Chapter 23

Chapter 23

The year the great seventh number is accomplished,
Appearing at the time of the great games of slaughter:
Not far from the age of the great millennium,
When the dead will come out of their graves.

-Nostradamus






   A strike of thunder erupted in the skies, illuminating hundreds of blank faces. Children, adults, elderly, all unified as one moaned into the night as the rain drenched their rotting bodies. Race, religion, and ethnicity did not apply. Societal classes were abolished, every being at the top of the food chain needed not to worry about the everyday struggles of success in the old world.

The wind shifted, the scent of living flesh now flowing through each and every last rotting nose. Another howl was heard, this time of the living. Hundreds of eyes shifted towards the sound, hundreds of rotting faces wrinkling up at the scent of a new meal. An insatiable hunger kicked in, and hundreds of moans filled the air, drowning out the storm.





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Sergeant Barnes threw open the door to the hangar, the moans of the undead howling behind him. Everybody stood up at once, their eyes wide with horror as Rex cradled Cindy in his arms. Nobody moved as he used one of his arms to swipe everything off the card table. Glass bottles shattered on the floor; cards fluttered in the air as he gently laid Cindy down, moving the hair out of her eyes with one of his hands. His boots crunched on broken glass as he kneeled down, close to her.

LaRouge took a single step towards her, his boot also crunching on glass from a bottle of vodka. The remnants sloshed out, spilling across the floor. He reached forward, his hand shaking as he went to check for a pulse.

“Is she…” LaRouge started.

“Get the hell away from her!” Barnes growled, his teeth clenched and hot tears forming in his eyes. He slowly lifted Cindy’s torn shirt, revealing three nasty stab wounds. After being out in the rain so long, a crimson liquid had begun oozing out of each wound, spilling out on the table.

Drip. Drip.

Large blotches of the gore slowly made their way to the end of the table, dropping down onto the floor, mixing in with the vodka. Barnes took a shallow breath, trying to maintain himself. The only woman he’d quite possibly loved had been murdered, and thrown out like she was nothing more then a pile of garbage.

Drip. Drip.

“Jesus…” Kingston breathed, slowly bending down and placing his bottle on the floor.

“What the fuck happened?” LaRouge asked, taking a step back as if nervous. Barnes glanced up and saw Tom turned away, his face buried in his hands. He heard someone else radioing Taft what had happened.

Drip. Drip.

The soldiers slowly reached for their rifles as the moans drifted in through the slightly cracked door. Rex couldn’t take his eyes off his lover. Her once tanned complexion was completely gone; pale skin replaced it. The outlines of blue veins could be seen covering her entire body, blood coagulation taking its toll. Barnes screamed, his fists slamming on the table.

Drip-Drip-Drip.

He remembered their first night together. The passionate dinner, the long conversations, the sex. After he'd barely made it out of Philadelphia, he’d been on the verge of committing suicide. He’d been riding in the back of a transport with his Captain, coming back from an unsuccessful rescue mission. Every last soldier holed up at the office complex had been devoured. His Captain, a man hard as nails, had turned to him.

“We’re all going to end up like that in the end.” His Captain had said. At the time, Barnes thought nothing of it, but simply nodded.

“We’ll all either be eaten alive, or joining their ranks out there until every last fucking one of us is dead.” His Captain had whispered.

“Yeah.” Was all Barnes could mutter, still traumatized by the General being dragged away by those… things, screaming for his life. His Captain, his best friend, simply nodded and drew his sidearm- eating a bullet.

Drip. Drip.

For the next week, he’d spent every last minute fighting for his life, killing anyone that got in his way of surviving. He’d fallen into a serious depression, holding a gun under his chin every night, but always pussying out. But then Cindy… she’d saved his life. Even in this new fucked up world, he’d had one thing to live for, one thing to look forward to at the end of each day.

Drip. Drip.

Over the moans and over the storm, a faint scream could be heard off in the distance. The other soldiers in the room loaded their weapons, worriedly peeking their heads outside the hangar.

“I’ll be back for you…” He kissed Cindy on the lips before slowly pulling his jacket over her. Barnes took a deep breath, turning towards his fellow soldiers. All eyes were on him, awaiting their next order.

“Get to the main gate, I’m not sure what’s going on out there, but I don’t like it…” They all stared at him, a thousand questions in each one’s eyes.

“Don’t just stand there, move it out!”

Drip. Drip.





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Rex ran through the storm, holding a hand out to shield his eyes from the rain. The control tower came in sight, and another scream we heard.

“What the fuck…” Barnes stormed through the doors, blindly noting that the usual patrol was missing. He took the stairs two at a time, pulling out his sidearm as he reached the top of the tower. Inside, he heard something fall, as if a chair was thrown to the side. Barnes clenched his teeth, and placed a hand on the doorknob and burst through. He let out a yell of surprise as Officer Alexandra Hartkins fell into his arms, crying profusely. Her pants were missing, and her shirt was torn open.

Barnes eyes slowly made their way over to Taft, who had a bloody hand over his face as he drew his own sidearm, cursing up a storm.

“Fucking bitch!” He spat, lowering his hand. Barnes grimaced, the Colonel had three long scratch marks going down his cheek; the blood freely flowed down and stained his collar. Taft fired off a shot, hitting Hartkins in the side. She let out a scream, slowly falling from his arms and collapsing on the floor, weeping.

“Taft, what the hell are you doing?” Barnes cried. He saw fire in the old man’s eyes.

“You, take her down to the chopper.” Taft yelled, holding the side of his face again.

“Why-”

“Unless you want to end up like your bitch, you’ll do it!” Taft screamed. Barnes felt the blood rushing to his face.

“Excuse me?” He asked. Taft suddenly turned his head, looking him dead in the eyes as he stormed up to him; he held his ground and suddenly found Taft’s Beretta placed against his cheek.

“Are you questioning my orders, Sergeant?” Barnes gritted his teeth as the muzzle of the gun burned his flesh, still hot from being fired. Barnes said nothing, his breathing becoming heavier as his grip tightened on his own sidearm, so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“If I need to repeat myself, so help you God-”

“Sir, no sir!” Taft lowered his gun, a sigh of relief flowing through Barnes as he did so. The moans of the dead filled the air as Taft walked over to the window, looking out.

“They hunger…” He looked over at Hartkins. “They are waiting.”





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Alexandra Hartkins sobbed as Barnes slowly strapped her in to the harness. He tried not looking at her as he did so.

“Please…” She begged as he tightened a strap. “he-he tried to… tried to…” She broke down crying again, and Barnes felt like shit.

“Hurry it up.” LaRouge called back from the front as he took the chopper on another spin around the complex.

“I’m sorry.” Barnes whispered as he helped her stand up. She began shaking her head slowly as he opened the doors. Looking down, hundreds of the undead were just standing underneath the hovering Blackhawk, their moans now eerily subsided as they waited. He looked into Hartkin’s large, brown bloodshot eyes. Tears flowed down her face as she begged for her life.

“Not like this… please God not like this!” She screamed. Barnes sighed.

“Turn around.” She cried even harder, but complied. The blood from her gunshot wound flowed down her snowy white legs and onto the chopper floor. As a few drops of it left through the open doors, the moans of the undead suddenly picked up again, wailing in hunger.

“You won’t feel a thing.” Barnes drew his M9 and shot her in the back of the head. A streak of lightening lit up the sky as her head jerked forward, brain matter and gore blasting out of the exit wound. Her legs wobbled for a second before they gave out, and she tumbled out of the helicopter, silently plummeting down.

Barnes walked over to LaRouge, and had his gun aimed at him before he could question what just happened.

“You speak one word of this, and I’ll slit your throat.”

Hartkins’ lifeless corpse fell into the hands of the undead. They all tore away at her like ravages, the sound of flesh being torn from bone drifted through the night as the dead feasted.