And Their Name Was Death

May 17, 2007 at 8:08 pm (Fiction, Survival Story, Undead, Zombie)

I awoke tied to a chair in a barren wood floored room, the only window looking outside was covered in black paint. I could see the square I left unpainted to watch outside so at least I knew I was still in the pawn shop. A large man in urban camouflage sat across from me up against the wall beside his rifle and pack. He was reading a book with the aid of a small flashlight, the only other light in this dark room was coming from that square without paint.

When he noticed I was awake he shinned the light in my eyes as he stood up and walked over to me. “Do you know what your first mistake was?” he asked. His accent was a cross between French & New York. Chances are he was one of the Mercenaries hired by the United States government as John said they were. When I didn’t answer there was a brief pause before I felt a sharp pain in the side of my face as his fist collided with my skull. The room went dark and silent in an instant. At least my Brother got away. Hopefully he will be safe.

— *Earlier That Morning*

We had decided to take shifts watching for zombies. My brother, Dan, took the first shift. The military man, Johny, whom my brother had finally started to trust, took the second. I got the third and last shift by request figuring it would be the easiest. My logic was that I would be able to sleep for six hours, and only have to sit in the dark for one hour before the sun came up. I was wrong, though, as I didn’t get any sleep until my watch started.

Halfway threw Dans watch some heavy gunfire started up that never really ended. When my watch started I had just gotten used to the noise of the gunfire, and kept falling asleep. A problem Johny apparently didn’t have as he continuously threatened to shoot me in the foot if I didn’t wake up. As the sun came up enough to see, we found the gunfire had drawn extremely close. Watching through the hole in the paint I could see zombies running down the street toward it. Not quite as thick as on the highways, but at any one time around ten could be seen running past.

By nine, when we had planned to leave, I could see the commotion outside. Joy and adrenalin filled my body as I raced down stairs to inform the others of the amazing news. The military was entering every building on both sides of the street! Obviously searching for survivors. This nightmare was over. Dan and I could piece together what was left of our life, and Johny could go back to defending our country and freedom.

When I got down to tell them the good news only Dan shared in the excitement. Johny just sat there with a concerned look on his face before quickly getting to his feet. Sternly he told us we had to immediately leave through the backdoor, and get as far away as possible. Dan and I were puzzled, why not wait for the rescue?

Johny explained that they were mercenaries, formerly employed by the government. Once their objective is overrun their payment ceases as it is to difficult to retrieve them for redeployment when many of them are likely to be infected. Many of them die in the fighting, but there are rumors of a few who go rogue. Called ‘ghosts’ they adapt to the zombie infested lands. These ghost teams thrive off of looting. Once they find humans they either kill them outright for food, ‘recruit’ them forcing them to fight as cannon fodder, or worse torture them for both entertainment and information.

Originally, upon hearing this, Dan had laughed. “Only a fool could believe that. Those stories are only spread to give people all the more incentive to evacuate when ordered. That many could not go feral so quickly. We are waiting for their help, you can leave if you want, but we are staying.” Johny scowled, and moved out of sight of the front door into the gun room.

It only took a few minutes for them to get to our building. Dan and I stayed in sight of the door by the hall leading out the back way just in case Johny was right. Johny stayed in the gun room to fight if need be.

With a burst of flame the door flew inward off its hinges. Stepping through the smoke a tall man in a full bio-war suit stepped through the door holding a large gun. He was followed closely by two others. Without so much as a warning the first one, still in the door way, opened fire. The bullets from his three-shot bursts danced around just missing my head by a few inches. Johny was right, we should leave.

(Cont. May 18, 10 AM EST “City of the Dead”)

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