staff rushed room to room, quickly trying to get patients treated and get the rooms cleared to get the next patient in to treat. Mattie waited quietly to the side and waited for the doctor to finish his business before getting his attention. Finally the doctor finished, and as the nurses left to attend their orders she grabbed the doctor’s sleeve before he could walk off.
“Hey Doc, sorry to bother you, but my friend Officer Styles is not looking well. He is here for a bite wound to his ribcage and if anything it looks much worse and very infected. Plus he was only bitten an hour or so ago. Can you look at him real quick?” She asked.
“Sorry, I am swamped right now officer.” He replied. “But I will have a nurse see to him right away.”
True to his word, the man grabs a passing nurse and told her to drop what she was doing and see to the fallen officer. 'Sometimes it was a good thing being a cop!' she thought. 'At least we can get some respect here.'

Following the nurse into Styles’ room, she watches the nurse check his chart and then his vitals. The nurse had a worried look on her face which got worse when she looked at the nasty injury on his ribs.
“How long ago was he bitten?” The nurse asked.
“I believe it was over an hour, but less that two.” Mattie replied.
“That cannot be right.” The nurse answered, now pointing at the streaks in the skin surrounding the gash. “This bite wound looks a week or older. It is seriously infected and is spreading outwards throughout his body.”
Styles’ monitors that were hooked up to him began beeping at a crazy fast rate. The nurse ordered her out of the room and slammed her fist onto the ‘emergency’ button, which signaled all workers in the ER that a patient was in distress.

Stumbling backward Mattie got out of the way of responding nurses and specialists. Not believing that Styles was mortally wounded, and it has to be an allergic reaction or something to meds, she walks back to the prisoner’s room. Nearing the door it burst open with the tech that needed the blood sample close behind swearing loudly holding her hand.
“Officer you need to handcuff him to the bed, he broke a leather wrist restraint and grabbed me as I was drawing his blood. Then pulled me close and bit my hand.” She said as she showed Mattie her bleeding cut palm.
“I will document it in my report, it will just be another in a long line of charges he will have.” Mattie replied. “You had better clean that wound, my partner was bitten as well buy this dirt bag and he is sicker than a dog now, and that was within an hour.”
“Oh that is just great to hear.” She says as she walked away quickly.

Looking inside she could see her prisoner indeed had broken a restraint and was trying to get free. Pulling out her cuffs she quickly slapped one onto his free wrist and with considerable effort secured it to the bed rail while taking care to stay away from his gnashing teeth.
In a fit of rage she whipped the pillow out from under his head, looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was looking and whispered to the prisoner. “This is for Styles.” Placing the pillow over his head she rapidly punched him hard three times in the face through the pillow.
Feeling better, she tosses the pillow onto the floor and can see the man’s nose was bent across his face. Serves him right, act like an asshole and don’t be surprised when you get hurt.

As focused as Mattie was, she neither noticed nor heard the shouts of alarm. Outside the room, hospital staff ran to several rooms where several patients began to convulse with unexplained seizures. In the reception area, a few people waiting to be seen began to fall to the ground as well, shaking with full blown convulsing seizures. At least a dozen people in all. Mattie's prisoner began his annoying moaning again and grinding his teeth. she was a bit worried how to explain the obvious broken nose, but was also wondering why he was not bleeding one bit from it.
Faint screams finally pierced the room getting her attention. Looking out the room’s window, through the blinds, she observed a nurse who was helping Styles run past her room drenched in blood.
“What the hell?” She asked nobody in particular.
Opening the door, she saw the curtain to Styles’ room blast backwards as two subjects fell out of the room onto the hospital hallway floor. The man on the bottom futilely fighting back was the doctor. The man on top was Styles, who was still in his hospital gown with his jaws locked onto the doctor’s throat!
“STYLES! What the fuck are you doing?!?” Mattie screamed.
Styles’ head whips up and with a face drenched in blood, eyes wild with rage, lets out a unholy scream at her. Styles jumps to his feet and runs at her. Mattie, not prepared for that reaction, jumps back into the prisoner’s room and slams the door shut as Styles reached it. Styles slammed the door as she watched him through the door’s window from inches away. Praying fervently that the window does not break as Styles screams and howls on the other side, she struggles mightily to hold the door shut. She meets his gaze and cannot see any bit of humanity in his baleful glare. Suddenly Styles’ head turns and he sees a nurse run nearby. His hand latches onto the terrified woman and drags her to the ground, tearing at her arms and face as she tries to shield herself.

Slowly Mattie is aware that Styles is not the only one going crazy in the ER. Several people were running or stumbling around and into random rooms, attacking whoever they found. She tries in vain to reach dispatch from her radio, but the thick hospital walls prevented any transmissions. Picking up the rooms telephone she tries to dial 911. The attempt fails as she gets a busy signal…what the hell is going on? Mattie again looks out the window and sees a flood of blood covered subjects pour into the ER dropping to the ground to feast on fallen victims. Knowing for the moment she was safe but vastly outnumbered, she knew it was suicide to try to leave the island of safety of the closed isolation room. Mattie quickly closed the windows blinds. Stepping back away from the door, she was so focused on it that she was not prepared when the prisoner grabbed her leg, nearly knocking her backwards into him.
"Enough of this." She said with determination.

Picking up the pillow she used previously, she placed it over his head again and drew her city issued Glock 9mm pistol. Fear making her a bit reckless she put the pistol onto the pillow where she could feel the man’s head and pulled the trigger. Bit of pillow stuffing flew up, and Mattie hoped that the pillow mixed with the sound proofing of the room was enough not to drown out the screams and growls that was outside the room. Well at least the man is no longer trying to eat her! 'Still stinks in here now though.' she sighed. Mattie then quietly pushed every bit of loose furniture and equipment up against the door. It should be good against someone like Styles but seriously doubts it will hold against two or more. Turning the lights off also to not garner attention, she crouched in the corner with tears in her eyes shivering in fear.

********

As I ran towards the school’s front entrance, I could not help but think how surreal this all was. Obviously this epidemic is just starting to break loose, as there are not hoards of zombies clogging the streets moaning for my brain to eat. I cautiously open the door and quickly step inside. From
what the hot mama outside said, I need to go straight down this main corridor to a T-intersection, make a left, and then the first right, and the classroom is the second door on the right. The main office looks deserted, with a bloody hand print on the glass that smears downward to the floor. Leaning over to my left, I look through the glass down at the floor. All I can see from where I stand is a pair of feet of someone prone out on the floor. Sure as shit it isn’t Lucy, as I quick step through the interior set of doors. I take a quick scan of the hallways. I can see several bodies of adults and children. All of them appear to have been ravaged by a pack of dogs. My eyes squint as my stomach tries to purge itself onto the tiled floor. I quietly step over and around the corpses. My eyes never stop scanning as the sounds of something munching hungrily on an unknown meal began to overtake me. The farther I venture into the school I can hear the sounds coming from both sides of the hallways, and from inside the classrooms. I quickly step past the rooms but not before I see what is making the eating sounds. In rooms to both sides of me I get a glimpse of several subjects, adults and children eating other corpses on the floor like dogs at their food dishes. I know that my current mission calls for me to covertly locate Lucy, if she is still alive, and get her safely out if possible. Unfortunately I can do nothing for those already wounded or dead, I need to focus on the living. Moving on I can’t help but notice the pictures taped on the walls of the hallways, drawn by the students. It makes my rage soar thinking of the innocents maimed and killed from this virus or whatever this thing is.

I reach the T-intersection and when I step around the corner, I predictably step into a large pool of blood and slide right into the wall on the far side of the hallway. Naturally I make a considerable amount of noise as I swear and crash to the floor. Now I hear that I have gained the attention of most likely several zombies, as I can hear footsteps and slobbering moans getting louder.
"Just fucking great!" I yell for all to hear.
I clamber to my feet and move off with a purpose to the left, and then I make my 1st right. I can see the room in front of me, and I dominate the room as I enter, ready to unleash a rain of lead. With my deadly entry I am sure I scare the class hamster, who in an aquarium, it is the only other living or un-living creature in the room. 'I am sure I impressed it.' Glancing around
'fuck, no kid in sight, no body to return to mom, well I gave it the old college try.'.... 'Now its time to get my ass out of here before I am pinned down. Who knows how many of these “zombies are around.' I exit the room, rifle up and ready. Hugging the right side of the hallway, retracing my steps I pass a storage room. Freezing in my tracks, I can faintly hear crying coming from the other side of the door. Quickly I enter, as the sounds of footsteps get closer to my hallway, and close the door behind me. Inside I find two little girls, one of them matching Lucy’s description.
“Is your name Lucy sweetheart?” I asked.
She nods her head yes as the two of them hug each other crying in fear.
I crouched down in front of them and put my hands on their little shoulders.
“My name is Mike." I tell them. "I am a police officer and I promise I will get you two out of here. Can you be brave little girls for me?”
They both nod their heads as tears trail down their faces. I have no idea what kind of horror these little angels have seen but I swear I will not let harm come to them while I draw breath.
I look around the storage room and locate a small jump rope. Grabbing it I tie it off on my belt and hand the other end to Lucy.
“Ok honey." I gently say. "I am going to open this door. Lucy you hang onto this rope real tight and hold your friend’s hand. No matter what do not let got of either. It will get really loud if I have to shoot these monsters. If I move, you move. If I stop, you stop, ok?”
Both little girls shake theirs heads up down and say yes. Walking to the door, I listen hard….no sounds come from the other side so I open it. Rifle up and ready I step into the hallway. The girls follow as told right on cue. I make for the way I entered the school as I remembered a side door leading outside on my way to the classroom.

As we negotiated the hallways I see the bodies on the floor begin to twitch, and as we pass a few, a blonde female teacher begins to claw her way up onto her hands and knees. Without altering my pace I plant my boot into her face like kicking a field goal. With a bone shattering crack, the blond literally flips into the air and lands on her back. Most of her front teeth are now scattered across the hallway and her jaw appears dislocated. With the angle of her head probably a broken neck as well! Yee-haw!
Unfortunately both girls pick that time to shriek at the top of little 6 year old lungs. Howls and moans erupt all over the school followed by footsteps all rushing to my location.
God helps those who help themselves I have been told.
Wonder if ‘help’ means throwing flesh eating zombies in my way as I try to escort two innocent girls out of this nightmare.

Looking around I see several zombies clamber to their feet. I shove Lucy and her friend into a open doorway and slam it shut. I can see we are in a snack room with pop and candy machines. My door does not have a lock on it, but a door on the other end of the room leads out into a different part of the school. Needing to slow down pursuit I grab the edge of the nearest pop machine. With a much effort, I manage to tip the machine over in front of the door we just came through.
Well that should slow them down.
Turning I tell Lucy to hold tight we need to move fast. We run out into the next hall and I look left and see there are at least a dozen zombies shuffling down the hall directly towards us with many more pouring around the corner to join them. In the snack room the side windows smash with several creatures trying to claw their way through the shattered glass trying to get to us. For the moment, the hallway behind me is clear. I turn and quickly run to the end of the hallway to a T-intersection. To the right, many twitching bodies fill the hall. Fuck, I have seen this before, and turn left. Behind us, over the shrieks of the girls I hear so many howls and growls that I know they are boxing us in. I see an exit dead ahead (no pun intended), and yell for the girls to run for it. Spinning around I see my hall is now packed shoulder to shoulder with hungry, disgusting mutilated zombies all after one thing, my hot gushing blood.

My rifle swings up, the orange triangle of my ACOG reflex scope stops on the skull of the 1'st creature.
Crack!
The sound in this tight confines is deafening, but I cant let that bother me. So quickly do I fire one round after another, my rifle’s magazine runs dry in seconds. At least I can use the second or two of borrowed time to reload as the zombies stumble over the  several fallen re-dead, downed from well placed headshots. I slap the bolt home on my AR-15 and again like a video game gone bad I run through another 30 round magazine in seconds.
'Where the hell are all of these zombies coming from?' I wonder.. 'Must have been a parent/teacher night, or a school concert or something, because they are still coming hard.'

Sweat pours down my face as I slam another magazine into the Colt. I continue reaping havoc with head shots while I fall back down the hall towards the door. Before I know it I back up into the exit door, I figure the girls have enough of a chance to get out of harms way and I turn and bolt out of the door. Next to the door is a shovel a janitor had been using for landscaping in the nearby flowerbeds. Remarking how I think I just shot what used to be the janitor in the head, I grab it and jam it through the door handles to prevent the zombies from following, for now at least. I run to the front of the school and at that second it hits me like a truck that I had just sent a whole ambulance full of infected bite victims to the hospital from the domestic battery address across the street. "Son of a bitch!" Is all I can say.
Looking around as I near my squad I cannot see Lucy and her friend, or the hot Latino mother anywhere. Good….hopefully they found one another. I do not have the time to worry about them right now. I sprint to the squad and fire it up. Tires squeal as I gun the engine, heading for the hospital.

********

Gasping for air Stephen struggles to put one foot in front of the other. He does not know exactly when it happened, but somehow he wrenched his left knee real bad, probably while tripping over one of the several random railroad ties he came across. Now it feels like some demented carpenter is shooting his knee with a nail gun every time he puts weight on it. Gravel crunching and the howls of ravenous zombies dog his steps as he runs through the train yard. The massive tanker and cargo cars on both sides of him restrict his vision while he ran. Looking behind him it appears clear but the tracks have a gradual curve to them, so after 50 yards or so the train itself blocks his view. Stephen needs to stop for a breather but is worried that if he does, he will be unable to get moving again cause of his knee. Turning back quickly, his knee buckles from the shift in weight and momentum. Skidding to a stop, Stephen grunts and gasps in pain when movement to his left grabs his attention. Turning his head he sees a infected subject leap at him from the coupling hitch between two train cars. 'Where did he come from? Probably stowed away on a train car from Texas or something!' Whipping over onto his back, Stephen raises the muzzle of his rifle as the man’s head descends upon him. The barrel of his rifle slams into the man’s open mouth and removes the backside of his skull when he fires. The zombie immediately goes limp and its head slides down the rifle through the gaping hole in its head stopping when it reaches the now empty magazine.
Yuck, he thinks as he carefully pushes the man to the side and off of him, being careful that the blood and gore does not get into the nice road rash on his arms and face. 'Yep, a hobo from the looks of him.'
Despair hits him momentarily as he realizes he is out of ammo for his rifle and can’t even use it as a club with it covered by the zombies’ brain matter and blood. 'Fuck it,' he thinks, 'I got 3 more of my own at the house.'

Leaving his rifle embedded in the zombie’s skull, he wearily limps down the tracks towards the hospital. Grimly determined to make it to the hospital to save Mattie and get back to his house to hunker down. Stephen Knows his close friends have plans to make their way to his place in a bad situation like this and figures they will make it if at all possible.
Crawling under the train car on his left, Stephen sees that he needs to keep heading east about 100 yards then due south to the hospital. Spirits beginning to lift he thinks... 'only a dozen or so train cars, not to bad!'

********

Sitting in the dark staring at the faint light coming from under the door and through the tiny gaps in the window blinds, Mattie repeatedly tries to call 911. At one point she actually got through enough to hear it ring. Sadly now there isn’t even a dial tone. Tossing the receiver onto the floor, she carefully peeks through the small cracks into the blinds without touching them. Her heart beats rapidly in her chest as she sees scores of people wandering in the halls outside her room. Every last one of them have terrible injuries ranging from bloody bite wounds to missing limbs or chest cavities ripped apart. How can they be alive? Most of them should be dead, but here they are actively walking or dragging themselves around and not one of them screaming in pain or talking. Several are hospital staff, even the on duty ER doctor is shambling around missing a large part of his throat. All of them, those that can, are moaning or howling in apparent hunger and rage.
A few minutes ago a very loud crash echoed through the ER and a short time later a Joliet paramedic came screaming into the ER. He was quickly pulled down by scores of the disgusting people outside the door. That poor soul is now currently wandering about the halls missing most of his face and the meat from his arms and torso. There isn’t any medical explanation that she can think of that should allow any of these people to continue to function. Judging by the massive wounds many displayed, she doubted a bullet wound would stop any of them or she would be tempted to make a run for it. She has a small bag of trail mix in her cargo pocket and a sink to drink from in the room, so she could last for a while if needed. Hopefully someone could rescue her or cause a diversion big enough for her to escape.

********

My squad screeches around the corner onto Henderson Street heading south bound. I weave the car in and around several accidents. Some are wrecked, some on fire. Some are just seemingly abandoned with no reason; car doors open without the occupants around. Well actually I cannot say that cause here and there I see bloody victims lying in the parkway or hanging out of vehicles. Accelerating I try to get past my immediate threats fast as possible. I get near Jackson Street and see a very fat female attempting to run at me on the road waving her arms above her head to get my attention. Coming to a stop at the intersection of Henderson and Jackson; the female runs up to my window. I hit my door locks because I can see several bite wounds on her arms and hands and she is bleeding heavily.
“Let me in!" She screamed.
I crack the window open a few inches as she attempts to open the rear driver’s side door without success.
“Were you bitten at all, and is that your blood?” I ask her.
“YES IT'S MY BLOOD YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” She screams. “OPEN THE DOOR!”
I lean forward in the seat slightly and look around her. From behind her I see a small group of infected subjects closing in on my location.
“I don’t think so fatty,” I tell her, “looks like you are fucked.”
I give her the finger and stomp on the gas pedal and leave the rude fat bitch screaming insults in my wake.
'Damn if that didn’t feel good!' I muse. 'Let her make a complaint'!

Laughing my ass off, I  turn east onto Jackson Street and begin to go over the train bridge overpass. Reaching the top of the bridge I slam on the brakes. Below me, near a large vagrant hangout, is a group of infected tearing into several male and female victims at the foot of the bridge. Some begin to straggle up the bridge towards me. Turning and looking the way I just came I can see another group from a large Mexican bar spill out onto the road behind me and begin the trek up the bridge as well. Now effectively blocked in I might as well continue on my way to the hospital which is about a half mile away.
Its so close and I decide 'Fuck it!'
I slam the squad into gear and hit the gas. Swerving the squad car around the first initial zombie types I speed towards the large group milling near a stalled van as I put on my seatbelt….

********

Shaking from exhaustion, Stephen cannot believe he is still alive, let alone still on his feet. Somehow, the details are a bit sketchy; he has fought his way through a large mob of undead. No clue where the fuck they came from, he thought. Now he lay on top of a cargo train car trying to catch his breath. For the time being, the way looks clear from up top here, and it appears that they cannot climb. He swipes the spent 9mm brass casings off the top of the train car and watches them bounce as they hit the ground tinkling like a wind chime. He had wasted the last few remaining zombie from this last group from up top here after he climbed up in desperation to escape. Now with the view from here, he can see he is 200 yards from the elevated overpass that spans the length of the train yard. He can see a group of zombies milling around at the base of the overpass on the east side. It appears they are feasting on someone, and pulling more victims from a stalled full sized van. Stephen takes a minute to eat an energy bar and take a few mouthfuls of water from the water bottle which came from his Go-Bag. Sighing, Stephen then uses extreme caution climbing down from the train car, testing the bad knee by putting his weight on it. It’s still a bit tender but the pain has dropped to a manageable level. It is just now starting to get stiff. At least he can still walk and possibly jog for short bursts.

Crossing the last few train lines, Stephen hunkers down next to a tanker car and considers how to cross a large area of open ground and get to the road without attracting the attention of the group of zombies on the roadway near the base of the train bridge. Without his AR-15 his range is limited. Looking ahead Stephen notices a small drainage ditch in the weeds up ahead that follows the direction of the road. Stephen eases himself down into the weeds and slowly makes his way for the ditch. He could have made a running break for it, but some of these infected seem to act like a predator, attracted by the sudden movement of their prey. It seems that slow and steady is the way to go.

Sliding slowly into the weed and debris filled ditch Stephen makes for the direction of the hospital. Hearing the group of infected noisily eat whatever they had killed makes his stomach queasy. It is all he can do to ignore the sound of feeding and with every step his left knee wants to make him howl in pain. The late afternoon sun is setting but it feels like a furnace in the ditch. The sweat is a continuous stream into his eyes and the insects are happily biting every inch of exposed skin. Cursing every foot he crawled, Stephen was damn near ready to say ‘fuck it’ and get up and run. Remaining calm and resisting the urge to stand up, he was at anytime expecting to hear the undead roar at his presence and pick up pursuit of him.

Slowly the opening of the drainage tube got larger as he approached, finally he lifted his sore and bug bitten body into the tunnel. Lying inside the tunnel, Stephen swings his legs around and leans sitting up with his back on the side of the tunnel. Massaging his knee, Stephen brushes off dirt and garbage that had gotten wedged into his clothing and gear. Looking down the culvert, Stephen sees that it indeed crosses under the road, and figures resting here is probably the best option. It's elevated and reasonably secure. Eventually, the infected that chased him into the train yard will find a way in. Plus with the way he got hung up on the last fence, he would rather go under it on this side.

As the cool darkness of the culvert envelopes him, he thinks back on all that has happened in the last few hours. Fucking Zombies! Can you believe it? Kind of like a morbid fantasy come true. A chance to see if the idiots that get killed in the movies are really that dumb. And now it’s his chance to show them how it’s done. Dragging himself finally to the other end, Stephen slowly peeks his head outside the culvert, pistol ready, and checks to see if he has any company nearby. Staying low to the ground he sees his immediate area is clear and jumps out of the culvert, moving then up towards the road to check on the large group near the disabled van.
Stephen can only stop and stare…..stare unbelieving at a Joliet squad car racing down the bridge towards him! ….and of course the twenty plus infected that are starting to move up the bridge right for the rocketing car.

********

As I sped down the bridge, I braced myself for impact. The noise of my engine has gathered the attention of all the infected below me and they start their shambling, stumbling jog towards me. They surge like a mob at a heavy metal concert and show zero fear as my 2,000lb squad hurtles at them like a rocket. I am too busy to see what my speed was, but I figure later that it was at least 50mph. The first few infected disintegrate upon contact with my bumper. Another crashes into my squad’s ‘push’ bumpers and is folded in half, causing his skull to slam into my hood with enough force to dent the shit out of it. Another is launched directly into the windshield, almost landing into my lap as I get covered with glass shards. Impact after impact rock my poor squad. Steam erupts from under the hood from a busted radiator hose through the shattered grill. I keep my foot planted firmly on the gas and the engine screams in protest.
"Bet the engineers at GM never had a crash test designed for this shit!' I think while a smirk marks my face. 'Oh how these fuckers hate me and want my flesh and blood like nothing else!'
The car shudders and I can feel the momentum and power diminish as the infected pile onto the car and in my path.

Just as I was thinking maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, the mob parts like Moses parting the Red Sea, for I suddenly broke free!
I know I am not going to get too far in this busted up rig, but it should get me to the hospital that’s only a half mile away. Clouds of steam geyser from under the hood, the temperature gauge is almost red and I look in the mirror to check on pursuers because I might be hoofing it sooner than planned. Looking back to the road, the wind whips the steam away and I see a subject run out onto the road in front of me waving his arms. He is also limping badly.
“Fuck it, my squad is already beyond fixing, what’s one more?” I decide aloud.
I line up my front passenger side headlight to peg the infected bastard when at the last moment I recognize that the person is wearing a police uniform, albeit dirty and ragged as hell, but still a cop. I jerk the wheel to the left hard
and slam on the brakes. My squad screeches to a halt. I look back to see the officer hobble up to my car and when he jerks the door open he stops in surprise when he is looking down the barrel of my pistol.
“Stephen? Where the hell did you come from? Are you infected?” I ask, my pistol never leaving his face.
“No I am not infected, and holster that fucking gun asshole." He yells. "We got to get to the hospital now!”

Stephen jumps in and my squad shakes and shudders in protest as we continue up the road to the looming hospital. Checking my mirror I can see the zombies have given up pursuit to continue feeding on the van occupants again.
“By the way let me thank you for waking me up for the easy over time street work.” I say sarcastically.
“Hey go pound sand asshole!” Stephen growled. “I have been fighting a strategic retreat for what feels like the past few hours non-stop from the housing projects. I am almost out of ammo, my knee is twisted badly, and now our only transportation is about to go belly up because you decided to use it like a battering ram!”
“Relax Sally.” I tell him. “I will save you.”
I started to chuckle as we pull into the hospital ambulance entrance. The chuckling stops at what we see.

What we saw did not raise our hopes to locate survivors as I see the ambulance I had originally sent up here with the bite victims has crashed into a bay door of the hospital. The rear doors were open and the vehicle is empty from what I can see. A crimson trail of blood leads from the ambulance to the blocked open double doors leading into the ER.
“Damn! Looks like the infected have struck here as well.” Stephen said.
“Why are you so worried about getting here rather getting to your place bro?” I asked.
“Mattie is inside guarding a prisoner here for treatment.” He replies. “Isn’t that why you made your way here?”
'Well now, that changes everything.' I think to myself.
“Um... yeah... uh of course that’s why I came here.” I finally reply.
I put the squad into park and it dies on me before I could even turn it off.
“Looks like we walk from here on out anyways.” I say.
“Maybe not.” Stephen says, eyeing the stalled ambulance.
He runs over to it and climbs into the driver seat. Taking a few moments to look over the controls, the engine roars to life, and he backs it away from the entrance, turns it around facing out and leaves it idling.
“We might need to leave in a hurry.” He says when he sees my questioning look.
“Where is your rifle?” I ask.
“Long story.” He replies.
“Whatever, here take mine.” I say as I toss him my carbine.
I pop the squad’s trunk and retrieve the last of my boxes of ammo. I shove them into his arms.
“Here, this is the last of my ammo until we make a supply run." I add, know what is about to happen. "Try to make it last jerk-off.”
I have enough to top off three magazines for the AR-15 and three magazines for his Glock 17.
“Give me a quick minute." I ask Stephen. "I need to get out of these useless clothes.”
As Stephen provides cover, I pull out my swat gear duffel bag and proceed to strip down, changing clothes and putting on my swat gear. I also put on an old police ball cap that I normally used for padding when I wore my ballistic helmet. Of course I put it on bill facing backward.
"Fuck department policy." I joke.

As I start to throw the duffel bag back into the trunk, I see something that catches my attention. I reach into the trunk and pull out an aluminum baseball bat that I had acquired from some gang bangers a while back. I give it a few practice swings. Reaching into the trunk again I grab my police issue ballistic shield.
"Hell yeah!" I say grinning.
Turning to face Stephen; bat in one hand, shield on other arm, like a gladiator preparing to enter the arena I give him a shit eating smile.
“Let’s rock asshole.”
Stephen shakes his head. “You are an idiot. C’mon let’s do this.”

Stephen leads the way, rifle at the ready, quickly covering ground up to the ER entrance. Upon approach, we can hear the automated electric inner doors whisking open and closed. Open and closed. Open and closed.
We step around a tipped over ambulance stretcher that has blocked open one of the electric outer doors. Stephen peels the corner and stops in shock. Dozens of infected roam the hospital halls; in turn setting off the sensor to open the damned doors. One of them stops and looks at us, its mouth distends open and howls as it shambles to us.

Stephen fires the rifle, blasting the head to shards of the zombie and in the process spraying brain matter on the others behind it. Like a dam giving way the other countless infected flow into the tight hallway. The roar of the rifle was deafening inside the tight confines between the inner and outer doors. At the start, as quickly as they entered they were dropped by Stephen’s accurate head shots. The bolt locked back on an empty magazine. The pile of corpses causes a bit of a bottle neck, and Stephen uses the few seconds it gave him to reload.
Stephen then yells. “Reloading!”
Before I can step past him, Stephen crams another magazine into the rifle.
I am not sure if Stephen is panicking, or if his adrenaline is cranked up or both, because he clicks the rifle to what he calls the “Happy” setting (full auto) and cuts loose into the tightly packed zombies.
Chunks of flesh, brain matter spray the walls. Pieces of bone are sent flying all over. If someone has never seen the results of full automatic gun fire, they cannot truly appreciate the site.
I really wanted to yell at him for wasting a full 30 round magazine, but he really did make a dent in the bastards.
Apparently Stephen enjoyed the four seconds of full auto mayhem so much, before I could say anything he slams home his last magazine and four additional seconds later notifies me that he is out of ammo.
Through the cloud of gunpowder smoke, thick with the smell of cordite, blood, and sweat; I stare at Stephen with a ‘What the fuck look’.
“Dude, you just burned through 90 rounds of rifle ammo in under 20 seconds.” I say.
He shakes his head and with an innocent look says. "It isn’t my fault. You are the one who gave me a full auto capable rifle. What did you think I was going to do?”
I looked up at the ceiling and let out a large sigh shaking my head.
Stephen slings the rifle across his back and out of his way and draws his pistol.
“Hold on there hero.” I say stepping forward to grab his shoulder before he could take off again. “Let’s try to save some ammo.”
I step forward as a bloody female makes it over the pile of corpses Stephen made. As she steps into range, my bat comes down on top her skull.
'Imagine that.' I think. Smashing someone’s skull sounds a lot like a watermelon getting splattered.
The bloody female drops and I shrug my shoulders a few more times to loosen up as a fat man in a hospital gown extracts himself from the tangle of bodies and is quickly blasted back down for his troubles.
"Hoorah!" I yell, more for myself as motivation than for Stephen's benefit.
Readying the shield, I step over the pile of bodies into the hallway beyond the inner doors.

********

Mattie nearly screamed in shock at the sudden and distinct sound of rapid gunfire; followed by two sets of full automatic rifle fire.
Ecstatic that she isn’t the only one left apparently not currently trying to eat another human being, she rushes up to the blinds on the room door. Bending apart the blinds she carefully looks into the hallway. The halls are filled with about two dozen subjects making there way towards the location of the gun shots. Mattie is still amazed and slightly disgusted at the sight of so many people bearing devastating injuries that would incapacitate a normal human.
Could it be a bad batch of drugs the hospital administered to patients? Something that kills pain? She has seen meth heads and junkies that look and acts like these, minus the cannibalism of course.

Mattie watches as her former friend officer Styles leaps onto the counter at the nurses’ station and crouches down staring towards where all the subjects are moving towards. She has no clue what the hell is wrong with him. He used to be such a nice guy. Now she has personally seen him kill several people with his bare hands and has (yuck) eaten various parts of them. Styles also seem to be bossing them around to a certain degree. He would approach some who were eating and growl at them. Those would then scamper away and he would start to devour what they were eating. Of course what they were eating just happens to be severely dismembered corpses (yuck!).
'Is he bat shit crazy or possessed?' She wonders.

Now Styles crouches on top the counter like some demonic gargoyle wearing a blood drenched hospital gown, with his head cocked to the side like a dog deciding whether or not to bite someone. Mattie begins to struggle with the hospital bed with the corpse still restrained in it, trying to push it away from the door. Whoever is out there with the guns will need her help. She definitely needs their help to get the hell out of this unholy prison. Looking through the windows, she sees the infected in the lead about to pass out of view when it is dropped by three rapid handgun rounds to the torso and head.
Mattie freezes when she hears a male voice shout. A voice she never dreamt to hear again shout in anger laced with pain…..
"Damn it Stephen! I said to save your ammo!”

********

As I round the doorway into the hallway beyond I peel to the right and Stephen (hopefully) picks up rear guard. This isn’t one of my better ideas, I think to myself as I see the hall is jam packed with many of these damned zombies heading right for me! I step forward to attack and about shit my pants as Stephen pokes his pistol over my left shoulder and cranks off three quick rounds into the lead zombie’s head. Not only does it totally temporarily ruin the hearing in my left ear, two out of the three shell casings naturally fall down the rear of my shirt. Jumping to the right and reaching for my ear, naturally I use the hand holding my ballistic shield, which raps me right in the head.
Staring bloody murder at Stephen I yell, pointing the bat at him. “Damn it Stephen! I said to save your ammo!”

Muttering curses under my breath I can’t tell if my ear is bleeding now or if it is sweat, because my adrenaline is amped up big time and I am pouring buckets of sweat right now. I can’t tell you off hand how many zombies packed the hall, but there was a fuck load of them. In my peripheral vision I see a subject crouched on top of the nurses’ station counter off to the left. I can’t worry about that right now for here they come. I swing the bat from right to left, crunch, one goes down. My backswing takes another in the temple, Thwack, down he goes. My right booted foot lashes forward into a front kick to the chest of another, knocking her back into several other behind her. I move sharply to the left and shield bashes another into the wall, trapping it there. Its hate filled eyes stare hungrily at me with teeth biting at the small ballistic window set into the shield. I look over my right shoulder, seeing another close in I whip the bat back to the right and smash its head, sending it into a empty ER room. Stepping back I drop the shield slightly as my return stroke catches’ it in the teeth. It doesn’t drop, however it does when I crush its head between the wall and the edge of the ballistic shield.
"Well...That does the trick." I mention to Stephen who is still providing cover.
I crank my head to the left and right, hearing several pops. My efforts are at least slowing them down because it appears they are not the best climbers as they are having trouble walking over the ones I have felled.
The hoard of undead howl and moan for my blood almost drown out my grunts and curses as I battle for my life.
I quickly fall into a rhythm of crushing bat strikes, shield bashes, kicks, raise and repeat.
Another front kick followed by a few well placed strikes with the bat and I have made a makeshift barrier about knee high of twice dead corpses. I was right; they don’t seem to handle barriers well, as I smash even more across the backs of their heads as they trip over their fallen brethren.

Even with how good we are doing, if these creatures acted together or tried to protect themselves the slightest, they would have overwhelmed us. Instead they just took the path of least resistance which left them vulnerable to the working end of my bat. I quickly lose track of time and exhaustion begins to creep in. I can’t have Stephen step in for I hear him blasting away behind me still. Using the thought of these mindless cannibalistic fuckers eating my friends and loved ones drives me on to greater exertions.
Somewhere I had lost my shield, and I have no idea how it happened. A particularly bloody med technician claws her way over the mound of corpses in front of me. I two hand my bat into her head so fast I think it bounces off her shoulder. I could here her bone and vertebrae snap. A figure scampers towards me out of the left side of my vision, along the counter top. Turning to meet this threat I see it grab a straggler in the rear of the pack and shove it towards me.
'What the fuck?' I think. 'It looks like Ofc. Styles...Hmm...Obviously he is an infected bastard now too.'

It was a bad idea to take my eye off the remaining mob, for when I looked back I had two right in front of me with a third close behind.
I drop the bat and both of my hands latch onto their necks which keeps their fucking teeth off me for the moment. I kick the third in the chest and knock it back over the mound of bodies on the floor. Unfortunately, the kick along with the buckets of blood and assorted gore covering the floor, as well as struggling with two zombies causes me to do a remarkable impression of the cartoon guy stepping on a banana peel. While I go crashing to the floor, I instinctively do not let go of the zombies’ throats and drag them down as well with me. It is all I can do now to keep two sets of teeth off me as they clack close inches from my face.
I am caught off guard when the one on the left, then the right suddenly sprout holes in the tops of there heads.
Looking back I see Stephen over me, dropping a now empty magazine and reaching for another.
"I got ya." I hear him say.
I spot my bat next to me and grab it. Standing up to address any new threat, I see only a few of the fuckers left. I see Styles turn and look at something behind him.
Sorry pal, you are one of them.
Stepping up I prepare to cave in the back of his skull…..

********

Mattie finally gets the door barricade removed and steps out into the hall. My God, she thought, those two have decimated damn near every one of the flesh eaters. Well at least she could help out with the remaining ones. Taking aim she blasts the rearmost subject, but it doesn't bring the reaction that she hoped. In stead of falling, Styles whips around and stares at her with a malicious glare.
"I am so sorry Styles, for what I am about to do." She tells her former coworker.
Re-adjusting her aim she puts two bullets into Styles’ chest, causing him to stand up straight, right as at the same time Mike appeared swinging a bat at his head. Since Styles had stood up, his bat which was to strike Style’s head, instead crushes in the right side of his ribcage. The impact sends Styles flying off of the counter top and into large printer machine then onto the floor. Styles shot to his feet and screamed his rage at Mattie, causing her blood to run cold. Twice more she sends hollow points blasting into Styles’ chest. Styles just stood there as if daring her to waste more ammo.

Mattie’s heart soared as she watched Mike and Stephen come into view. She is not entirely sure Mike has seen her as he vaults over the counter after Styles. She could not see exactly what happened, but Mike stops and looks down for a moment, and then the baseball bat he is carrying that is covered with blood raises and then comes down hard on Styles head with a whack. Then all goes silent.
A silence that is only interrupted by the several monitor alarms still uselessly beeping filled the ER.
Mike, clearly exhausted leans onto the countertop, tossing his bloody bat onto it next to him.
“Holy fuck, we did it!” She heard him say.

********

Stephen walks up to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Outstanding job Mike." He says. "I had my doubts that it would….Mattie!!!”
Stephen does a remarkable impersonation of the Heisman Trophy as he shoves me out of his way, knocking me to the floor next to the corpse of Styles.
“What the fuck?” I say as I pull myself to my feet.
“I cannot believe you guys came for me!” Mattie said as she gives Stephen a big hug.
“Are you hurt?” Stephen asked Mattie.
“No." She replied, continuing then asking. "But I was sure I was going to die here along with so many others. What is going on here? Why are these people eating one another?
“We are not entirely sure.” Stephen responds. “We think it is some sort of virus, and that is spreads through bites. Once your bit, you quickly become aggressive and able spread the virus to others. Almost like a fast acting rabies. It appears that the only way to stop it is by major head trauma.”
“Um Stephen….? You can put me down now. Mattie said.
“Wha…. Oh sorry.” Stephen said sheepishly as he set her feet onto the floor.
“Don’t everyone thank me at once.” I say as I clamber to my feet.
With a huge smile Mattie walks past Stephen. “Oh come here you, and get your reward.” She says.
She laces her arms around my head and pulls it down into a hungry kiss.
'Hot damn!' I think. "I would have been happy with a knuckle bump!"
A short time, (or was it a long time?) later she ends the kiss and lays her head on my shoulder with a sigh.
I look up at Stephen who had a jealous look on his face and I give him the finger.
"To the winner go the spoils!" I chide.
"We need to get out of here now." Stephen states. "Let’s go.”
He takes off limping towards the doors we entered from.
I feel Mattie’s arms tighten around me as I hear her murmur “I have always wanted to do this…”
Not sure what exactly she was referring to, I find out what she means as she sinks her teeth into my shoulder muscles!
'What the hell?' I wonder. 'Was I just bit?'
As I prepared to launch her across the fucking ER, thinking she was infected, she lets go laughing and licking her lips.
“Mmm-mmmm." She jokes. "But all things considered, maybe it wasn’t the best time for that.”

My dumb ass, still sputtering, unable to say anything coherent; can only watch as she saunters out of the ER after Stephen. I release a deep breath hard that I did not realize I was holding.
'Women! Scratch that. Fucking hot women!'
Finally taking a few moments, I shake loose the spent shell casings that had gone down the back of my shirt.
I grab my bat and shake off what blood and filth I could, all the while shaking my head on my way out of the hospital, leaving it to the infected whom I’m sure are still roaming the halls of the vast facility.

excellant, moar please!

Oh yeah, bring MOAR!

This is one KICK ASS story!!

If you dont finish it, I might have to feed you to the zombies

thats some good gore stuff there man

Awesome!!!

Hell Yeah

Chapter Four: Tactical Redeployment
Day 1

Dan Wayne woke up on the couch in his basement with a familiar dull ache at the base of his neck. And this was not the first time.
“God damn couch.” he says aloud to himself.
After working his 12 hour midnight shift at the Minooka IL Police Dept and getting off at 0700 hours Monday morning, he had managed to stay awake long enough to set up his Dillon 550 press for reloading .45acp that afternoon. He was off now for Monday and Tuesday and had a lot of reloading that needed to be done if he wanted to have the extra rounds to compete in a 3 gun event scheduled for this coming weekend. Dan reloaded in his ‘equipment room.' This room had sort of a false wall that allowed his reloading equipment, ammo cans and gun safe to remain hidden. You opened the door to what looked like a walk-in closet. Only after entering the closet and closing the first door do you see the other door that leads into the room. In this 'hidden equipment room' Dan found his last case of 1000 230 grain FMJ bullets and pulled 1000 CCI primers from a drawer.

Dan always lived by the motto 'Buy it cheap and Stack it deep.' With his stash of .45acp now under 2500 he had a nervous tick with his left eye that just wouldn’t stop. Only after dumping the Bullseye powder in the Dillon and knowing he would be able to knock out the 1000 rounds in 2 hours, did he allow himself to exit the room and lay down on the sleeper sofa he keeps in his finished basement. The sofa was placed there for just this very reason. Cool, quiet and dark it was the perfect place for a night shift guy to sleep the day away. Only, as was usually the case, this time being no exception, Dan was to lazy to actually pull out the sleeper and just crashed on the couch, the stiff armrest resulting in a headache. The customary two 'sleeper' shots of Jack Daniels never helped either... And the beer chaser after that....

Looking at the clock on the wall through a sleepy haze, he sees that it is only 1520hrs. 'Five or six hours of sleep is not going to cut it after the last three days at work’ he thought as he dragged himself up and headed into the basements bathroom for a piss and to grab some aspirin. Downing three tablets with a glass of water Dan finds his cell phone and tries to call his girlfriend Jasmine, who works as an exotic dancer at the nearby Silver Slipper Saloon. Jasmine was also off work tonight after working the weekend and Dan was hoping to get a private showing tonight. She didn’t answer so he left her a message to stop by and wake him up in a few hours and grab a pizza on the way. Dan then managed to unfold the sleeper and quickly pass out again in a few short minutes...............

Dan awoke to what he thought were gunshots, close ones at that. What time is it? Where is Jasmine? Still trying to clear his mind he sees from his clock that it is 2140hrs.
“I slept six more hours!....Now I’m starving” He says aloud as he feels his belly rumble.
Picking up his phone he sees that he has no messages or missed calls. Slightly pissed that Jasmine has not even bothered to return his call he attempts to call her again.
This time Dan gets the automated. “We’re sorry all circuits are busy at this time, please try your call again later.”
With a sigh Dan sets the phone down and gets up stretching. After the much needed rest he felt ten times better, but needed some food. Since Jasmine had not shown up with a pizza he would have to settle for a frozen one. Picking out a Tombstone pepperoni from his deep freezer he walks upstairs and turns on the oven.

Dan lives in a split level on a dead-end street and does not get much traffic. He grabs a Coors Light from the fridge and wanders out onto his back deck to see if anything would lend a clue to the shots he heard. The deck sits up high enough that he can see into his neighbors yards but it’s dark outside and the nearest street light is out so he cannot see much. All is quiet and after a few minutes he decides they were probably just fireworks and heads back inside, leaving the patio door cracked to let in some fresh air. With the oven now hot, Dan slides in the pizza and sets the timer for 18 minutes, enough time to take a shower and clean up.

Starting the shower in his master bath, he gives it a few minutes to warm up and looks in the mirror at his face. The scar across his left cheek reminds him again of Jasmine, and the fact that she didn’t show up or call. Jasmine had a slight Heroin problem which Dan was trying to control. Several months ago he forced her into rehab after a nasty fight coming off a high led to her cutting his face with a box cutter in this very bathroom. She had seen a text message from his mother around Mothers Day and had accused him of cheating on her with some whore, flying into a fit of rage. Nearly losing his left eye was a wakeup call for Dan and sending her away had worked up to this point. She had stayed clean all summer. She had even managed to get back custody of her young son Jamal from DCFS last week. But he worried that in her line of work she hung around to many bad influences and maybe she had fallen off the wagon. She had been so good as of late at checking in.
Still looking at his scar in the mirror. "38 years old and I’m still having to deal with this shit…At least the sex is good." He chuckles.

Fifteen minutes later and with his shower complete, Dan dries off and puts on some jeans, a t-shirt and heads back toward the kitchen. Suddenly he stops in his tracks.
'Is that movement in my kitchen?' He wonders.
It was very subtle, but definitely there. Dan is only able to see the shadow of what looks like a human figure standing by his kitchen table reflecting off the wall of the hallway he is standing in. The shadow is distorted from the light but there is no mistaking its human form. His mind racing Dan runs through any possible explanation....Jasmine had a key to his house but she usually came in through the garage and Dan would have been able to feel the vibration of the garage door opening from his bathroom. And none of his neighbors would dare walk into his house unannounced.

Dan quickly backtracks to his bedroom and goes to his nightstand where his closest gun is located, his Grandfathers Colt 1911 from WW2 sits waiting. It had killed two Japs during the war and was Dan's closest option. Opening the drawer,  Dan panics as the pistol is not where he left it. With no time to wonder where it is, he races for his closet and pulls his Glock 21 duty pistol from his holster, which was draped over the hamper . Doing a quick press check to make sure a round is seated he again enters the hallway and sees from the shadow that the figure is still there but has shifted closer to the blind corner into the kitchen on his right, possibly setting an ambush. Dan can now here a low, heavy breathing sound coming from around the corner. With his heart now pounding in his chest Dan prepares to do for real what he has trained for all these years.

With his pistol at the low ready Dan shouts. "Jasmine is that you?" Before adding. "You know I don’t play like this and I’ve always got my gun so don't fuck around here!..................."

On queue a large male subject quickly appears from around the blind corner and heads right for Dan, a terrible scream echoing from his mouth. Dan quickly takes a step back and fires three quick shots at point blank range. All three found their mark as two crimson dots appear on the mans chest with the third shot striking the assailant in the head, causing it to snap back violently. Brain matter showered out the large exit wound left by the .45 hollow point. The intruder is now laying perfectly still on his back with his legs twisted grotesquely under his body.

It is over in seconds and Dan scans the room for any movement. Not seeing any sign of a second subject he approaches the fallen man.
'Damn!' He thinks. 'This was just as good for real as in my day dreams! What a rush!’
Dan is suddenly shaken as he recognizes the dead man as one of the dozen Hispanics who recently bought and moved into the house next door. Although packed into the residence pretty tight they had kept quiet, were hard working and had not given him any trouble. Despite the fact that the guy was missing part of his head, Dan could tell that the man had been sick. Dried blood was smeared from his nose and mouth and he almost looked yellow. He also had red streaks, radiating from his upper left arm running the length of it, and was wearing only a blood stained white t-shirt and boxers, no shoes or socks. It was obvious that the man wished him harm but Dan did not see a weapon visible. As Dan moved past the body into the kitchen he could see that his unlocked patio door was now open, and was the obvious point of entry. A bloody hand print left where it had been pushed open. He quickly decided to leave the door as it was for police documentation of the home invasion.

As Dan is processing all of this and contemplating his 911 call, he walks back to find his cell phone, which is on his nightstand with the open drawer and missing 1911. Dan now notices a slip of paper sitting in the bottom of the drawer that he missed earlier and picks it up. Dan, already in a daze from his first shooting, is failing to completely put together the fact that he is looking at a pawn receipt for 400.00 with what appears to be a Colt 1911 as collateral. Seeing red Dan suddenly becomes aware of what sounds like a vehicle flying down his street. The vehicle appears to be gaining speed as it approaches and Dan recognizes it as the familiar sound of Jasmines V8 Mustang GT. He also immediately realizes it will not be able to stop in time and is probably going to crash................. into his house.

Dan has only seconds to look out the front window and verify that it is Jasmines yellow Mustang and watch it slam into his garage in a deafening crash. His Dodge Durango is parked in the stall on the left, nearest the door. The other bay contains Dan's Harley Davidson Sportster. Jasmines Mustang manages to clip the passenger rear wheel of the Durango as it comes through his garage at an angle. This is shortly before hit smashes into the Harley and carries it through the garage into the backyard, coming to a rest in Dan’s now destroyed above ground pool, sending water flying in the air.

Now barley able to comprehend what has happened in the last five minutes, Dan exits out his back patio door and runs down the steps to the Mustang. He cannot help but stop and stare at the large hole in his garage, with his custom red toolbox smashed, laying on the ground. Scanning back he wants to cry at the sight of his Harley now pinned under the Mustang and submerged in water. The horn is blaring with a deafening moan and he can see Jasmine slumped over the wheel with the airbag deployed. Dan is not sure if he wants her alive or dead at this moment. Glancing again to his Harley sitting in the quickly draining pool and watching the water flooding into his yard and garage. Unable to think clearly until he can get the horn shut off Dan struggles through the water and is able to get the hood up far enough to rip the battery free. Returning to the drivers door he is now coughing from the airbag dust and can see that Jasmine is only semi-conscious and appears very sick. She is burning with fever and has a bloody nose which Dan assumes came from the air bag.
"Still looks like a million bucks though." He tells himself. "I can’t stay mad at you!"
She is still wearing her seat belt and Dan is unable to get it unbuckled. After a short struggle he takes a breather and tries to talk to Jasmine.
"What happened baby?" He asks. "Where have you been?

Jasmine can only whisper and relays how she had been giving a Mexican laborer a lap dance in the back room at work the previous night and he had become aggressive during the dance and ended up biting her left breast. She went home to clean it up but it had already become infected. She felt worse and worse and after sleeping most of the day decided to try to drive to Dan's house after she was unable to use her phone to call for help. She also relays how traffic is all backed up on I-80 and she had to take the back way in and was loosing consciousness at the end.
"Well you made it!" Dan sighs as he looks at his shattered garage, destroyed motorcycle and wrecked pool.
"Hold on a Minute and let me try to get you out of this car and inside."

Suddenly remembering the dead neighbor in his kitchen Dan is again overwhelmed on how his night is turning out.
'Why did she say the phones not working?' He wonders as he suddenly see's movement out of the corner of his eye. It seems that all the noise from the crash and blaring horn has drawn the attention of several more of his neighbors who lived with the now dead man laying in Dan's house. Dan goes to say a greeting in Spanish but hesitates, something is very, very wrong. The First man he sees is missing a large chunk of his neck and is stumbling his direction soaked in blood. Dan would think that he is coming for help except for the fact that the man has the same crazed look as his intruder he just put down, and is followed by two other females who although do not look hurt are acting in the same disturbing fashion. One of them is completely naked from the waist up and Dan hesitates for a moment, transfixed at the perfect B cups heading his way. Only snapped out of it by a sickly moan, Dan backs up and pulls his Glock from his waistband and orders them all to the ground.
"Get the fuck down now!" Dan yells with no effect. " Stop or I'll shoot God Damn it"

With the trio now only mere paces away Dan fires a shot into the lead subjects right leg. The man stumbles under the 800 foot pounds of energy that his leg just absorbed but continues on undeterred. Dan retreats again and fires two more rounds to the chest which knocks the man backwards into his following ghoulish looking harem. At this point he should have earned some compliance from the trio but they lurch forward undeterred. Dan has now lost his temper and a mixture of blind rage and pistol training kicks in and he steps forward raising his .45 to head level and completes his failure drill. His Glock locks back on an empty magazine in under 2 seconds and all three of his former neighbors fall from .45 caliber entrance wounds to the head.
"I'm fucked!" Dan says.

Turning to Jasmine he sees that she is now very much awake and has turned aggressive, thrashing in her seatbelt, unable to remove it and apparently not even trying too. As he walks over to her he is horrified to now see the same blank and menacing stare coming from his girlfriend. She is howling now and snarls in anticipation as he approaches. Her teeth showing her intentions, which are not their playful norm. Dan is mentally numb.... He looks at the three dead bodies in is yard and back at Jasmine who looks like she is coming off a weekend on Heroin.... "What.....The......Fuck.......... Zombies?!?"

Dan could have used a few minutes to let this all sink in but was not afforded the luxury. It will never be known for sure if the fire was electrical in nature from the water and damage to his garage or a gas leak due to a damaged line. Then end result is the same either way. Dan is snapped back to reality by the fact that his house is now on fire. And its spreading fast. Feeling the heat on the back of his neck, Dan slowly turns around to face the fire head on with a look of cold steel, only taking a quick second to feel a little sorry for himself.

He can see that it is useless to try to get back into his basement to grab anything and runs to the front of his house to his Durango sitting in the garage. The keys are in it and although the back tire is damaged he is able to back it out if the garage and into the street. His house is now totally engulfed and from here it looks to Dan like Jasmine is going to quickly go from very wet to very cooked. Rounds start cooking off in his basement and it's looking to be quite a show. The other neighbors who are home are now out watching in their yards. Dan was never all that friendly to any of them and they all keep their distance as Dan now looks totally oblivious to the fact that his house is burning down. They all stare in amazement as he walks to the Hispanics driveway, stopping at a late model 3500 Chevrolet dually with a wood box and filled with landscaping equipment. Dan knocks out the driver window with his empty pistol and always good with electronics he has the truck hot wired in seconds. Backing it up to his Durango he gets out of the truck and opens his back hatch retrieving his large B.O.B and Pelican rifle case. Dan opens the case and first grabs one of his several loaded magazines for his Glock 21 and slams it home.

Then he reaches for his rifle, a home build he is quite proud of. Working for a small department has it's privileges and especially when you are drinking buddies with the Chief. Department Letterhead can go a long way, even in a state like Illinois. A Spikes lower on a Bushmaster 11.5 inch chrome lined upper with Surefire Suppressor and scout light. The Gun was full auto capable with a LaRue BUIS and mounted Aimpoint Comp M4. With a Magpul CTR stock, Redi-Mag and a dozen extra loaded Pmags, Dan was always ready for war. Also in the case was his equally prized Springfield TRP 1911 with a Streamlight M3 light on the rail, along with a dozen loaded Wilson Combat mags for it. He kept a single point sling and Safariland drop holster in the case as well, and his 511 chest rig was always in the Durango's bed with the bags. Most of Dan’s friends thought of him as a survival nut, be he just called himself prepared. He always new this day would come. He just didn’t think it would be “Zombies” by any stretch of the imagination.

The Last bag Dan grabbed contained clothing and due to the fact that he was soaked to the bone and not wearing any socks or shoes, Dan strips down naked in the street in front of his remaining neighbors and changes into Woodland Camo BDU’s and Dry socks and boots. He does notice that he gets a lingering glance from his hot neighbor before she is dragged inside by her jealous husband.

Now dressed, Dan finds the box of Cuban Cigars he keeps in the glove box and 5’th of Jack from the center counsel. He also grabs his handheld Yaesu FT-60R 2-meter radio which was laying on the front passenger seat. Dan then finishes by throwing his B.O.B along with the secondary bag and pelican case in the back of his new ride and sets his carbine, locked and loaded, on the seat next to him. As he drives off he tells his asshole, know it all neighbor “ The end is here, hope your ready” and winks at the guys hot wife who is in her pajamas looking out through the front picture window . He would never see them again. And he wouldn't miss them either.

As Dan drives towards the Police Station he realizes that the Volunteer Fire Department never responded to his house fire. Even though it is now nearly 2300 hrs there is a lot of traffic on the street and some of it seems panicked. Arriving at the small station he finds it dark and empty of officers. There is only 3 officers and a Sergeant on duty at night, and after finding a spare radio he hears that his friend Sgt. Tom Ogle is out near the 122 exit to I-80 directing traffic. Deciding to head that way Dan first goes to the armory and punches in the code. Entering he takes one of the three cases of 5.56 ammunition from the shelf along with a case of 500 .45acp leaving the other three. Dan wants to leave the rest for his co-workers and thinks how ironic it is that he needs any ammunition at all, considering the thousands he had stored in his basement for just this occasion. It seems your plans only last until your first contact with the enemy, or in Dan’s case, a Zombie stripper girlfriend. Leaving the armory door cracked Dan exits the station and loads the ammunition in the back of the truck. Still hungry Dan raids the fridge and vending machine in the break room before leaving, finishing off a sandwich, chips and a 20oz Coke. He thinks of raiding the vending machine but holds off, knowing that he will be headed to his buddy Stephen’s house and others here may need the food. Being of like mind, Stephen is well stocked and there should be plenty to eat. Remembering to grab the box of 123 batteries he keeps in his locker, Dan now leaves the station and fights against the steady flow of traffic north the five blocks to where Tom is doing traffic, coming across several unattended minor accidents along the way.

When Dan pulls up to the intersection Sgt. Ogle is working, he nearly gets an ass chewing from his boss, who doesn't recognize him in the landscaping truck. It has been a long night and there is no end in sight.
"I thought you were some idiot trying to get around me and on to the Highway!" Tom yells as Dan exits the truck. "Where did you get the new wheels and why are you dressed for World War Three?"
"Long Story." Dan replies. "And what's the deal up here?"
"There was some sort of major traffic accident up the interstate about ten miles or so in Joliet's stretch of highway. First it just had west bound traffic blocked which would have left us ok, but then east bound got blocked as well. All the State Police in the district were sent there to help but now there is no word coming out. Last info we got was of a big fight that has spilled out onto the highway." Tom looks troubled as he continues. " I even sent Mel up the road to see what's going on and he hasn't shown back up either. We decided to get people off the highway and turned south to get around the crash and back on the highway. There is next to no traffic coming west bound and most of those that are seem to be in a pretty big hurry! We sent most of our EMS and Fire up to Joliet to help as well. Now we got traffic accidents stacking up and its a cluster. And the worst part is that from the sound of it on the radio this is not a localized event. If you want overtime we could sure use the help? I've got Bobby trying to get as many of our auxiliaries as he can get a hold of. I know you just came off your long work weekend."
"Well....." Dan pauses...." My house just burnt down and Jasmines dead... Along with several of my neighbors...... But not the hot one."
The big Sergeant nearly falls backwards..."What the fuck did you just say?" He had just recently been promoted and did not need this news added to his watch.

Dan proceeds to tell him of his recent escapades and his take on what is going on here, in Joliet, and from what he gathers around the country as well.
"I think the wheels are going to fall off very soon. I would get some barricades up on the highway and then get the hell out of dodge. I left most of the ammunition in the armory with the door unlocked. I'd divide it up with the rest of the boys and then get home to Susan and the kids."
Dan then adds "I have been expecting something to happen and my plans are already in place. My house burning down didn't help but I'll be fine. You are going to have to look out for your family though. Get as far away from Chicago as you can."
Tom looks visibly shaken and Dan can see his mind racing at top speed.
At that moment they both look up at the sound of helicopters and see a formation of six Army Blackhawk's heading east, fast and low.

Tom slowly nods his head in acceptance and snaps out of his deep thought. "That's the third formation I have seen in the last two hours, they are up to something. Thanks for the heads up Dan, I really appreciate it! My Family has 50 acres with a cabin outside of Peoria and I think my brother is already staying there on vacation this week. I will handle everything on this end and get on the road shortly."
Extending his hand Tom adds. "And it looks like we're all gonna have to eat crow for making fun of all your 'Coming Collapse' warnings these past few years. At least you did talk me in to preparing a bit."
Dan and Tom shake hands and Dan finishes the thought. "I'll see you when this is all over. If things get to bad in Peoria, you know where my place in Missouri is, just head there. I'm going up to a buddies now to figure this mess out."
At that Dan gets in his truck and drives north under the interstate. As he heads out of town he hears Tom ordering all his officers back to the station at once. Dan turns off the Radio and clears is mind, finally having time to reflect on the days events. It is only eight or so miles north to Stephen's place and he wonders what's next. Dan picks up his Ham radio and tries calling Stephen on there set channel.
“KC9*** from KC9### do you copy” Dan calls. After several tries he gives up and sets the radio back down. “Well, I’ll know more shortly......."

********

I look at my watch as I hurry out of the hospital trying to keep up with Mattie and Stephen. I can’t believe its already nearly 2000 hrs, I’m beat but If I say anything I’m sure Stephen will have some smart ass comment about my age.
Reaching the ambulance bay I see Stephen is already behind the wheel while Mattie is at her parked squad car opening the truck. I hear her yelling but I can’t make out what she is saying over the loud diesel engine of the ambulance.
“You need a hand with something?” I yell, at the same time seeing her lift a duty belt out of her trunk.
Running over to the squad, Mattie hands me the duty belt. “ This was Styles, We might as well hang on to it. I secured his equipment in my trunk after he got hurt. I have his shotgun as well,” as she lifts the black soft case from her trunk and closes the lid.
I can see Mattie start to tear up as she turns to face me.
“He was such a good guy Mike, I can’t believe what I just saw happen to him.” She says crying.
I reach to give Mattie a hug and I am distracted as suddenly Stephen is firing his Glock again. Turning to look, I see a Zombie fall at the entrance to the ambulance bay. Another is stumbling as Stephen fires several more shots before a head shot puts it down for good. Both appeared to be former patients and I’m sure there will be more showing up shortly.
“We gotta go kids." Stephen says. "No time for hugs and kisses right now!”

Stephen now has the ambulance moving and Mattie and I barely have time to jump in the open back doors with the gear as the ambulance picks up speed.
"If I didn’t know better I would think he would have left us!" I joke to Mattie, trying to lighten the mood.
Stephen drives the ambulance south to Rt.30 yelling something about trying to avoid the mess we had left behind when I picked him up. Looking at the fuel gage I hear him curse the Firemen for not filling it up.
“We got a quarter tank.” Stephen yells back to Mattie and I, who are struggling to not be thrown on the floor by Stephens erratic driving. “That’s about 10 gallons I think, which should get us maybe a hundred miles max. That is plenty to get the fifteen or so to my place so we can worry about fuel later. I’m thinking you guys are gonna want to stop by your places and pick up some essentials?”
"Yes and lets try to get there in one piece if possible." I respond as Stephen swerves around yet another traffic accident.
"It does not seem nearly as bad this way." Stephen remarks. "It's defiantly going to get worse from the looks of it so far, but we may have enough time to get out of here!"

Looking out the windshield I am amazed to see a few shoppers walking in to a still open Walgreens like any given Monday, seemingly unaware of the carnage going on mere blocks away.
"Maybe Stephen is right?" I say to Mattie, offering a reassuring smile.
"Hey Mattie, by the way, does your radio work? Stephen and I have both lost ours."
"No" she replies, "I have not heard anything from dispatch in awhile. I think we have lost the station to these......"
"Their Zombies." Stephen chimes in. "We can check on the station later. I want to get home and do some refitting, and we could all use some rest."

As we get close to the Des Plaines river that runs through the down town area we are disheartened to see that the draw bridge over the river is up. The bridges are a constant cause of traffic delays as they must raise to let passing barges through. Looking up and down the river I see no barge traffic and decide to go have a look. Working midnights I have had a chance to shoot the shit with the bridge tender Frank and maybe he is still here, as I see his blue van parked nearby. As Stephen slows the ambulance to a stop I yell to Mattie to provide some cover while I investigate. Exiting the side door I walk up to the stone structure that houses the bridge tender. It is rock solid with a steel door and contains a small apartment that should have kept Frank out of harms way for an extended period of time. I notice there is a stalled out car pushed to the side of the road and it appears a few buildings have the front windows smashed out but there is no people or infected in sight. I have to pound on the door several times with my Asp before Frank's head appears in the small glass window.
"What's up with the bridge Frank?" I flatly ask. "We really need to get across."
"Can't do it. Got orders strait from Springfield to raise these bridges and not let anyone cross." Frank replies while shaking his head. "Sounds like some kind of quarantine. And people are acting crazy…. I saw that car over there get mobbed by a group of people and they chased the family right over the wall into the river! The mob then just jumped in after them and they all got swept away. Happened so fast I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Tried calling 911 but got no answer. I think people are getting sick or something.”
"Listen!" I respond with a raised voice. "You know me damn it! Now look at me! We are not sick and have seen first hand what is going on. We are all in a world of shit and it's only gonna get worse and quick. You are going to be in a world of shit here real soon and need to get out of here as well!"

A quick recap of my observations and experiences the last couple hours goes a long ways to convincing Frank to lower the bridge. Leaving Styles Glock 17 along with his two extra magazines seals the deal. Frank also informs me that since losing his wife to cancer last year he has no reason to even go home and is going to try to ride it out in the bridge house. He has a lot of food and water, a bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. All in a secure 2-story building.
"Not a bad spot." I say and give Frank the thumbs up in the direction of the tower as the bridge begins to lower. "I'll try to make it back in a few days to check on you!"

I end up having to race back to the ambulance for the second time as it appears Stephen is again content to leave me behind, already having the big GMC on the move. Mattie helps pull me in with a chuckle.
"Try and keep up bitch!" Is all I can make out from Stephen up in the drivers seat as he honks the horn to Frank as he crosses the bridge.
After we reach the west bank and roll into a residential area we make good time on the mostly empty side streets and quickly cover the few miles to my house, with Stephen only having to drive in a couple of yards to avoid traffic. He doesn't even bother to use the siren. The people we do see have a grim mix of determination and helplessness on there face, heading either on foot or in vehicles to their destinations. Some to homes for safety and others just out and away, with no place to go other than away from here.

The scene becomes even more ominous as we begin to hear the sound of the tornado sirens which have been apparently going off in the central district of town. And the final piece of the morbid landscape falls into place as a flight of Army Blackhawk helicopters thunders overhead. This momentarily distracts Stephen who, like a five year old, is fascinated by aircraft.
“Keep your eyes on the road or we will be walking” I yell.
“Relax, I got this.” Stephen replies as we bounce abruptly off yet another curb. “I wonder where they are headed in such a hurry?”
I go to reply, but I am drawn to a scene playing out in a large park near my house. A very overweight man is running through the park maybe two hundred yards to our right. He appears to be quickly running out of steam as the group of Zombies is quickly closing the gap. Just as I am going to yell up to Stephen to see if we should stop and help, the fat man trips and falls. Before he can rise he is swarmed and I don’t bother to say anything. I look over and see that Mattie has not noticed the fat mans last minute alive.
‘Just as well.’ I think to myself. 'She didn't need to see that anyway.'

Pulling up to my humble abode was disheartening. It seems to be intact, but several of my nearby neighbors’ homes looked vacant or damaged in some way. Most probably have fled or barricaded themselves inside, and they were the lucky ones. Many were probably in route to their homes when this all went down and are probably stuck in traffic far from home. In the darkening gloom, I can see furtive movements in the shadows, unknown if friendly or foe from where I stand.
“I will pull guard duty while you load your stuff Mike.” Stephen offers.
“Sounds good," I reply. "Mattie, can give me a hand carrying supplies out?”
“I will gladly help you Mike.” She answers.
“Good!" you smell better than Stephen anyhow.” I joke.

Climbing down from the ambulance I do a 360 degree scan of my immediate area, seeing the coast is clear I wave for Mattie to follow me. Opening the gate to my fenced in yard I walk to my front door. I don’t see any tampering to the door and put the key in and unlock the deadbolt. For inside I hear the deep roaring bark of ‘Bruiser’. I push open the door and meet my dog who almost tackles me while licking my face ferociously. He quickly ignored me to investigate Mattie and soon was clamoring for attention and trying to lick her face as well.
"Hey Bruiser! Long time no see buddy!" She asks with her spirits a little raised by the friendly dog. "What's it been, a few hours?"
I pry him off of her. “Alright dog, get down, go out and do your thing boy.” And with that I shove him outside.
As he bounded past Mattie and out the door, I paused, turning back to the inside of my home and looked at her.
“Say…did you close the front gate after you passed through?” I asked her.
“Umm no I did not, is that a problem?" She replied.
I slowly leaned to the right and looked over her shoulder, out the door and down the sidewalk at Bruiser taking a huge dump….right next to my wide open front gate!
“Oh no! Bruiser!" I yelled.
Bruiser, now finished with his dump, and facing the open gate looked at me from over his shoulder.
“Don’t you dare boy.” I ordered.
Bruiser, with his tongue lolling from his fang filled maw gives me a laughing looks and explodes into a full out sprint through the front gate. The last thing I see of him is when he paused to piss on my neighbors Mercedes and then was gone.
I close my eyes and groaned as I slap my hand over my face. A small hand is laid upon my shoulder. “I am so sorry Mike.” Mattie said.
“Don’t sweat it." I reply reassuringly. "He runs away every chance he gets anyway. I am tired of looking for him. Let’s get to work. You bag up all of the food in the kitchen and take it out to the ambulance."

While she sets to work in the kitchen, I decide to change out of my zombie blood soaked BDU's. I grab a pair of olive drab 5.11 tactical cargo pants, and my favorite workout shirt (old Metallica t-shirt). I pull on my swat combat boots and grab a large duffel bag and pack as many changes of clothes I can inside of it. Yanking the zipper shut I head out of the bedroom to the front door where I drop the duffel bag. Next I grab a empty pillow case and head into the bathroom and toss every piece of personal hygiene products I own into it followed by every roll of toilet paper. I have spent way too much time in the field to forget one of the best luxuries to have…something to wipe one owns ass is worth more than gold.
Back out to the front door again I grab the duffel and head to the ambulance and toss them inside. I see Stephen on top of the truck staring down the street with Glen Styles 870 at the ‘ready’ position.
“What’s up bro?” I asked. “We got trouble?”
“Not sure yet, take a look.” He said, and pointed down the street by nodding his head to where he was looking.
Turning, I look down the street and observe a handful of infected munching on a neighbor of mine. They have been at it for a while now as he is missing an arm and most of his left leg.
“Keep your eye on them."  I say. "If they get bored and want fresh meat, put them down fast. We want to draw as little attention to us as possible while we are vulnerable right now.”
“Will do chief.” Stephen says.
I head back inside and check on Mattie’s progress and see her munching on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“That looks good, why don’t you make a bunch." I mention to her. "Take a few out to Stephen. We could all use the chow right about now.”
Mattie nods her head yes and tries to say something around a mouthful of food. I walk past her and down into the basement and stop to take a long look around my gym. Sad to say that I am more pissed off and sad that I will not be able to keep my workout routine now that the world is fighting for survival. Kind of callous after so many people have died and been born again as a flesh eating Zombie, but if it keeps me from snapping I really could care less.

I walk through my workout area and over to my ‘prep’ section and start hoofing 5 gallon water bottles up to the ambulance. It takes several trips as I have around 14 full bottles to carry as well as 10 cases of bottled water. Next I grab two military duffel bags and toss every box, can, bag of stored food off my shelves into them. Another trip out to the ambulance; starting to work up a sweat now. I look over to see what the status of those infected bastards are and see several corpses lying in the street. I look up at Stephen questioningly.
“They got tired of dead meat and wanted yours truly to munch on. I disagreed with their line of thinking." He said and shrugged his shoulders as he is feeding shells into the bottom of the 870.
“I’ll try to hurry.” I say. "I Didn't even hear the shots."
“Might be a good idea, the noise probably will draw more to us now.” He replied, pumping the action of the reloaded shotgun.

Back inside I tell Mattie to lug all the bagged food to the ambulance and meet me downstairs when she is done. Heading back down I open my gun lockers, reaching in I remove my personal Bushmaster AR-15 with an EoTech 552 and lock and load a 30 round magazine. I also grab a small bag and toss 10 more loaded magazines into it. Setting it aside I then pull out my ‘Zombie Killer’. A Mossberg 500 12 gauge with folding stock pistol grip and side saddle shell holder. I load the shotgun to capacity and retrieve a bandolier with 20 extra shells loaded onto it. Next I grab another bag and load all remaining shotgun rounds into it. Inside was approximately 500 shells of mixed type; ranging from slugs to buckshot and birdshot.
Mattie comes down the steps and I hand the rifle and magazines to her, “Here, this is for you. Now carry these upstairs.” I say and hand her a few .22 caliber rifles and load up a large rucksack with all remaining .223 ammo as well as 9mm, .38, .45, and .22.
I was never able to stack the ammo quite as deep as Stephen or our buddy Dan, but I always kept at least 500 rounds of each.

Mattie grunts as she takes hold of the backpack I give to her with one arm and staggers under its weight. Mattie heads upstairs and I open another locker and take a look at my other hobby. I like knives; blades of any kind. Small folder blades, fixed blade sheaths, swords, machetes’, even a few axes. The beauty of the knife is that you do not need to reload it.
I reach in and grab one of my favorites. It’s an Ontario Spec Plus survival machete. It’s made of really thick steel with a square tip and a rubber non-slip grip. I am dying (no pun intended) to try it out on one of the zombies. I also pull out a huge Bowie knife. I actually took possession of this bad boy from a Mexican on a traffic stop. It was in the trunk of a beat up Chevy and was rusted real bad. I had brought it home and cleaned it up to a mirror polish over several hours of cleaning. It is close to the Spec Plus in size and weight, so I belt the Bowie knife to my left and strap the Spec Plus on my right. Next I grab my Colt Commander 1911 .45 pistol and that goes into a holster on my right hip. I pull out a shoulder holster for my Glock and holster it as well once I get it fastened on. I toss all remaining spare magazines for the pistols into my cargo pockets. Next I grab my already
packed 3 day bug out bag and my much larger long term camping Ranger rucksack. I toss two .38 caliber revolvers into the bug out bag. My uncle gave me the old Colt Detective Special years ago for helping him roof his house, and the other was a cheap Taurus that was to good of a deal to pass up from the pawn shop that was in my old patrol zone. Again I run, sort of, upstairs and toss the gear into the ambulance.
“One last trip Stephen." I said. "Mattie stay here and help Stephen stand watch.”

Not waiting for a reply I run back inside and grab my shotgun downstairs and another bag that I fill with every blade that I had collected over the years. Never know when someone might need one. I am about to lock my lockers back up and stop. I would rather some looter see them empty than destroy them to get inside only to find them empty. Might come back someday, don’t want the house destroyed if can be helped. On impulse I grab my I-Pod filled with all of my workout music and car charger/player.
One last thing before I leave, I set out a bag of dog food and cut it open spilling its contents on the floor as well as a large bowl of water in case my idiot dog ever returned. I don’t bother shutting the door either, just in case.
Tossing the blades into the back of the ambulance I climb in and shut the door. Stephen already is behind the wheel and puts the big truck into gear. Next stop, Mattie’s place.

We do not need to go far, as she lives relatively nearby. As we pull up to her apartment complex, Stephen once again pulls guard duty while me and the distractingly hot Greek babe head into her building. Sporadic shots echo in the distance. Some really close, most way off from our position. What we do hear the most are the blood curdling screams of people on the losing end of a zombie lunch break. The front door to the building is made of glass, which is shattered on the ground. Crunching glass under my boots sounds like a pack of black cat firecrackers to me. I step through the void where the window was, I wave Mattie in after checking for infected.
She tells me she lives up on the third floor at the other end of the building.
(Of course she does.)

With my shotgun ready, stock folded from the tight confines, I lead the way up the stairs as Mattie covers our backside with the Bushmaster.
Reaching the top floor without incident, we quickly traversed to her apartment. As she unlocked the door, I hear the adjacent apartment door open. My shotgun fly’s up and halts inches from the face of a middle aged female holding trash bags. Her eyes damn near pop out of her head and shrieks in fear and slams the door in my face.
“Nice one Mike.” Mattie kidded “Get inside please.”
I walked inside and she shut the door behind me. She tells me she does not have much in the way of supplies as she just had moved here about two weeks prior. She heads to the bathroom to pack up some items and tells me to grab a duffel bag out of her room.

I look around and laugh at the difference between her place and mine. My place is (or was) filled with weapons of war and workout equipment with little care of interior decoration. Hers was filled with girly furniture with frilly pillows everywhere. Baskets and candles that served no purpose other than decoration where placed all over and the scent of potpourri filled the apartment. My place probably smelled like a gym.

I head into her bedroom and look at her bed that had a large comforter blanket on it with a flower pattern. I look around for the duffel bag when a flash of metal makes me look closer at the headboard. On both sides of the headboard were sets of handcuffs latched onto the posts.
"My, my, my…bad, bad girl. God bless her!" I whisper.
Next, I look over and see an open dresser drawer next to me. Looking down I see several pairs of lacey panties and thongs of all different colors while thinking...'Yes definitely God bless her.'
“I don’t think that will protect me from Zombies.” A voice says right behind me.
I jump about six inches in the air and the black thong I am holding goes flying into the air and lands on top of my head as I spin around.
Mattie slowly reaches up and pulls them off my head as I stammer out a perfectly good reason for why I appear to be raiding her panty drawer.
“Maybe I will pack some of these for a later time to model for you.” She said teasingly.
I retreat from the room as if it was filled with zombies as her giggling chased after me.

Shortly after, and with her quickly changing into different clothing we grabbed the few bags that she wanted and headed back to the ambulance. Exiting the building we could see a very large group of infected heading towards us from about 50 feet away. Stephen looks up at us from staring down the reflex sight on my newly reloaded Colt M4.
“Oh good, you made it." He said. "I thought I was going to have to waste more ammunition on these guys.”
Climbing inside the cab, he throws the ambulance into gear and takes off to finish our long trek to his place. This time giving us the courtesy of first finding a seat in the now heavily loaded back end of the ambulance.

Looking out the rear of the rig, I see the large group of zombies running after us for a few moments and then retreat into the darkness behind us, disappearing out of the reach of the street lights. I’m sure to seek out new and easier victims.
"This city is done for.' I think to myself. 'And probably the entire country as well if Joliet is any indication. Darker days are coming, that's for certain. We just need to persevere for a time in order to organize and eventually triumph over these infected bastards. I wonder how many people will be able to pull through?'

A bump knocks me out of my daydream and returns me to the present, thankful I'm still alive and with friends. Mattie is sitting next to me on the floor resting her head on my lap while Stephen has turned up the radio and is greeted on all stations by the Emergency Alert Tone and the message.........
“This is The Emergency Broadcast System. This is not a test. Please remain in your homes and standby for further instructions.”
The tone and message plays over and over again as Stephen quietly heads west on Rt. 52 to his residence and relative safety.

********

Chris Jacobs Sits on the roof of Stephens house, next to the 2-meter antenna that has a commanding view of the neighborhood and cornfields that stretch as far as the eye can see to the west. Chris had known the code to Stephens garage and had let himself in. Stephen’s squad car was gone so he had obviously made it to work. All the lights were off and Stephen’s old beagle Buddy greeted him at the door with a wagging tail. Not much of a watch dog. Chris grabbed a Coke out of the fridge and made a quick sweep of the house to make sure it was empty, knowing that Buddy had not done so himself. Finding it all clear Chris relaxed for the first time all day. Not sure how long he would be staying, he left his truck loaded and backed into the driveway. He then got out a ladder and climbed onto the roof with his rifle to wait and watch for Zombies or someone else to show up. The backyard was enclosed by a six foot cedar fence so he was not worried about that direction. Plus that was where the cornfields faced, so Chris focused his attention to the east and the subdivision streets that led to the house. OP duty was easy for Chris after his last deployment and it felt good to test his senses again. Off in the distance he could hear the warning sirens but the neighborhood was quiet. An occasional car would speed by and a few gunshots could be heard to the east, in a different neighborhood.

It’s now shortly before midnight and Chris is starting to wonder if anyone is going to make it when he sees the headlights of a truck turn up the street towards the house. It looks like an old landscaping truck and sure enough it slows in front of Stephen’s house. Chris is prone out on the roof, overlooking the peak, and moves the selector switch on his rifle to Fire.
A man exit’s the driver door and Chris yells the command “ Stop or I’ll shoot” in his best police voice.
His finger is on the trigger waiting for the man to give him any reason to put him down.
“Hey, hold on buddy!” Dan Wayne yells as he stops and raises his hands. “My name is Dan and I’m a friend of Stephens. I am supposed to rendezvous here in the event of an emergency. Maybe you are too? I’ve probably even met you.”

Chris thinks back to some of the 'meetings' Stephen would insist on that would usually end up turning into a drinking party.
‘There was a guy named Dan who would show up time to time.' He remembers vaguely. 'He always had some drama going on that usually involved his crack whore stripper girlfriend, I think her name was Jasmine?’
Chris hits the light on his rifle and the Silhouette of Dan is unmistakable.
Chris sighs, asking. “Where is your girlfriend?”
“She’s a Zombie.” Dan replies. “ Where's yours?”
“Ran off and stole my car.” Chris replies bluntly.
Dan laughs….. “Can I put my hands down now?”
“Yeah, back into the spot next to me." Chris replies as he heads down the ladder. "Where did you get that truck? I thought you had a Durango or something?"  
“That’s a long story."  Dan replies. "I’ll just leave the other spots in the driveway for someone else. I don’t have to much stuff”
Stephen has a three car garage but really only enough room for two vehicles  in the driveway.

As the two men grab the few items located in the bed of the truck they both here the sound of a large diesel roaring down the street. They turn to see a Joliet Fire Dept. ambulance barreling down the driveway and slamming to a stop directly in front of the driveway, the headlights blinding them.
As the driver door opens they hear a familiar voice say “ That was awesome…. I’ve always wanted to drive one of these!”
The side door opens and Mike steps out and turns to help Mattie exit the raised truck. They walk to the front of the ambulance and see Chris and Dan standing in the parkway.
“Well look who made it!” Dan and Mike both say at the same time.
“Who is the hot chick?” Is the next words out of Dan’s mouth.
Mattie chuckles and says “Nice to meet you to.”
While Dan continues to stare at Mattie, Stephen gives him a friendly shove. “Hey buddy, glad you made it, and Chris, well I’m not to surprised. Let’s get this thing backed up into the driveway and get inside, out of the open before we draw anymore attention to ourselves."
Everyone's spirits seemed raised as the garage door lowers, offering a chance at safety and much some needed rest.

Nice keep up the good work.

Great chapter. I could really relate to this line:

Awesome!  

I Rost when the panties landed on his head......

worth the wait.......

KEEP GOING!!!

Excellant update, keep it flowing. I love the zombie stripper girlfriend. LOL.

I just wanted to take a second and thank you for posting this.  I really like the writing style, perfect mix of gear porn + action.  Great read for stress relief.  Feel free to abandon whatever you do with your days now to write full time and post it all here at the end of the day

Thanks...... I'm having a lot of fun with it and wish I did have more time!

Off to a GREAT start.
I like the preparedness group buddy theme you got goin here.

One correction. You got the old saying wrong. You said:

“Stack it cheap and Stack it deep.”
it is really:
"Buy it cheap, stack it deep."

Besides that, great work!
More please

fixed it, thanks

Good story so far.

Keep it up

Chapter 5 ended up being massive and by far the biggest yet. Just got it out to be proof read now. I will get it up Friday but it will be in the evening. Funny thing is chapter 6 is almost done as well.
Thanks all

sweet!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 5: Well we made it....Now what?................Coming 09/10/10

<patiently waiting...>  

Chapter Five: Well we made it..... Now what?
Day 2

Everyone was completely exhausted after the day's ordeal, with the exception of Dan, who had slept all day and agreed to keep watch during the night. We all decided that it wasn't necessary for him to do it from the roof, as the upstairs office window afforded an excellent view. He was already set up as I exited the shower in Stephen's spare bathroom across the hall from the office in which he is sitting in the dark. He is methodically loading .223 rounds from a plastic ammo can into a stack of 30 round GI magazines. Through the steady click of the seating rounds I can hear Stephen, Mattie and Chris talking down stairs while fixing some dinner as I sit on the edge of the desk that faces the window.
"Man I feel a hundred times better" I say to Dan as I check out the street view for myself through the open shades.
"Why don't you do me a favor and shut off the light in the bathroom so your not back lighting me. Didn't they teach you anything up here in Joliet?" Dan snaps back.
Already off to a fantastic conversation, I quickly run and turn off the light and return to hear Dan chime in with "That's better son."
"Son?" I reply, "I'm older than you!"
"Hey, What's the situation with your friend Mattie down there?" Dan asks, quickly changing the subject.
"I don't think you two would be very compatible Dan, but she is single so give it your best shot if you want." I reply. "I thought you were seeing that stripper Jasmine?"
"I called it off today....As Dan began to tell me of his very eventful day he was interrupted by Mattie shouting from downstairs.
"Mike! You may want to come see this!" she called from the family room.

Bounding down the stairs I find all three sitting on the couch glued to the TV. A pile of sandwiches laid on the coffee table with Buddy the fat beagle staring at the plate with obvious intent. I was the last to shower and the TV had not been on prior. Stephen was a big fan of FOX News and that was the channel they were now watching. An anxious reporter who I didn't recognize was offering an overview of the developing national emergency. The lead story in the crises was at the onset the President had been at a Pro-Immigration rally in Arizona and had been attacked during a speech at 3:45 EST. There was video footage that had been playing all afternoon that had caught the attack from several angles. A disturbance began in the front of the crowd and several subjects rushed the stage. Gunshots rang out and all of the attackers were struck but still managed to overcome the secret service and reach the President. He was quickly evacuated, but from Stephens 46" Sony HDTV and with the help of the Fox Camera's it could be clearly seen that the President had been bitten in his right shoulder. No official statement had been released from the White House but it was obvious that the situation was deteriorating rapidly. The Vice President was uncounted for at this time and it was unclear who was in charge. A National Emergency had been declared and all Active Duty and Reserve Military personnel were being activated and were to report to their post immediately. (Chris gives a "Yeah Right" to the TV at that remark.) The reporter went on, explaining that several State Governors had declared a state of emergency but that Martial Law was not in effect, mostly due to the lack of leadership from the top. Nobody knew who was in charge.  

More stories followed including first hand accounts of several people describing how they had been attacked by friends and neighbors, some of whom had suffered wounds that should have left them incapacitated. The first hand accounts are not common as word is just not getting out from the areas hardest hit. While this was playing a large map of the United States was put up with red dots showing areas of the country experiencing unrest. At least a hundred dots litter the map, around every major urban area in the country. Grabbing a sandwich I watch as helicopter footage of downtown New York City shows several large fires and a massive group of people crossing the Brooklyn bridge in a panic. This to must have been earlier footage as it slows to show a massive fireball erupt and the center of the bridge collapse as two F-18 Hornets streak overhead. The coverage then switches back to the President being attacked, offering no new information.

Stephen gets off the couch, grabbing a couple sandwiches, tosses  Buddy one, which is immediately woofed down, and announces he is going to  check and see if AR-15.com is still up, and then hit the sack. "There are a bunch of tough mother fuckers who belong to the site, especially on the Survival Forum. I'm on there all the time and if any group of guys will pull through this, it will be them! Everyone fend for yourself as far as sleeping arrangements for the rest of the night. I have an extra bedroom upstairs if anyone wants it!" He yells climbing the stairs to his bedroom.
Mattie claims the spare bedroom of course, but wants to get some local news first and changes the channel. Several stations are already off line, but she finds that the local NBC affiliate, WMAQ out of Chicago (NBC 5) is still on the air. It is obvious that the female reporter was crying off stage and has red tearing eyes, but is putting on a brave face while interviewing a professor from Northwestern University. He is explaining how a virus of some sort must be responsible, and according to his calculations it has already spread to far to be stopped. The professor is pale white, and visibly shaken himself as they watch video footage coming in, being filmed just blocks away from the studio. A large crowd is advancing down the street after having breached a hastily assembled police barricade. The High Definition cameras catch the fleeing officers firing wildly and then focus on a woman dressed in an expensive suit attacking an elderly man who was unable to out run the advancing mob. Catching him she savagely begins tearing into the back of his neck. The crew abandons the camera and it is left on the street with the lens focusing on the dead mans face laying on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. Suddenly he blinks and staggers to his feet, disappearing from sight. All that remains in view is feet moving quickly past and the heart breaking screams for help.

The studio pops back on screen and the Professor quickly rises from his chair and states that they should all try and get out of the city. The news anchor interrupts him, again repeating the advice of the City government to remain in your homes and allow police and EMS crews to contain the situation. Having seen enough I decide to head to the quiet of the basement for some sleep. I saw plenty of drama in person and don't need anymore on TV. It has been a long day and morning will be hear soon enough.
"Good night Mattie." I say. "Don't stay up to late."
"Good night Mike, and thanks again for today" she replies.
"No problem, I'll see ya in the morning." Chris looks like he his already sleeping as I head down stairs. Stephen keeps a spare cot in the corner and I grab a sleeping bag and lay down. I should be asleep any se.....................

********

It's just after 0800 hours and Dan is watching the neighbors across the street loading up their Dodge Caravan in a panic. The wife has been throwing unpacked items, mostly food and clothing into the back while her husband is strapping a mattress and box spring to the roof. Two little girls are sitting on the front steps with pink backpacks on. Dan guesses they are maybe 6 and 8 years old and are both crying. He shakes his head in wonder how a father could be so unprepared for a family emergency. There is obviously no planning in to what is being loaded or probably where they are headed to as well. The man is now yelling at his wife who has spilled a case of bottled water all over the driveway, and you can here the panic in his voice even from here. Dan is sure they won't make it to far.
This is the third family he has seen leave in the last hour and they all have left under similar circumstances. It takes 15 to 20 minutes more for them to finally get out of the driveway and on the road, the van looking heavy and overloaded. Dan has not seen a Zombie all night and the only real action has been the many vehicles speeding out of the subdivision. It sounds like Mattie and Chris fell asleep watching TV in the living room but the sound is turned to low for him to make out what is being said. He is sure that it is not good news. But the sun is bright and the air is clear, a otherwise perfect Fall morning.

Stephen, now awake and refreshed after a solid eight hours of sleep, exits his bedroom fully dressed just as Dan spots his next door neighbor speed walking to the front door. "Looks like you got company" Dan says as the front doorbell rings." I would have shot him but I don't think he is sick. He looks way to scared to be a Zombie."
Stephen peers out the upstairs window at the man who he can tell is quite agitated.
"That's Paul Tucker, my liberal neighbor, who hates guns and is probably scared shitless right about now." Stephen replies. "I can only imagine what he wants? I guess he didn't feel like going into the office today."
Paul worked as a sub-prime mortgage lender, Stephen recalls. 'One of the guys who was helping bring about the collapse of this great nation.'  
Taking the opportunity to rub the present situation in Paul's face Stephen bounds down the stairs, his knee feeling much better, and opens the front door but being sure to leave the glass storm door locked.
"What's up Paul?" Stephen says with as little emotion as possible. "Watching any TV? Bet you wished you owned a gun right now! Things are looking mighty bad out there. I saw it first hand yesterday."
"My wife and Daughter are really scared Stephen, they are both at home in tears right now!" Paul stammers, barely able to keep from crying himself. "Can't we set politics aside for now? We could really use some help. I don't know what to do. Our car is nearly out of gas and Vanessa is close to having a breakdown worrying about her family up in the city. I feel helpless to protect her and Britney. The phones aren't working and we can't call for help. Your a cop, what should we do?"

As much as Stephen wanted to tell his liberal neighbor "Too bad, go pound sand!" Stephen had a soft spot for Paul's wife Vanessa, who was a very polite and attractive woman, always waving hello or bringing over leftovers. Plus they always watched his beagle Buddy when ever he was out of town, like just this past weekend. Their daughter Britney was a little sweetheart and very smart for her age. He just bought lemonade from her stand last week. He couldn't just turn his back on them.
"Try and relax Paul." Stephen replies. " I have plenty of help here and we will keep your house covered for the time being. You have enough food and water over there?"
"We have enough for a few weeks or more." Paul replies. "I saw to that."
"Hang on a second." Stephen says and leaves the door returning a few moments later with a 100 gallon water bob for a tub. "Fill this just in case." This afternoon you can have Vanessa and Britney come over for lunch and my friend Mattie can help calm them down. I'll get a hold of you later." Stephen then closes the door, leaving Paul standing holding the card board box, still looking quite his pathetic liberal self.

Stephen then walks down to his basement and clicks on the lights. Mike is still sleeping over in the corner on the cot but Stephen knows that when Mike is passed out, it is like trying to raise the dead to wake him up!
Stephen walks over to his row of plastic shelving that runs around the back side of his unfinished basement. Stephen is a bit of a survivalist, or "Prepper" as the trendy people now call it. The shelves are filled with everything necessary to live on your own for an extended period of time. He has enough bulk food and canned goods to last 2 people at least 18 months. Stephen also went to great care to have a wide variety of food and drink options. Cans of various fruits and vegetables filled several shelves along with two hundred cans of Campbell’s Chunky soup, which Stephen loved and often ate. Canned Tuna, hams and canned chicken filled another. Cases of bottled water filled several shelves and were often rotated. Water filters supplemented this along with several empty drinking water jugs that could be filled on a moments notice. ’We may want to boil water and fill these today.’ Stephen thinks to himself. He next eyes his pallet of food grade buckets containing 300 pounds of rice sealed in Mylar bags with oxygen absorbers. Several other buckets contained pinto beans, oats, pasta, flour, and cereals. Five 40lb bags of Iams dog food rested on the last shelf in the row. Just inside of that was a shelf containing 150 Military MRE’s which he picked up on his several trips to the Knob Creek Machine Gun Shoots over the years. Stephen wishes he had the use of the M249 SAW he rented the last time he was there in April.

The shelves on the other wall contained hunting and camping gear along with several pre-packed bug out bags. Medical and Hygiene supplies filled one shelf each. In the far back end of the basement Stephen kept his reloading equipment, Ham Radio, and gun safes. Stephen only had Hornady single stage presses (2) which were not nearly as fast as Dan’s Dillon but they got the job done. His Yaesu FT-1900 2-meter radio ran to an antenna on his roof and he also had the hand held Ft-60R. An Eaton UPS kept the Ham’s up in the event of a power outage. As Stephen looks at the batteries he wonders how the long the grid power will stay on? A day, maybe two?
Walking over to his safe Stephen dials in the combination to the large Sentry 24 gun unit. He removes his favorite AR-15, a factory built Bushmaster 16” carbine with an Aimpoint M2 in a LaRue mount and BUIS. A LaRue mount also carried a Surefire 6P LED light on the rail. The CTR stock and MOE pistol grip were OD green along with the rail covers, which gave it a distinct look compared to most of his buddies black rifles. Stephen also eyed his other two AR’s. A mid-length build with an EoTech 512 and a factory DPMS 20” that had an ACOG TA01 scope mounted on a flat-top receiver. Stephen knew that all three rifles would soon be tested and he was glad to have them. Leaving the other two in the safe for the time being he checks to make sure the Bushy is loaded and attaches the one point sling that hangs from the safe door. Stephen also removes his Polish AK47 Underfolder from the safe and seats a 30 round magazine. The small overall length will make it an ideal truck gun. His Springfield M1A Standard he leaves in the safe for now as well.

Stephen next eyes his handguns. Being a big fan of 1911’s he grabs his SW1911 from the top shelf in the safe. He had dropped an extra grand into the gun in high end Wilson upgrades. Night sights, Mag-well, ambi-safety, and action job just to name a few. He wants to put it to work, and will always keep it on him, but since headshots are key he decides that the big .45 with it’s 8 round magazines might not be as effective as his 9mm with it's high capacity mags. Stephen Grabs his Beretta M9, a favorite of his at the range. He is much more accurate with it than with his city issued Glock and has over 3000 9mm rounds for it, stacked in three ammo cans. Old enough to vividly remember the now expired Assault Weapon Ban, Stephen keeps plenty of high capacity magazines on hand for all his firearms, having a dozen 15 rounder's for the Beretta alone. Two Sig's, a 229 9mm and 220C .45 complete his Semi-auto pistol collection, and he is sure they will get put to use shortly.

Also inside the safe is the keys to two cheaper green Stack-on gun safes which hold all of Stephens ammunition, magazines and spare parts. There is roughly 3000 rounds per caliber of 9mm, 45auto, and 7.62x39. Maybe a little under 5,000 rounds of  various .223 and 5.56 for the three AR-15's and 1000 7.62x51 NATO for the M1A. Lastly he keeps a mixture of buck shot and slugs for his Mossberg 590A1 12 gauge, totaling 400 shells max. The shotgun is currently next to his nightstand in the master bedroom where it stands guard 24/7. He also has a limited ammunition supply for his couple of hunting rifles, shotguns, and pistols. Prior to today Stephen felt pretty confident in his ammunition supply, but now it feels inadequate for the challenge. He wonders if they should try and acquire more, but figures everyone else is probably thinking the same thing right now. And at least he is a lot better prepared than most. Stephen is pondering this when the smell of bacon and eggs reaches him from the kitchen. 'Smells like Mattie is cooking up some breakfast' he thinks and bounds up the stairs, his stomach already growling. Sure enough, she has heaps of hot food on the table along with orange juice and toast. Chris has piled up a plate and is headed upstairs to relieve Dan of guard duty. Stephen grabs a plate and asks Mattie to fill him in on what's been on the news. It's more bad news as attacks have been reported in all of the lower 48 as well as Canada and Mexico. The Military seems to be content to secure their bases and check personnel and supply levels for the time being.

********

I awake to the smell of bacon, which instantly grabs my attention. Someone must be doing some cooking upstairs, and walking upstairs I find that Mattie has put together a small feast and has managed to do it while also looking like a million bucks. Mattie normally has to wear her hair up for work but now has it down and the thick silky hair nearly reaches her waist. And this is after Mattie, always the humanitarian, donates 18" on occasion to a cancer charity for wigs donated to patients enduring chemo.
"Food looks fantastic Mattie, as do you!" I finally say, grabbing a plate.
"Why thank you Mike" she replies. "Dig in, your the only one left that has to eat."
"Where is everyone else at? I say after realizing that there is nobody else in the room.
"Chris is upstairs on lookout and I think Dan went to sleep upstairs after eating. I know I heard him out in the garage earlier with Stephen. I think they were playing with a generator and fired it up for a minute. Stephen said that he wanted to go check on Jamere and Robert and see if they were ok and to set up some kind of meeting for this afternoon. I wanted someone to go with him but he said he would be fine, and it would just take a minute.”

Jamere Banks and Robert Ackerman were both Joliet cops that lived within six houses of Stephen, one to the North and the other to the West. Jamere was single but Robert had a wife and small children. As far as I could remember both were not at work yesterday and may be safe and sound at home. I ponder the upcoming meeting and what plans need to be arranged as I eat my breakfast. Mattie goes on to inform me of the news reports coming in on the TV this morning. There is large scale rioting and looting in all major cities and the authorities are powerless to stop it. Overnight it has become clear that we are dealing with a virus that for lack of a better term is turning people into Zombies. People seem to be disregarding the suggestion to remain at home and the residents of the inner cities are pouring out into the close suburbs, overwhelming what roadblocks exist and carrying the disease with them. A few “experts” have come on from the CDC in Atlanta as well as a few major universities, but they basically know nothing about what it is, where it came from, or how to stop it. It does appear though that it is not spread through the air but needs bodily fluid contact. They also have confirmed that the President and Vice President are dead and that the Speaker of the House is now the President.

“Well it looks like everything is falling apart, so we should have a lot to work out at this meeting” I finally sigh. “ I think I am going to work off some of this stress in Stephen’s basement until then. Care to join me?”
“I will have to take a rain check on that, maybe next time” she replies. “I promised Chris I would stand watch for Chris so he can unload his truck into the garage.”
“That’s ok!” and I add “I’ll just use you for motivation”
“Glad I can help!” Mattie says laughing as I head back downstairs. Although not nearly my set-up, Stephen does have an Olympic bar and preacher bench in his basement that will allow me to get a good workout in to start my day. I am not sure how much longer I will be afforded the luxury.
Knocking out the reps I again find my rhythm and the sets fly by. Before I even realize it a couple hours have gone by and I have to again deal with reality.

As I am finishing my workout Stephen comes downstairs and informs me that Jamere and Rob are ok and coming over for a meeting around dinner time. His neighbor Paul is also coming with his family. Some kind of security plan needs to be set up as well as an idea of what our next move should be. Until then Stephen wants to spend the time loading every magazine that we have in our combined inventory. Dan has already loaded a couple dozen 30 round AR mags but there is at least forty or so left to load. Then there is all the AK47 and M1A magazines, plus the pistol mags as well. Lifting the heavy ammo cans off the shelf I settle in to a chair and begin loading the AK47 magazines with cheap Wolf Steel cased ammunition. Stephen starts with his Beretta mags stating he is going to use it as his primary sidearm for now.

This takes a couple hours even with Mattie eventually helping and my fingers are killing me from pressing on the top of all those metal magazines. But it is comforting to see them all loaded and stacked in ammo cans in the living room, ready at a moments notice. Around the same time Chris reports the first Zombie contact we have had since arriving at Stephen's. Two Zombies, that were once delinquent teenagers, are seen chasing a man down the street. The man has what looks to be a small revolver and is firing wildly as he runs. The gun goes dry after five shots and the Zombies catch the man, latching on to his neck, finally cutting of the blood curdling screams. Chris is unable to get a shot as the Zombies are practically running as they catch the man. At a hundred and fifty yards away he can only watch until they start feeding, which then presents Chris with doable head shots for his Smith & Wesson AR-15 with the EoTech magnifier. Chris's rifle barks three times and both Zombies are still. Chris adds a shot into the now dead man as well for good measure. The noise draws in two additional Zombies, an elderly couple, this time from the South and Chris dispatches' them as well with hundred yard head shots. "Looks like things are going to start heating up here!" Chris yells as he changes out his mag for a fresh one.

********

With Jamere, Rob, his wife Deb, their two kids, along with Paul and his family, there are thirteen people in Stephen's house for the meeting. Stephen is tying to empty his freezer so Dan has been cooking steaks on the grill and is now working on his third Coors Light. With plenty of food and conversation the mood of the meeting is light all things considered. Mike is stuck upstairs on guard duty and has dropped several Zombies, probably drawn by the noise and smell of cooking food. Mike is using Dan's Suppressed AR-15 which does not draw as much attention. A few gunshots can be heard off in the distance, a slow but steady amount. Buddy makes a pretty good Zombie spotter, seeming to sense them before Mike can see them and stares in the general direction in which they are coming and lets out a low growl, the hair standing up on the back of his neck.

The mood turns less festive when the TV is turned back on. Almost all stations are off line now, but NBC 5 in Chicago is still broadcasting. The same female reporter from yesterday is still on the air, obviously exhausted and wearing the same clothes as yesterday. She is sitting bravely behind the desk informing her unknown audience how she is going to stay on the air as long as possible, as she and her remaining staff are trapped in the building by a large group of what she calls "Infected."  She again repeats the address of NBC Tower in Chicago. "455 N City Front Plaza Drive, if anyone can help. If anyone can reach us." Her eyes are tired and a pleading deep blue, yet you can see that she realizes deep down that help is not coming.

She then dutifully turns back to the news and reports that the NBC field office in California is reporting that the former Speaker of the House and now President of the United States is having a press conference from downtown Los Angeles to try to calm and reassure the public. Yet as they go to a live feed all you can see is a large mass of bodies thrashing about like an ocean of agony. The caption at the bottom of the screen states "President to calm America's fears." But it is defiantly having the opposite effect. Gun shots echoing amidst the screams of terror, as people try to flee when in fact there is nowhere to run. And if you look closely you can see the newly sworn President being eaten alive by one of her former Secret Service guards, still wearing his suit, but most certainly no longer on the job. It is obvious to all watching that if the Feds cannot protect the President, the country is in a world of shit. As the camera shifts back to Chicago, the reporter states she needs a minute quickly and leaves the camera's view.

On that note Stephen starts the meeting. Chris begins by raising his hand and asking the poignant yet obvious question “Well we made it here, now what are we going to do?”
Stephen responds “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.” And goes on to explain how he first wants to just get a feel of everyone's situation and what if any immediate concerns anyone may have. Stephen learns that Jamere had spent all of Monday at home on his PS3, spent the night with a girl and didn't even know there was a problem until Stephen knocked on his door. The girl, now terrified, took off for home to find her parents. He has very little food in his house, only his Glock duty pistol and the issued 50 rounds of Speer 9mm.  With a sigh Stephen turns to Robert who only paints a slightly better picture. Rob has an extra hundred rounds of practice ammo for his duty pistol and fifty .38 rounds for his off duty Smith & Wesson 442 Air Light. He does have his fathers Mossberg 500 20ga pump, but only half a box of birdshot. Rob does have maybe three or four days worth of food in his house and normally has more but the wife usually goes shopping every other Tuesday, this being the Tuesday.
"Sorry Rob" Stephen says. "I don't own a 20 gauge, and therefore don't have any shells for yours, but I'll see what we can do."
Turning now to Paul, Stephen asks in a semi accusing tone "What do you bring to the table?"
Paul, already turning red and getting an accusing stare from his wife, stammers "You know I don't have any guns, I never believed I would ever need one. I do have plenty of food though, enough for a couple of weeks. The problem is Britney has pretty bad asthma and is almost out of both of her inhalers. She uses both Xopenex and Zyflo. Xopenex she uses on a daily basis and the Zyflo during an attack. I have been meaning to get over to the pharmacy and pick them up.”
Stephen doesn’t cut Paul any slack and reminds him “Remember at that neighborhood picnic in June when I told you to always keep extra of any essential medication on hand? This is what I was talking about!” His voice raising. "Being as ready as possible for anything, not just being a liberal drone."
Paul snaps back “Well I did add some food, you self righteous asshole! Excuse me for not wanting to live with a cloud over my head all the time!”
Mattie interrupts to stop an eventual one sided fist fight. “Alright guys, that’s enough, we got other things to worry about!”
Mike unknowingly further calms the situation by yelling from upstairs “Out.. fucking... standing shot! Did you see that Buddy?” Buddy answers with an appreciative bark. Everyone laughs and the mood is somewhat lightened again.
“I’m just glad he is upstairs shooting out the window at them, and not running out the door chasing after them dressed like Spartacus!” Stephen chimes in, drawing even more laughter.

With Mattie negotiating it is eventually determined that due to Paul having the most food, Jamere and Rob, with family in tow, will spend the next few days at Paul’s house to provide combined protection. Paul has four bedrooms at his place and a finished basement which has a full bar. Dan suggests a trade of alcohol for guns and secures a transfer of Stephen’s Lever action Marlin 336 30/30 and all two hundred rounds, his 12 gauge scoped Remington 11-87 deer slug gun along with all his slugs, and a 6” Smith & Wesson 686 with 250 .38 rounds. Quite a package deal for Paul’s three bottles of Jack Daniels, three bottles of Jim Beam and three bottles of  Southern Comfort. Stephen knew it was a terrible trade, but he had no use for the guns at this point, it provided extra bodies with some firepower, and Dan promised to make it up to him later.

The meeting ended and Chris elected to go help Jamere get anything from his house that he might need. Jamere was also given Style's duty shotgun, the Remington 870 Riot gun along with a mixture of buckshot and slugs, totaling maybe a hundred shells. Stephen and Mattie did the same for Rob and his family. Moving in what food they had along with some hygiene products and creature comforts, clothing, blankets, pillows and such. Rob got the 11-87 12 gauge along with shot shells donated by Chris to supplement his duty pistol. Stephen also needed to give Paul a crash course in firearms. Chris assisted, having helped equally inept recruits while stationed in Afghanistan. The scene of a  liberal operating a gun for the first time reminds Stephen of a monkey fucking a football, a little awkward to say the least. It was slow going but eventually the liberal showed a basic understanding. After a hour of constant repetition both Paul and Vanessa could load and unload the lever action rifle and revolver. And were able to at least dry fire them without flinching.

While that was being completed Dan went down to the basement and jumped on Stephen’s Ham Radio. After scanning the 2-Meter band Dan found Philip Miller who lives up on the North Side of Chicago. Phil, Dan found out, was retired Navy and had a brick two-flat that he shared with his daughter and her husband who was a Chicago Firefighter. Phil’s wife Doris still worked at a downtown Law Firm and had never made it home from work on Monday. Phil and his son-in-law had helped secure the block and were running patrols to keep the Zombie’s out. Ammunition was short but they were making due for the time being. They had barricaded both ends of their small street with vehicles and fires and were shooting as little as possible from the roof tops. They had twenty to thirty people with them and were going to try and figure a way out of the city. Dan and Phil talked for a good two hours, trading ideas and tactics along with old war stories. As Dan signed off he promised to get in contact with Phil tomorrow on the 146.880 repeater and wished him luck.

With all the chores done for the day everyone settled in for the evening. Mattie suggested a game of Monopoly to pass the time and owned most of the board in short order. Stephen landed on Marvin Gardens with it’s Hotel for the second time in a row and couldn’t make the 1200.00 rent. As Mattie set her sights on Dan who was also teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, Stephen relieved Mike of guard duty and settled in, getting his first kill a few minutes later as he recognized a white trash neighbor from up the street was now walking down the middle of the road. True to form he was not wearing a shirt but was dragging the corpse of his wife behind him. She was missing her lower half and her intestines were staining a path in their wake. Stephen Put the 4 MOA dot on the mans head and relieved him of the back of his skull at 75 yards. This was the first of 9 kills Stephen would get that night. There was beginning to be a lot of bodies laying about and that would need to be dealt with shortly.

The only other action that night involved Dan who went outside in the back yard to smoke. He let Buddy out to use the bathroom and the dog immediately started barking at the back fence. Pulling out his flashlight Dan discovered seven Zombies that had approached from the West unseen. They were pressing against the Cedar fence and if unnoticed may have eventually broke through. It took the eight rounds in his TRP and half of another mag to dispatch the problem. A few of them had been kids and it left quite a disturbing mess in the neighbors yard that would also need to be cleaned up. The noise also brought everyone outside in a panic and after everything had calmed down it was decided that someone from Paul’s house needed to keep watch from the West. Mattie finally knocked Chris out of the game shortly after Midnight and after putting the game away fell asleep again on the couch with the TV on. She slept as it showed the country slowly burning. The light of humanity beginning to slowly fade out.............

********

I awake before the others and stepping outside for a breath of fresh air discover another beautiful day. I manage to get in a good 45 minute workout before shaking Mattie awake from her sleep on the couch. “You said to wake you up at eight, but I gave you an extra half hour.” I say as Mattie rubs her eyes and stretches. Wearing a set of light blue pajamas she looked simply delicious and I had to resist the urge to jump her right then and there.
“Thanks, I needed it.” she replied “Stephen is convinced the power will not be on much longer and wants to use up all the perishable food. I promised to go all out on breakfast again today in exchange for no guard duty.”
“That’s a fair trade.” I remark as I watch her get up and walk towards the kitchen, her shapely ass moving seductively under the cotton pajama bottoms. ‘There is no way she is doing that without trying’ I think to myself as I get caught staring.....again!
Mattie laughs and remarks “Pull your head out of the gutter... But I am flattered” And gives me a wink while opening the refrigerator.
Stephen is asleep and Dan has again assumed guard duty. We are all treated to another feast as Mattie goes above and beyond with French Toast and sausage, along with the rest of the frozen orange juice. The butter and syrup melt on the hot toast and we go through nearly 2 loafs of bread, eating our fill while we can.
“That’s the last of the eggs guys.” Mattie announces. “There is more bacon and sausage in the freezer that I will probably cook up today.”
“Well it’s delicious!” Chris offers while filling his plate again. “Will you marry me Mattie?”
“Ummm..... No but thanks for the offer!” she replies laughing. “ I’m sure that it has nothing to do with the fact that I am the only available woman you know of right now.”
“Ouch, that was a good one.” I chime in.

After breakfast, Mattie takes a plate up to Dan and puts the rest in the fridge for Stephen to eat after he wakes up. I help her clean the kitchen and Chris is cleaning his rifle on the living room floor in front of the TV. Overnight NBC 5 went offline and now is replaced by channel 12 as the only station working. It is a local access channel that was offline initially but is now broadcasting.

A young male reporter going by Troy Lundell, most likely a student from the looks of it, is relaying the local news. The top story is the prison riot at the Statesville Maximum Security Prison just to the North of Joliet. After several days of not being able to leave and check on their families, several guards have staged an escape and the prisoners seized the opportunity provided by the lack of supervision and deteriorating living conditions. Many may have already escaped and the institution is close to total breakdown. Police and Fire are totally offline and unable to help. The dead are piling up in the streets and several fires are burning out of control.

However, amidst all the bad news there is a developing story to report. The Department of Homeland Security has announced the establishment of an official safe zone in the Joliet area. The area chosen is the Joliet West High School. Troy relays how there is to be a press conference at 2:00 P.M on this station, which is now broadcasting from the school. It will also be broadcast on the radio at 98.3 FM which is now back online and broadcasting from the school. In the meantime, any survivors are urged to make their way to the safe zone if possible, where food and shelter will be provided. After repeating the top stories Troy begins an interview with a high school professor on sanitation and the spread of disease. I remark how it actually appears that Troy is doing a pretty good job amidst all the confusion, and may have found a solid career choice if the world wasn’t falling apart all around him.

Chris and I have drawn the short straw today after losing to Dan and Stephen in rock, paper, scissors on who gets to burn Zombie bodies in the vacant lot across the street from Stephens place. It is nasty work but it needs to be done. Stephen has a couple sets of Army MOPP (Mission Oriented Protective Posture) suits in his basement due to his paranoia over the overblown H1N1 crisis of 2009. The only good thing is that Chris and I have plenty of experience wearing them while in the military. Chris may still be in the Reserves (well maybe not anymore) but as soon as I put the mask on circa 1991 Kuwait seems like just last week. Just as before, they were suffocating and claustrophobic and we decided to leave the hoods off. Dan provides cover from the house as we use a hand cart from Stephens garage to carry the several dozen bodies to the vacant lot. Many actually fell in the lot and we didn't have to drag them far. The Zombies seemed to gravitate to the bodies like they were a bait pile and it was Dan's idea to let them get in close before putting them down. We both purposely avoided one rather large Zombie, must have been at least four bills, each hoping the other would tackle him,   until he was the only one left. Eventually we had to just drag him from a chain behind Chris's truck. We were both exhausted and completely soaked with sweat from the ordeal even without the masks and were caught off guard not noticing that three Zombies had gotten within a few yards of us. They seem a bit slower than the ones we saw yesterday but still got way to close. Shocked we both struggled to draw our pistols when their heads exploded in a red mist from Dan's suppressed AR-15.
"Relax kids!" Dan shouts down laughing. "I had ya covered, I just didn't want you to have to carry them to far!"
I am to tired to even reply, and just shake my head and chuckle. This has taken all morning and I just want out of this suit. Rob now brings out the gas cans, and we create an oil/gas mixture for the Zombie burn pile. The pile is doused and lit on fire. The black smoke and heat partially covers the growing stench, but more gas is needed to keep the fire going and eventually we run through all of it and just leave it to smolder out.

After showering and eating a lunch of burgers and potato salad, (more of Stephen’s perishables) it is time for the press conference at Joliet West High School. As the camera goes live Troy Lundell, now dressed in woodland cammo fatigues, is introducing Greg Lewis, a councilman for the City of Joliet. A couple guys stand behind the microphone holding shotguns and it kind of reminds me of union thugs at meetings back in the day. I worked for Caterpillar as a welder for five years before becoming a copper.
"Hey, I know that guy!" I yell. "He voted against every police funding issue that came up! Who put him in charge?"
"Ssshhhh" Mattie whispers, “Let’s see what he has to say.”
I give Mattie a hard look and smirk but keep my mouth shut.
Councilman Lewis goes on to explain how he was in charge of coordinating with FEMA before the current crises and now is in control of the FEMA designated safe zone at the Joliet West High School. He goes on to introduce Sgt. Timothy Henderson of the Joliet Police Dept. and Lt. Jerry Hetman of JFD.
“Sgt. Henderson is the last guy I saw at the station before I left.” Chris mentions. “He gave me the keys to my squad. I wonder how he managed to weasel his way out of the station in time to save his own skin?”
Lewis is babbling on how it is safe to come to the safe zone where there is food and shelter, and how they are in desperate need of manpower to help.
The camera then pans to the left and Lewis introduces Capt. Brian Marshall of the Illinois Air National Guards 182’nd Air Lift Wing out of Peoria. They fly C-130E transport aircraft and Capt. Marshall is surrounded by several Air Force Security Forces personnel.
I immediately recognize Andrew and Kevin, two fellow officers and Air Force Reservists, who are in the group of soldiers. Both are doing a damn good job of  showing command presence. A determined stare, in full gear with M4 carbines at the low ready.
“How the hell did they make it down to Peoria in this mess?” I wonder aloud.
“I think this last weekend was their drill weekend.” Chris offers. “Maybe the Military had a little bit of a heads up before they left on Sunday?”
Capt.Marshall goes on to explain how several of his aircraft landed at the Joliet Municipal Airport and led a convoy of supplies to the newly formed safe zone. However, they were unable to stay as they had many other safe zones to set up around the state.

As the press conference turns back to councilman Lewis, who is having a City Street Dept. worker explain how barricades are being put up around the school, our discussion turns to our next move. It is obvious to all that there is no real fuctioning goverment behind this safe zone and we decide to wait a couple days to see how it all plays out. In the meentime Dan takes Rob out and they gather as many gas cans as they can from around the neighboorhood and head to the city’s gas pumps located just a mile or so to the west of Stephen’s house. It is isolated, built in anticipation of a ever expanding city which, along with most of the country, did not see the housing bubble bursting like it did in the fall of 2008. In two trips, they are able to gather enough gas and diesel to fill Stephen’s and Chris’s trucks as well as Rob’s Tahoe and the ambulance. Both of Paul’s vehicles are small foreign hybrids and are of little value. And with the condition of the ride that Dan arrived in, we hope to just exchange it for a better ride.

After having everyone back over for dinner, which is a combination of all of Stephens remaining perrishables, including some steaks, hotdogs and frozen wings, it is decided that a small raid will be launched in the morning. I will lead Mattie and Jamere on a trip to the West sub-station of the Police Dept. located five miles to the North and one mile East of our location, at the intersection of Caton Farm road and Rt. 59. We hope to secure the armored SWAT truck, a larger armored version of an ambulance, for our future move to wherever. We will take it and then leave Dan’s landscaping truck, returning in the SWAT rig.

Stephen will follow in Chris’s truck, and will lead Chris and Paul on a raid of the Walgreens pharmacy, at Caton Farm and Ridge road, where Mike will make his right hand turn. They hope to secure the inhalers for Britney as well as some food stuffs at a small Aldi’s located behind the Walgreens. Stephen and I will each carry handheld HAM radios and Dan will monitor from the basestation. Rob will handle security from Stephen’s office and Vanessa will be pressed in to service, guarding her residence using the 11-87 which Rob is supposed to show her how to use.
“Mission will kick off tomorrow at 0900hrs and I hope we are back by 1030!” I say. “What Stephen used to call the middle of the night.”
“I got a bad feeling about this.” Jamere says as he heads back to Paul’s for the night.
“Why is that?” I ask.
“I’m the only black guy in this little group, and we all know what happens to us in horror movies!”
“Hahaha!” I laugh. “Stick with me and you’ll be fine kid!”

Before bed I go down to the basement to have Dan show me how to run his FT-60R radio, which I discover is basicly like my police radio once set to the proper channel. I stick around and listen as Dan talks with his new found buddy Phil on the basestation. Phil Informs us that his situation is slowly deteriotating. They lost power and are having a hard time seeing the Zombies at night. There was a lot more Zombies arriving all the time and they are forced to make do with reinforcing the barricades. There is no way they are going to be able to make their way out of the neighborhood. No additional survivors have gotten in either and ammunition is very low. To make things worse his daughter has gone into early labor with his first grandchild. There is at least a nurse on the block and she is with her now. Phil still seems confident that some help will reach them and says he has plenty of battery power for his radio and will contact Dan in the morning.
“Don’t worry about me.” Phil remarks as he signs off.
“Sounds like we could have things a lot worse.” I sigh as Dan signs off.
“Yes we could buddy.” Dan replies. “Now go get some rest. I’m gonna see who else is on the band tonight and then go relieve Chris for the night.”
“You think everything will run smooth?” I ask.
“Hell yes!” Dan replies. “I just wish I was going with.”
“You will be on the next one, for sure.” I respond
“I want Mattie for my partner” is all I hear as I walk away and have to chuckle.
‘I did make sure she was in my group.’ I think as I reach my cot. I am forced to kick off Buddy, who had burrowed under the blankets and gives me a dirty look as walks up the stairs.

********

I am up and have my workout completed in plenty of time for our 0900 launch time. Breakfast today is cold ceral and milk but there is Bananas to cut up in the Frosted Flakes. I share breakfast with Dan who mentions that he heard a large firefight to the North, maybe a few miles out. Sounded to him like several guys with assault style rifles really going to town for a good 15-20 minutes, and again warns us to keep a sharp eye. As I look outside I see it is overcast and a bit chilly, maybe in the low 50’s. Stephens American Flag snaps in the brisk West wind. Paul is already in the driveway waiting as I exit the house, grim faced and a little scared looking, dressed in his Eddie Bauer yuppie hiking gear, backpack included. ‘Well, I think, at least he thought to bring one, and it even has some food and water in it. He is clutching the 30/30 Marlin and has the 686 Smith & Wesson in a black nylon holster given to him by Stephen.

Speaking of Stephen, he emerges from the basement looking like he is going for inspection. Wearing a clean and pressed set of ACU’s and matching chest rig with three extra 30 round mags for his Bushmaster AR-15. His Beretta M9 is in a thigh holster and a double magazine pouch is also on his belt. A matching ACU go bag completes the look and as he walks past me wearing a pair of ballistic Oakley’s he remarks, “What the fuck are you looking at?” and then laughs. “Don’t be a hater, I make this look good!”

While Mattie, Jamere and Chris gathered their gear for our little raid, I again went over our operational plans, first being a run to the Joliet Police Department West Side substation. Once there we would take what we could as far as equipment and possibly the armored ‘Bearcat' A.P.V.
If acquiring any of those vehicles were not feasible, our plan B was to try for a short bus located at the Plainfield South High School located near by. While we were hitting those locations, Stephen, Chris and Paul would hit the Walgreens pharmacy for medical supplies for the group as a whole and mainly for the prescription asthma medication for Paul’s daughter. Their secondary target is the Aldi's grocery store located just to the North.

After a quick piss and check of my own gear, I walk out to the landscaping truck and see that Mattie and Jamere have loaded up and Jamere is behind the wheel. We make a motley crew when you sit back and take a look. Jamere is a short slim very athletic black man who is fast as hell and even faster with the ladies. Always known to have juggled several women at once and seemed to love the drama whenever he eventually got caught up in it..... In fact, as I approach, it appears he his making his moves on Mattie who is giggling at some joke Jamere is saying.
Mattie has her hair pulled back into a girlish ponytail and is wearing a baseball cap. Wearing a bright pink, form fitting long sleeve shirt complete with painted on Capri blue jeans. She is wearing her police duty belt with city issue Glock and has my Bushmaster AR-15 slung around her neck in a 1-point sling. Not the most tactical look by any means but she pulls it off nicely indeed as I watch the playful motion of her ass as she climbs into the truck.....I am such a pig.
Next to our truck I see that Stephen, Chris, and Paul have finished loading up in Chris’ huge GMC pickup and are now waiting on us.
“Move em out!” I tell my teammates in my best John Wayne impersonation.

Our little caravan of makeshift raid vehicles head east out of Stephen’s neighborhood with no Zombie contact, but we can see several abandoned vehicles in the street. Many homes were left unsecured as we can see front doors and garages left open to the elements. To better view our surroundings I have Jamere halt our truck and I climb into the back and stand watching over the cab as we continue northbound up Ridge Road. Looking back I see that Stephen has done the same in the rear of Chris’ truck. Stephen gives me a shit eating grin and waves. I wave back but with my middle finger and turn back facing the road grinning.

We slow down as we approached the intersection of Ridge Road and Caton Farm Road and turn east bound. I glance back as Stephen’s crew cross the intersection and pull into the Walgreens pharmacy parking lot. As we lose sight of them continuing East, I notice a few groups of Zombies in the immediate area. They appeared to be heading Stephen’s way so I radio him and warned him of such.
“10-4 Mike, we just arrived. We will post a guard out front while we stock up with what we can.” Stephen added.
“Listen up guys,” Stephen said, “Mike says he saw some Zombies headed our way. Chris I want you to pull guard out front, while we clear the store and get the meds.”
“Roger.” Chris said and adjusted his rifle sling as he settled into a comfortable ‘ready’ shooting stance.
Stephen turned to Paul who was visibly pale and sweaty.
“Look Paul, just relax and follow my lead. I will take point and clear the building. You just follow behind me and make sure my rear is clear while I do so.”
Paul gulped nervously. “Alright, but it looks dark in there.’
Stephen shakes his head in pity. “Yes and that is why we use these neat little gadgets called flashlights that help see in the dark.”
‘My God,’ Stephen thought, ‘If all men were spineless liberals like this pansy we would still be living in caves, afraid to venture out.’ The front glass door had been shattered prior to there arrival and now as they stepped into the dark silent building, the only sound they could hear was the crunching of glass shards they walked on…and Paul’s panicky labored breathing.
Stephen switched on the surefire light attached to his AR-15 and with the powerful LED light shining he quickly searched each aisle. Remembering a little bit of SWAT tactics he dominated each row quickly to take the offense if any living or unloving creature was inside.
The place has been seriously looted Stephen could see. Merchandise was scattered everywhere. Many of the shelves were stripped clean, but he could see a lot of stuff they could use spread out across the floor.
Finally reaching the pharmacy counter in the back, it looked basically untouched and the metal security screen had been pulled down.
Paul grabbed the metal screen and frantically yanked on it.
“It won’t open! What are we going to do?” He said breathing hard.
Stephen just looked at him and shrugged. “I guess I will use my key.”
“What key? Where did you get a key?” Paul asked.
“Hey just watch our back ok?” Stephen ordered.
‘I swear I get stuck with all the idiots while Mike gets the hot girl…’ Stephen thought.
Taking aim with his rifle Stephen began firing on the lock mechanism and frequently kicking the door until he was awarded with it crashing open.
Entering the medication aisles, they began searching for the inhalers Paul’s daughter needed…

********

Slowing the truck down, Jamere pulled into the Joliet Police West Station. Right off the bat I can tell we are too late. The enclosed garage that the Swat vehicle occupied had all the bay doors open and every vehicle was missing. We could see that there had been a major fight here as the ground was littered with hundreds of shell casings and dozens of corpses lay sprawled everywhere on the parking lot and inside the garage stalls.
Jamere killed the loud truck engine and as we sat there we listened for the telltale moaning and growling of Zombies. Hearing none, I hopped out of the back of the truck while Mattie and Jamere carefully climbed out of the truck cab. I signal for Jamere to pull guard outside of the open bays of the garage as Mattie and I entered the silent police substation.

Dan was right, there was a huge battle, and it was waged here! It  looks as if not everyone was successful in living as I turned over several corpses belonging to  police officers that I once knew. Again I am forced to realize not everyone I know will survive this pandemic and there was bound to be tragedy along the way. As I continued to clear the immediate area I could her Mattie sob quietly in grief at the loss of even more of her co-workers. In short order we had cleared the small substation with no opposition. I notice a piece of paper fluttering in the wind from the open garage doors. It is a note, taped to the lockbox that held the vehicle keys.

“Whoever reads this, and hopefully it's you Mike! Myself along with several other officers have taken the Swat vehicles to Terry Coleman’s cabin in Wisconsin. If you are reading this and you don’t know where Terry’s place is, sucks to be you! Everyone we want knows the way.” It is signed by my other workout partner Chad Evanston.
“That bastard!” I mutter aloud.
“What did you find Mike?” Mattie asked.
“Chad, and what looks like a bunch of the Swat guys took all the trucks to Terry’s place in Wisconsin.”

Mattie ripped off a string of curses after reading the note and remarks "I don't know where Terry's place is, do you?"
‘Very impressive string’ I think to myself, and when I mention that I do she just sticks her tongue out at me.
"Oh, relax, I wouldn't leave you anyway!" I say with a wink.
We head back out to the truck and Jamere looks at us questioningly.
“Plan B?” He asked.
“Yup yup.” I answered.

Assuming our prior seating arrangements, Jamere lets us in on the fact that that he heard some gunshots back from Stephen’s general area while we were clearing the substation. I figure it is as good a time as any to check on his status and let him know we are switching to plan B. Hopefully they have had better luck than us.  

********

Back at Walgreens, Stephen wasn't really after any particular items so he wheeled a shopping cart into the pharmacy area and started filling plastic bags with everything that looked important on the shelves. Fifty percent of which he had no idea what the hell it was for. For all he knew it was for jock itch and yeast infections, but you never knew when one might have an itchy sack problem that needed fixing. Paul on the other hand had hit pay dirt and tossed several dozen boxes of the two different inhalers into his backpack. He also found several large bottles of antibiotics and had grabbed them as well.

As Stephen was finishing loading the cart and began to wheel it to the front of the store, his radio crackles to life. It was Mike who gave him a run down of what happened at the substation and that they were going to Plan B. Stephen acknowledged and informed Mike that they were just finishing at the pharmacy and since they still had time, would head to the nearby Aldi’s grocery store next.

Exiting the store and piling the dozen bags of medication, bandages, antiseptics and such into the bed of Chris's truck, Stephen sees that Chris had put down at least ten Zombies in their absence. With a "Good Job!" and a pat on the back, Stephen fills Chris in on their success with the inhalers and what he heard from Mike, who was forced to go to Plan B. We agree that at least somebody we know got their and maybe it gives them a chance.
“I really didn’t think those trucks would still be there, but we needed to check anyways.” Chris said.
Stephen agreed. “Yeah, having an armored personnel carrier would have been huge. At least until it broke down.”
“Let’s go hit the grocery store. The sooner we get the hell out of here the better.” Chris stated.

Entering the Aldi’s parking lot presented a much different scenario than the empty Walgreens. Here it was the typical SHTF story. Everyone mobs the food stores in a crisis, and this was true here. However, it appears that dozens had gotten swept up in the frenzy and infected while they fought one another over the last boxes of pop tarts and TV dinners. Several Zombies were crowded around a small red Toyota Prius. It looks to be the Green Earth electric car and apparently has dead batteries. It also looked like someone was alive in the car.
Stephen shakes his head at the stupidity of the Global Warming idiots. ‘I bet its a young idealistic female who once wanted to save the world. And I bet she wished she just had a big gas guzzling Hemi right now!’

Chris tells Stephen to do a ‘L’ formation flanking maneuver to set up a crossfire after he leads the Zombies away from the trapped victim.
Stephen nods and takes off running to the left side of the car and begins to yell and wave his arms. It works like a charm as the large moaning group quits trying to bite the young woman through the car windows, and starts stumbling towards Stephen. Stephen notices how they don’t seem as fast as they were even yesterday. After making sure the woman was out of their fields of fire, Stephen and Chris began to methodically pickoff Zombies one by one.

Gun fire retorts echoed throughout the surrounding neighborhood. Head shot after head shot littered the pavement with blood and brain matter.
Stephen tried not to think of the zombies as once being human as he took down one female Zombie in a mini-skirt who probably was a smoking hot MILF when all hell broke loose. The terrible injuries he saw as well as the hate filled eyes made this easier to accomplish, as he terminated another threat. This time a little kid Zombie wearing a ‘Dora the Explorer’ t-shirt. Stephen does allow himself to think that maybe the kid belonged to the MILF, who left her daughter in the car while she ran into the store quick.  
Within a short amount of time, Stephen and Chris had wiped out the disgusting creatures that had trapped the young woman in her car.
Changing out another empty thirty round AR magazine, Stephen looks up as he hears a car door open. Ahead and to his left he sees a pretty redhead slowly exit the tiny useless car.
She timidly tries to find a clean spot to step on and hops from side to side to avoid the bigger piles of blood and filthy corpses.
“Oh thank you, thank you, and thank you!” She exclaimed, as she hugged and shook all of their hands. “I have been trapped there all yesterday and today!”

Chris opens a bottle of water from his pack and hands it to her. While she greedily gulped down the water, they were able to piece together her story. Her name is Holly Gray, a local girl who lived in a nearby subdivision, and had just gotten a job as a student teacher at the Troy Middle School. She had arrived at the store to get a few things she needed. The news man said to ‘stay home’ but all the pictures were from big cities. She figured it would never happen here, she went on to say. Her sad story ends up with her being stuck in the parking lot, surrounded by Zombies  with a useless electric car, batteries dead from using the lights, AC and radio.

As the tiny buxom redhead relates her story and begins to plead for them to take her with Chris starts to cringe. He was just waiting for Stephen to tear into the poor girl for being wholly unprepared for the tiniest thing, but then he sees Stephen, who looks like he is in love.
‘Stephen falls in love five times a day’ Chris thinks, and shakes his head.
“Fine you can go with us.” Chris said. “But you wait in the truck for us to finish, and don’t touch anything!”
Holly promised she would do as told and quickly disappeared into the truck.
“Chris you come with me. Paul you stay with the truck and Holly. I will need Chris’ help clearing the store.” Stephen said.

Stephen tightens up his grip on his rifle as Chris slings his rifle and draws his Berretta M9, following Stephen into the gloomy, shifting darkness inside the store. It is still morning but the lights are not on and very little sunlight is getting in the windows, which are covered with store adds. With all the food they have at home, they are both wondering if this is even worth it.
********

Approaching the huge campus of Plainfield South High School, I hit the truck roof and yell for Jamere over the loud exhaust to turn on the school maintenance road and follow it to the bus barn in the rear of the property. We are driving slowly and I can see several buses have crashed into the cornfields that surround two sides of the property, carving deep impact paths through the corn stalks. Jamere stops the truck outside what looks like a locked gate. As Jamere and I were trying to figure out how we were going to bust down the gate, Mattie points out the several buses already parked outside, most likely undamaged in the corn fields.
‘Duh! Why didn’t I think of that?’ I think, shaking my head.
I walk up to the rear of a full sized bus and immediately at least a dozen high school kids were moaning and snarling at me through the windows inside the bus.
“Don’t think we will be taking this one.” I said. “Besides a full size bus might be a bit hard to weave in and out of stalled vehicles.”

After a few minutes of arguing, we settled on a short bus which had only one zombie bus driver to take car of. She must have gotten bit and sealed herself inside. I let Jamere get some practice with disposing of the Zombie, and push open the bus doors, retreating quickly as I lead out the female ex-bus driver in into Jamere’s waiting cross fire. The roar of the shotgun crashes across the open school grounds and surrounding cornfields. It’s a one shot, one kill for Jamere. Not an easy shot in all the standing corn. Mattie takes it upon herself to take up point and I help her clear the bus for any stragglers inside. Finding none I hop into the driver’s seat.
“I’ll back it up and you direct me Jamere!” I yell out the folding door.

I hear a rustling in the corn stalks surrounding the bus, but pay little attention. It has been windy all morning and we are in a hurry to get out of here. I think it is safe to say we all have a growing feeling of unease.  
The short bus, no jokes please, barely starts. The driver must have left radio on or something.
“Ok Jamere, back me up straight as you can.” I yell over the bus engine.
“Lets move this bitch Mike, this shit is freaking me out.” He said as he finally now also notices the rustling noise coming from the corn stalks all around them.
“Geez, the city boy is a little nervous out here with all the corn!” I joke to Mattie as the bus backs out straight from the cornfield.
Jamere is now facing away from us nervously looking back into the tall cornstalks clutching his shotgun.
“C’mon hurry the fuck up.” I yell and honk the horn.
Jamere jumps a good two feet straight up and cranks off a round with the shot gun.
“God damn it! I ain’t playing that shit Mike!” Jamere yells. Probably more embarrassed than anything.
I end up laughing so hard that my eyes are closed when Mattie screams in my ear.
“LOOK OUT!”
From all around Jamere, dozens of teenage zombies flood into the spot the bus occupied in the cornfield.
Jamere tries to shoot the nearest one, a male Hispanic missing a large part of the left side of his neck.
Only one problem, Jamere forgot to rack a fresh shell into the chamber…

********

At Aldi’s, deafening gun fire rips at Chris’ ears. ‘My God’ he thought. ‘There seems like no end to them.’
Both Stephen and Chris love guns. Love the way they feel, the noise they make and the smell of cordite. So naturally they have come loaded for bear.
However, after watching his slide lock back yet again, Chris fears that he will run out soon. The Zombies had quickly surrounded them after they had entered the grocery store a mere 40 feet. Now Stephen and himself are fighting back to back.
“Stephen I am out!” Chris yells as he burns through yet another magazine.
Stephen without even looking away from his current targets, lets go of his rifle with his support hand, reaches down and yanks a full Beretta magazine from his chest carrier and flips it up and over the Chris.
Chris sees the magazine, snatches it from the air as Stephen resumes firing; slams home the magazine and blasts three Zombies quickly in the forehead that had closed the gap, and could almost taste him.

Sensing a slight ease in the attack, Stephen pushes Chris back with one hand towards the exit. “We got to get the Hell out of here now!”
Chris didn’t even have to answer. He knew it was suicide to try for any food or supplies here. They place looked pretty well stripped anyway. Maybe if they came back with more guys and better armed, but not now. Now it was run like hell time. By the time they made it to the door Chris was out of pistol ammo completely and had un-slung his rifle, which contained his last 30 rounds of ammunition. Blasting the last few zombies they both burst free from the building and sprinted to the truck. Throwing themselves into the cab, Holly screams, pointing back to the store. Stephen then realizes Paul is no longer with them in the truck, having exited for only God knows why.
Gunfire makes them all turn to look.

Paul finally grew a pair and had approached the store. He is now blasting away with the lever action at the stream of Zombies exiting the store to give chase. Of course he is a bad shot and can’t count either, and runs dry in about seven seconds. Two seconds later he is using the rifle like a club and is swinging like a girl playing golf for the first time.
“What the fuck is he doing?” Chris asked.
Stephen growls some curse about democrat liberals and hops out of the truck, drawing his Berretta which contains his last 15 rounds. He looks up just in time to see a zombie latch its jaws on Paul’s shoulder.
Paul screams as a large chunk of flesh is torn loose.
Paul pulls out the large .357 and empties the revolver into the single Zombie that bit him, turning the former stock boys head into a pill of mush. The next zombie isn’t impressed and it bites the back of Paul’s neck as he is emptying the cylinder to reload. Stephen, his pistol raised, is walking forward still unable to get a shot. Stephen suddenly stops, shocked as Paul struggles to move and drags the Zombie, who is still eating him alive, towards him.
Paul tosses Stephen the backpack containing the inhalers and antibiotics.
“Make sure my little girl gets those.... and I never liked you!” he screamed as he was quickly swarmed over by Zombie hoard.
Stephen turned and quickly retreats with the bag into the truck as Chris speeds away.
‘I might have been an asshole to Paul.‘ Stephen thought, ‘but it wasn’t personal. And at least he showed some spine in the end.’
“Take us home Chris,” Stephen said tiredly. “Hopefully the others made out better than we did.”
Chris sped back southbound as Holly sat silently in the back seat, feeling sorry for herself and somewhat responsible for what just happened. These were new times however. And everyone, Paul included, was responsible for their own actions. Something that liberals like Paul and Holly were finding out the hard way.
********

Jamere looked down at his shotgun in confusion when it didn’t go ‘BANG’ as it should have.
“Oh shit.” The three of us said simultaneously.
I ripped open the bus doors as I watch, in slow motion, the disfigured male Hispanic tear into Jamere’s right arm with his teeth. Jamere screams and pushes him back with a shove, then racks a fresh shell and removes the Hispanics head with the blast. I hurry to his side and help him onto the bus as he cradles his bleeding arm.
“God damn, how did this happen?” Jamere yells. “Only black man around and I end up in field and get bitten by the ‘Children of the Corn rejects.”
Mattie tries to calm Jamere but we all know what the bite means…
While we have sat there unmoving in the bus they have surrounded us several ranks deep.
“I’ll lead them away so you two can escape.” He says.
“No Jamere!” Mattie says. “There has to be another way.”
Jamere chuckles as his blood falls steadily onto the floor.
“Sure there is another way. I stay here and eat you, and I’m not talking about the way women like!”

Not waiting for an answer, Jamere racks a fresh round and feeds several extra shells into the shotgun. He opens the back emergency door and with a running start he jumps, easily clearing him of the Zombies. Rolling to his feet, Jamere pauses to quickly wave goodbye to us. Now visibly shaking from the virus, he blasts the two closest Zombies to him, and runs into the tall cornfield. In the process, he lures the rest of the Zombies away, to the point I am able to exit the field entirely with the bus. As I get the bus moving, several more shots ring out, followed by eerie silence. Before I am able to say anything comforting to Mattie, a single gunshot rings out from the direction Jamere had just run.

Knowing in our hearts Jamere had chosen to not become one of the infected, we vowed not to waste his sacrifice, and left the school for home. Our spirits are as low as they have been yet. Our little raid, which started as almost a game, has cost us dearly. Passing the Walgreens we see Chris’s truck ahead in the distance, but we don’t say anything and just drive home in silence.

Arriving back at Stephen’s I learn of Paul’s fate as well. Mattie agrees to take Vanessa the backpack and tell her how Paul bravely got the medicine to Stephen before he died. Dan greets us in the driveway to help unload Chris’s truck and informs us that in or absence the power flickered a few times and has now gone out, most likely for good. As we finish unloading, Rob begins firing from upstairs at several approaching Zombies. It is evident that our situation is deteriorating and some tough decisions are going to have to be made quick.

********

1400 miles away, Matvei has had a very busy last 72 hours himself. He is now on the move after having had his hand forced, part of a large convoy of vehicles heading Northwest on highway 1017 out of Brownsville TX. Eventually he is hoping to make it to his ranch, outside of the small town of Burch Arizona. The Cartel had tried to double cross him and had paid dearly for it. In the process however, they had disrupted his time table and managed to throw the whole operation into jeopardy.

They had intentionally spread the Virus in Mexico as well without telling him. In fact, cases were now being reported in South America and Asia. Matvei figured it wouldn't be long before the entire globe was now consumed. After only a few days the United States had gone almost completely dark to the outside world. Matvei's column had crossed the boarder into the States unopposed. The Cartel Bosses had wanted to make sure they would be un challenged by outside governments in the future, and saw to it. Having taken care of that, they set their sights on their one remaining threat, Matvei himself. Matvei was no idiot however and saw this coming. He had won the trust of many of the Los Zetas and they warned him of an assassination attempt. A bomb was to be planted in his vehicle, and remotely detonated while he was traveling North.

The four heads of the Cartel soon paid for their treachery. Matvei killed two of them with the same bomb meant for his own truck. In a panic, the two remaining Bosses, not suspecting Matvei's involvement, hastily arranged a security meeting with Matvei. All of the guards present for the meeting were loyal to Matvei and stood by while he shot one of them in the head with is USP .45 as he walked into the room. The last Boss, the Kingpin, Matvei had injected with Variant Z and locked in a cell. Matvei last saw the Boss after he had turned Zombie, and watched him devour his own wife and children. In the Cartel world you had to be brutal, and family could not be left alive to plot revenge.

There had been consequences however. A small civil war erupted, and by the time it was over Matvei had lost nearly half of his men. His entire command was now around 1700 fighting men. Matvei already had a platoon of 33 of his best men, including two of his Russian comrades, at his ranch for security. His command was now receiving heavy Zombie pressure from his South and West flanks and he was going to be forced to move North in to the United States before he was ready and before the Virus had a chance to die out.

Matvei put his most trusted lieutenant, Marcos Calderon in charge of 1500 of the men and had them begin to move North in the direction of Dallas. They were to gather survivors and set up strong points in the area. Matvei himself kept 150 of his best and most loyal mercenaries, and formed a company sized unit to head to his ranch. They were to keep in contact via helicopter and HAM radio. Matvei himself could have flown to the ranch himself. He knew it was secure however, and wanted to again lead a company in combat.

The operation began amid heavy gunfire as Zombie's broke the southern perimeter as most of the units had already departed earlier that day, and flooded the compound. Matvei's group was the last to leave, and they finally broke contact with the Zombie's north of Brownsville Tx. As they drove along in silence. Matvei wondered if the other convoy, even though well staffed and armed, would have the discipline to hold it together.

Matvei placed a call to Tamera at the ranch and she was doing remarkably well. She of course had no idea that he had been responsible for the current crises and it needed to stay that way. In fact, she really didn't know what he did for a living. She missed him and all she wanted right now was for him to get home safe and protect her from the horror that was waiting all around.
As they drove through an urban area Matvei starred out the window and remarked to her over the phone at how dark the town was without the electricity most Americans had become so used too. And how he thought it was indeed about to become even darker in times ahead.

nice!!!!!

That was awesome!

Hell YEAH!

awesome update. need moar please

Great updates!!!!   I'd like to see them heading into Wisconsin!

Very nice!

That would just be boring.  Unlike Illinois we Wisconsinites are well armed and ready to put the beat down on any zombie uprising.  They'd just be munching brats and swilling beer.  

My buddy and I had that very debate when laying out the outline for the story..... You will see where we end up on Friday

Its friday!  Hoping for an update, its been a rough week

uhm.........waiting.........please? maybe with sugar on top?

Please???