Technology has never directly influenced the intelligence of the human being. It has merely supplemented it. The innovations of the twenty-second century allowed humans to directly interface with their technology, eliminating the need for graphical user interfaces. Nanotechnology has gotten to the point where consumers don't even see the devices. They are integrated into the human body.

Research began when holographic interfaces allowed users to "touch" their devices in ways even touch screens couldn't even allow. Augmented reality was the launch point for the nanotechnology we today call cyborgism. It was only a form of speech declaring that a device was a part of you. Now, it was a reality. Hostpitals gained special departments for this combining of flesh and machine. Humans became androids. The devices were charged through kinetic energy. Excercise was now a requirement in daily life for this technology to exist. The fat American stereotype was no more. The innovations in cyborgism also benefited the health of all who acquired them. It was so common, people without technology integrated with their bodies were looked upon with mystery.

---

"Doctor, the anethesia has fully incapacitated the patient. We are ready to make the first incision," a nurse dressed in scrubs said to the tall man across the operating table from her. Her hair was contained in a hairnet. A green mask covered her mouth, preventing her from giving the patient any diseases or illnesses she may have.

The tall slim man raised his scalpel. Making his first incision in the patient's arm, he began the operation.

This patient was getting a music player ingegrated into her arm. She mainly listened to music during her workouts, so this would allow her to not worry about wires or charging the device. She would hear it internally, just like how one may hear their stomach growl. The term "iPod" actually meant something now.

The operation went smoothly. The doctor had performed this kind of operation hundreds of times. Everyone was getting integrated music players. The chip was now placed along her muscles where it would be able to acquired a charge through the movement of said muscle. Another person now had become a cyborg.

"Well, Nurse Janice, it seems like this operation was conducted successfully. Transport Miss Rose to her room, please," the doctor instructed as he turned to the sink. He removed his gloves and began sanitizing his limbs.

"Yes, Dr. Grant. Is that all?" she inquired while moving the patient towards the door.

"Yes. I'll get a couple other nurses to help you transport the patient to her bed."

"Thank you, doctor." She turned and headed through the doors, carting the patient towards recovery. Miss Rose would only stay until the anethesia wore off. She'd be gone within the hour.

"Nurses Hill and Brown, report to recovery to assist with the transportation of a patient," Dr. Grant spoke into the phone that projected his voice through the hospital. "Nurses Hill and Brown, report to recovery." He made his way through the door to the break room. Grant desperately needed a cola.

A couple surgeries later, Grant was on the interstate to his home in Monument. His job was in great desire. This forced Denver to outsource to neighboring suburbs. The fast metropolis had enveloped cities for miles around it. Each suburb was divided into its own cities, with Denver as its main hub of activity. Dodging cars on this reimagined autobahn, he drove his electricity-powered vehicle with great precision.

Dr. Mark Grant's whole life was precise. He had planned it all out when he graduated medical school. He had accomplished all of his goals within ten yeras of his graduation. Mark had the perfect life. A beautiful wife, kids, and even a little yorkshire terrier called his magnificient sixty five hundred square foot house home. He had the dream.

Despite the popularity of cyborgism, the doctor was old school. He shrugged off the revolution. Medical school had taught him that machine and flesh should be kept separate except in the most dire situations. Synthetic limbs fell into this category. Mark had a traditional way of thinking that went against the new age ideas. His opinions did not affect his profession. The middle-aged doctor kept his own philosophies separate from his job, as one should.

Taking the exit for Monument, he drove a couple more miles to his house, finally arriving home.

Elise Grant greeted her husband at the double doors, "How was work, honey?" She kissed him on the cheek.

"It was ok," he said rushing past her. He just wanted to relax. He had no time for her.

"What's wrong?" she inquired, chasing after him into the foyer. "Did something happen?"

A waterfall cascaded down the wall, splashing into a basin near below the floor. It gave off the illusion of disappearing through the floor. The beige walls silhouetted the slate rock behind the water. Two light fixtures bathed the water piece in a pale light.

He stopped and turned to her. "Nothing's wrong, dear. I'm just exhausted. I'm sorry," he sighed. "It's just more people wanted to get their damned gadgets in their bodies."

"It's not all bad. I actually like the idea," she said, averting her gaze. "If something significant comes out, I'd probably like to try it."

"Why the hell would you want that machinery in your body?" he exclaimed. "It may not have been proven medically, but it can't be good for you."

"We'll just see. I have no interest in getting an iPod inserted into me, but if something that drastically bettered us as humans came out, sign me up," she replied somewhat sarcastically with a grin. She actually felt this way, but she thought it wasn't the time or place for such a discussion.

"Well, if that's how you want it," he replied, sensing her love for him. She was attempting to cheer him up, and she was succeeding. He still was fatigued, but he was in a better mood.

Thoughts about cyborgism left his mind as he basked in his wife's love. She prepared him and his chidren a vast feast. He slept peacefully that night.

---

Mark awoke to the sound of his chiming phone. He was needed at the hospital. He crawled out from under the blankets, carefully trying not to wake his wife.

He snuck off to the bathroom to take the call. In the dim light, he could make the marble bath tub. Turning on a light, he was blinded as the beams glazed off the mirrors. He hit the switch, regretting his decision.

"Hello?" he whispered into the device.

"Dr. Grant, my man! We need you here at the hospital. We've got the weirdest thing!" a man said to the doctor. "We need you as soon as possible. I think it's part of your field."

"I'll be there within an hour," he replied groggily. More work was the last thing he needed. The day had worn him out. And what did Jim say about it pertaining to his field? Confusion felt heavy upon him as he slipped into the shower.

Dripping, he was thinking clearer. The shower had woken him up a bit more. He was going to be sure he got a cup of joe before leaving. He wouldn't last an hour without it.

He went back into the bedroom and kissed Elise on the cheek. She sighed softly, not batting an eyelid. Mark glanced at the clock. It read "3:12". He sighed at how early it was.Not wanting to wake her, he headed downstairs. The fifteen minutes that elapsed while he waited for the coffee to brew was agonizing. Mark just wanted to leave and get home so that he could slumber for another few hours. Hopefully, he would be able to come in a few hours late when his normal shift started so that he could catch up on sleep. They were bound to allow this since he was coming in during his night off.

The coffee pot beeped loudly. It broke him out of his trance. He got himself out a thermos from the cabinet, filled it with french vanilla cream, and headed out to his car.

The interstate was empty. Mark pushed his vehicle to its limits. The lack of a speed limit on this autobahn allowed him to go as fast as he wanted. Speeding towards his place of work, he thought about what the Jim on the phone said. Something was wrong and it had to do with his study of prothetics and cyborgism. Someone probably just hurt themself as a result to a recent insertion.

The moonlight glanced off his windshield as he approached Denver. The city never slept. The lights from the buildings lit up the streets as if it was day. The only ones asleep at this time of night were the ones in the suburbs, away from all of this ruckus. The lack of solace made Denver a place where no one actually lived. Everyone just visited during their waking hours. For some, this was early in the morning.

Mark entered the vast hospital parking lot, his eyelids heavy. Jim came out to greet him. Jim was dressed in a blue jumpsuit perfect for his position as watchman. During the wee hours of the morning, he was in charge of the hospital. There were a few nurses in each wing, and a doctor slept in the break rooms of each wing. No one could be too cautious.

"About time you showed up!" he exclaimed. "We've got the weirdest thing. She's all purple. She's purple around her stomach. You've got to take a look. She said that she got something implanted there last month. This is your field, Dr. Grant."

"Why wasn't the doctor on duty able to take care of her?" Mark asked the man.

"He doesn't know what it is," Jim said shrugging. "He thought I should give you a call because you seem to be the smartest doctor in your division."

"This must be serious. Where is the patient?" Dr. Grant asked wide awake.

"22-B48, doctor," Jim replied with a look of relief. "I don't know why, but just knowing you're here has made most of the stress that accompanied that woman through the door lift up off of me. You just have that effect on people, doctor. You know what you're doing."

"Don't do that. All I've done is study what I need to do my job. Everyone in every field has to do this," Mark replied modestly. "Well, Jim, get back to your post. I'll go see this patient. Jim wandered off, almmost tripping on a navy pant leg.

The doctor followed him through the sliding glass doors of the hospital. He walked across the gray lobby to the bank of elevators. Mark stopped in front of them as Jim continued on to his desk. He pushed the round gold button signifying up. Moments later, the elevator reached the first floor and opened, beckoning Mark to enter with its cheery elevator music. He stepped into the gold room with a faux-marble floor. It exclaimed elegance. The tired doctor pushed the button for his floor and patiently waited as the elevator ascended the twelve stories to his floor.

Muffled yelling was audible through the elevator doors. As the doors opened, he saw nurses running between two rooms.

"What's going on?" were the first words out of his mouth as he rushed up to the chaos.

"She may not make it. Look at her," a nurse turned to say to him. "Oh, Dr. Grant. Good thing you're here. We need your help. Take a look, please?" she said gesturing towards the bloated mass in front of her. Mark looked upon the patient in disgust.

"What do we know?" Mark inquired as he gestured towards the patient's stomach.

"You worked on her about a month ago, implanting a heartbeat monitor," a nurse said looking up from her clipboard. "It seems like it's had a negative effect on the patient's organs."

"Ok. Let's get her to an operating room. I'll take a look," Mark said calmly. "I'll go get prepared," he said as he headed towards the break room.

"We'll be in room 256-M, doctor," a nurse replied.

"Got it."

Mark puzzled about what complication had occurred with the patient as he changed into scrubs. He had never seen anything like this before. The patient had a severe side effect. His task was to discover what that side effect was. Donning his pale green garbs of clothing, he left the room.

Operating room 256-M was on the other side of the wing. He'd have to hurry if he had any hope of saving the patient. Mark walked as quickly as he could toward the room.

"Hurry, doctor. I don't think we have much time," a nurse said as he cared for the patient, giving her oxygen.

"Ok, heartbeat is twice as fast as normal. Blood pressure is high," Mark said, noting the readings on the LCD displays above the table that beeped consistently. "We need to get her heartbeat down or else she'll have a heart attack."

The patient yelped out repeatedly in pain.

"Give her some morphine. That should help with the pain and her heart. Hurry, we'll lose her otherwise," Dr. Grant shouted in anxiety.

"Right, doctor. I'll give her some morphine," the male nurse said, injecting a serum into the patient's arm through a syringe.

The patient started shaking uncontrollabley. The force of her seizure broke the needle off of the syringe. Blood flowed slowly out of the tiny wound. Her vibrations caused the entire steel table to shake. It threatened to come apart under the intense movement. Mark placed his body on top of the patient; other doctors followed suit. They attempted to quell the beast that was the patient's seizure.

The beeping of the heart rate monitor stopped momentarily before turning into a loud whine. She was gone.

"All right. Call it," Dr. Grant said solemnly. He didn't lose patients often. It helped that he was mainly in charge of cyborgism now. His operations weren't usually life threatening.

"Doctor, I'll wheel her to the morgue," a nurse said, sadness apparent in her facial expression. She placed a sheet upon the patient.

"I'd like to take a closer look at her sometime later today," Dr. Grant said decisively. "I think her death might have been a result to her submitting to cyborgism. Since that's my primary area, I think I'd be the most apt to finding what killed this young woman."

"Yes, sir. I'll put in a request with the medical examiner. I'm sure he'll agree," the nurse said. "He will probably have no idea about this. It's such a recent innovation. . ." the  nurse trailed off.

"See to it, Viktor."

The medical team transported the patient back to her bed on wheels.

"I'll see you later, Dr. Grant," Viktor stated as he headed out the door with the deceased patient.

Marked headed back to the break room to change. Despite the first loss of a patient in months, Mark wasn't completely depressed. This was his ticket back into something meaningful. Yes, not everyone could carry out the cybernetic implants, but it was trivial compared to saving the lives of others. This was his true passion. He didn't even know how he had gotten sucked into the new age era of medicine. His drug was adrenaline. The rush of saving a life and preventing another loss to a disease or drunk driver was the best feeling in the world for him. He needed it oncemore.

He exited the room into the now calm hallway. One wouldn't have known it was utter chaos merely an hour ago.

Mark ventured down to the lobby to say goodbye to Jim.

"Hey, doctor, how was it?" Jim asked Mark as he approached Jim's desk.

"We just lost the patient. We don't know what was wrong with her," Mark replied. "I'm going to take a look at her later today. I need some rest."

"Well, you ought to. It's four in the morning, sir," Jim said. "It really is too bad that you lost her. She was young. Too young, if I say so myself."

"How'd you know so much about the patient, Jim?" Mark asked curiously.

"I was called up there when they needed you," Jim replied quickly. "I was given the task to get you here as quickly as possible. I was just doing what I was told, sir, being up there."

"That's reasonable. No need to be defensive. I was just curious," Mark reassured the young man. "You usually have no reason to go up there is all. Well, I'm going to head home and catch a few more Zs before I come back to diagnose what that patient had," Mark said take a peek at his watch. "I'll see you later, Jim."

"Bye, Dr. Grant. Sleep well," he said with a wink.

The drive home was quite uneventful the tired man. Finally arriving home near dawn, he shed his clothes and slipped underneath the blankets on the bed. Elise hadn't moved a bit during the couple hours he was absent. Being a heavy sleeper, she wouldn't know he had left until breakfast. Sleep washed over him as he succumbed to the blessing that was rest.

---

Mark awoke with a start. Elise was gently shaking his shoulder saying something incomprehensible to the groggy man, leaning over her husband.

As she started coming into focus, he heard her say "Wake up, Mark. I made you breakfast. It's time to get up or you'll be late for work. We wouldn't need that, now would we?" How he loved this woman. How did he get so lucky?

"I'mmm mup," he mumbled to Elise. A yawn later, he said more clearly, "I'm up, I'm up."

"Come on downstairs and join us for some breakfast. You'll need it if you want the energy you need for work today," she said smiling.

"I'll be down in a couple minutes," Mark said after another yawn. Elise turned and headed out of the bedroom. "Oh and we need to talk after the kids leave. I may have to leave work late tonight," he called after her.

"Sounds like a plan," Elise said, turning towards her husband. "I love you."

"I love you, too. You have no idea how lucky I am to have you, Elise," he said lovingly. "No idea."

The morning sun warmed his face as it shined onto his face when he entered the kitchen. His two children, Jill and Rick, sat in the eating area, gulping down eggs and bacon.

"Don't eat so fast," Elise called from the stainless steel stove.

The scent of eggs mingled with bacon wafted through the air. The aroma forced a tiny portion of saliva to form on Mark's lips as he walked into the kitchen. His stomach roared in hunger.

"That smells delicious!" he exclaimed right before kissing her on the cheek.

"Well sit down, mister, and eat up," she said gesturing towards a plate chock full of the scrambled eggs and bacon. "Oh, I mean 'doctor'," she said with a grin.

Mark sat down salivating. This would be a great start to a stressful hard day.

"Good morning, younglings," he said to the adolescents in front of him.

"Hey, dad," Rick said loudly. "You look tired."

"Well, I got called in this morning. We'll talk about it later," Mark said after chewing a bit of eggs. He proceeded in shoveling another bite of eggs into his mouth.

"All right." Rick glanced at the clock above the stove. "Oh man, hurry up, Jill. We'll be late!"

He ran out of the room to finish getting ready for his day at the jungle some called middle school. Jill finished up her meal and followed him nonchalantly. She acted like being late wasn't a big deal. The day ahead was just one of many boring periods of time during her life.

With the children gone, Elise asked, "So what was up at the hospital this morning that you needed to leave? I didn't even notice that you had left. Well, the shower was unusually moist this morning," she added.

"Someone came in sick. We don't know what it was. We think it may have something to do with an implant she got last month. She passed away shortly after I arrived. That's actually what I wanted to talk about," Mark said. "I am going to check her out to see if I can discover what killed her. I might not come home until after you and the kids are in bed. It's important that we make sure this is just an isolated incident and not something that might become widespread."

"I understand," Elise said more seriously. "Just come home when you can. I can't be greedy. The hospital needs a smart man like you. Now, hurry up before you're late for work. You need to get to the bottom of that death so that you can be home more," she said with a wink.

Mark finished up his delicious meal before heading upstairs to complete his morning ritual. Thoughts about the death that morning plagued his mind as he prepared to leave.

"Bye, Elise. Have a wonderful day," he said, kissing her. "I love yout."

"You, too. I love you," she said, returning his kiss. "Don't work too hard and try to get home as soon as you can."

"I'll try," he replied as he headed towards his car.

The interstate was a polar opposite to what it was in the wee hours of the morning. Now, it was impossible to go more than sixty miles per hour for more than thirty seconds. Traffic was backed up the entire way to the hospital. That is how the main arterry of Colorado was during rush hour.

Mark rushed into the hospital to begin his research on the young woman's corpse. Horace, Jim's daytime counterpart, greeted Mark as he passed the security desk to the bank of elevators.

The hospital was bursting with activity. It was just a normal day for everyone else. Besides a scheduled implant, Mark planned on spending his entire day observing the body. He had to discover what had slayed that poor young woman.

The elevator doors slid open and Luke Sebastian, the medical examiner for the hospital, stood prepared to embark onto the elevating compartment.

"Ahh, just the man I was coming to see," Dr. Sebastian stated. "Let's go down to my office." He walked into the elevator before Mark could protest and pressed the button for his floor.

"You wanted to see Madeline Watson, correct?" he asked, turning to Mark. When he gave Luke a puzzled look, he elaborated, "The woman from this morning. That weird case that you attempted to work on."

"Oh, yes," Mark said coming to his senses. "I would like to take a look because it appeared her ailment had something to do with my field of expertise, cyborgism."

"I agree. That's why I came to see you. I started taking a look, and it appeared like the affected area was near an area she had some electronic device implanted," Dr. Sebastian said. "From our records, it appears that you are the one who implanted her device about one month ago."

"I wouldn't be surprised if I had. I do a lot of these kinds of operations," Mark nodded. "I do so many though, it's hard to keep track of the patients. I couldn't even tell you who I worked with yesterday. The amount of people augmenting their electronics with their bodies is staggering."

The elevator doors opened as the pair reached Dr. Sebastian's floor. The entire floor was the hospital's morgue. The air had a putrid scent of decay. Despite the immense sanitation undertaken every day, one had no other choice but sense the death that plagued the floor.

"Right over here," Dr. Sebastian said, pointing towards a door emblazoned with his name. "We'll talk in here before you see the body."

The pale green walls accented the white floor perfectly. The appearance of this corridor perfectly completemented the main function of said corridor, housing the deceased.

The pair walked across the floor to the office. Dr. Sebastian pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. The dim glow of a lamp in the corner made the room even creepier. Dr. Sebastian turned on the lights. The beams of light transformed the room from a cavern of death to an office of a doctor. The difference was comparable to mud and water.

"Have a seat, doctor," Sebastian said as he pointed to an empty chair in front of the bulky wooden desk.

"Thank you," Mark said as he sat down. "This is an interesting office you have here," he said, gesturing towards picture of Dr. Sebastian hiking in Hawaii. "Not the image one would see a medical examiner as. Stereotypically, of course," he added.

"Yeah. We medical examiners have a few stereotypes floating around about us," Sebastian nodded. "I think the whole examining dead bodies thing creeps people out. Someones got to do it though. Without us, there would be no way to solve murder, treat disease or even elongate human life.

"Anyway, we're not here to talk about that. The reason we're here is poor Miss Watson. Have you had a chance to look at her since this morning?"

"No, I have not. I just got here really," Mark replied. "The traffic was terrible."

"If you want, you can take a look now," Sebastian offered. "What's your schedule today like?"

"Besides an implant today at three, I was planning on spending all day here, if you don't mind," Mark said.

"Well, I'd be more than happy to accomodate you. I feel like you would assist me greatly in finding her cause of death," Sebastian nodded. "Your affiliation with cybernetics would allow us to speed up the process of researching this grand mystery."

"Agreed. So, where is she?" Mark inquired.

"Follow me."

Drs. Sebastian and Grant exited the office and headed towards the examination room a few yards away. A dark mass caught Mark's eye in the darkness as they entered the room. The mass turned into Miss Madeline Watson as Luke Sebastian turned on the lights.

"Here she is," Sebastian said, pointing towards the corpse. "I haven't had a whole lot of time to examine her, but it appears like there is some sort of mutation in the abdomen."

"Yes, I noticed the bruising and swelling this morning. Shall we?" Mark said as he put on a pair of rubber gloves.

"Let's begin," Sebastian agreed.

The pair moved towards the corpse of the young woman. The process of decay had already begun in the few hours it's been exposed to the air outside of the freezing compartments. Two white sheets covered her. One went from her feet all the way to the bottom of her abdomen. The other went from a bit above the affected area to her fiery red hair, something Mark didn't notice until now.

"If you look, it looks like the stomach suddenly inflated with some sort of gas. I'm thinking an organ ruptured, causing this calamity," said Dr. Sebastian while he pointed different areas around the stomach. "It looks like this took place within a short period of time because there are vast stretch marks around her middle that look like they just formed. It looks like these ailments occurred spontaneously and that's why the patient waited until this late in the process to come in."

"Uh huh. I agree. Do you think we should make an incision?" Mark inquired. "Just in case there is some toxic gas, we should probably wear face protection."

"Yes," agreed Dr. Sebastian. "I have a couple respirators in this cabinet for such an occasion."

He walked over to the cabinet and opened up a drawer. He pulled out two gray respirators and handed one to Mark. They both placed the devices on their faces.

"Do you want the honor, doctor? This is really your area of expertise, inspecting the deceased," asked Mark.

"Ok, I'll be making the first incision near the top of the navel," Dr. Sebastian. "Are you ready?"

"Proceed, doctor," Mark replied with a look of determination on his face.

"I'm going to make the first incision . . . now," Dr. Sebastian stated as he cut into the navel flesh of the corpse.

The slice forced the noxious gases to escape from the vessel. A hiss echoed through the room. Once the gas' eruption subsided, the two doctors peered continued their venture into the body. Incisions into the corpse began making the internels of the corpse visible. The tissue near the stomach was now visible. The pair removed their respirators in order to speak to each other more effectively.

"Oh my," Mark started. "It appears she had a tumor. I don't see how this could happen in such a short period of time. The attending physician that made sure she was viable for cybernetic technology. He would have noticed this if she had had it when I implanted her heartrate monitor."

"It's a puzzling matter," Dr. Sebastian said whilst nodding. "It appears we won't know how it was caused without further testing. Seeing as neither of us are in the field of cell mutation, we'll have to get someone else to look at her."

"I concur. Who do you think should do it?" Mark inquried.

"I was thinking of Dr. Melbourne. She seems to be the veteran in that field here at this hospital."

"Would you contact her? We need to know as much as we can about how this woman acquired this cancerous tumor. If it's common enough, we might be able to prevent further deaths from this," Dr. Grant concluded.

"I'll see to it, sir," Dr. Luke Sebastian said as he removed his gloves. "I'll make it one of my top priorities."

"Thank you," Mark said. "Well, I have to prepare for another operation. I'll get in touch with you about this later. We must prevent anothercase if it's not as rare as it looks." Mark Grant left through the door and headed to the elevators. He had to get to his floor soon to prepare for that operation.

The rest of his day was pretty uneventful. He had called his wife during his lunch hour to inform her that he would not be late that evening. The hospital did not require his presense there. The drive home was as stressful as usual with the high volume of traffic.

During his the wonderfully delicious dinner prepared by Elise, she informed him on a new innovation in cybernetic technology. Orange Inc., the massive force behind the new age era of cybernetic technology, had announced a new product for the average consumer, Vector. It was a chip integrated with the host body's brain. It maximized the user's intelligence. It aided in the user's overall performance in skills requiring thought. It would make humans about eight times as efficient.

"Isn't it great, Mark?" Elise asked. "It would allow everyone to be eight times as smart as they are now. Imagine how smart you would be, considering you're a doctor!"

"I don't think so, Elise. You know how I feel about this kind of technology," Mark replied. "I think it tampers with the body. I don't have any backing for this, but it's got to be true. I don't see it as any different than a drug."

"Well, I might consider getting it. It would make our conversations more intelligible for the both of us," she said with a wink. "Don't worry though. It doesn't come out for a couple weeks. I will just think about it."

"In the end, it's you're body. Do with it as you wish," Mark said with a sigh. "I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"I know you just care about me, honey," she said. "Don't worry about me."

---

A couple weeks passed with the launch of Vector. Millions of people flocked to Orange stores to acquire this new product. With the new high demand of operations, Dr. Grant was swamped. He had numerous operations a day to go through, imbedding this piece of silicon into the brains of his patients. He thought that most people would be more machine than human if they kept this kind of behavior up.

Results of the tests on Miss Watson's body also turned up. She had died of cancer, but the cause of said cancer was still unknown. It would take a few more tests and some more research to fully destroy the cloud surrounding this mystery.

One day after his work at the hospital, his wife called him on the way home.

"I have some good news," she said anxiously. "Hurry home so that I can tell you."

"What is it?" Mark inquired, exhausted from his day at the hospital.

"You'll just have to wait until you get home," she said. "Don'tbe late!"

She hung up soon after that call. Confusion filled the mind of Mark. He had no idea what she was so excited about. Upon entering his house, he found out.

"Ask me a really hard question, Mark!" Elise exclaimed as he walked into the door.

"Why?" he asked in confusion.

"Just do it," she said impatiently.

"Fine. What's the derivative of five cosine ten X?" Mark relented.

"Negative ten sine ten X," said Elise immediately. "Did you notice?"

"How'd you do that?" Mark inquired in wonder.


"Don't you see it?" Elise asked.

"What?" Mark asked.

"Look closely here," Elise pointed towards her forehead. "See it now?"

"There's a small scratch about an inch long?" Mark noticed. "What's that have to do with you knowing a derivative in seconds?"

"I got a Vector integrated with my brain!" Elise exclaimed. "Isn't it wonderful? Now we can talk about more intelligent topics. You don't have to dumb things down for me anymore."

Rage filled Mark. How could she have done that without consulting him first? Was Orange that persuasive? How was he supposed to be able to comprehend the thought process behind such a move? The lack of speech between them about the topic had made him even angrier. It wouldn't have been as big of a deal if he had been able to know about it. She had the Vector chip implanted within her brain. Why didn't she have him do it? It was his profession of course. Why wasn't he allowed to get into her head? The other doctor probably screwed up. How else was he supposed to react?

"How could you do something that stupid?" Mark said, raising his voice. For a quiet man, he was able to do this quite well. "It seems like the most idiotic thing anyone could ever do. You know how I feel about his! It's incredibly dangerous You said we'd talk about it further before you took such a rash decision. Why didn't you consult with me, you dumb woman?"

Elise was in tears. "I don't care what you think. I feel that I made the right decision," she said bawling. "I am a better person now. You and I can talk about things that I never would have understood before. We are able to converse in a foreign language even, if we both learn it. Why is it so bad? You're super smart. How am I supposed to keep up with that without Vector?  Vector allows me to see things I never saw before. For example, just yesterday I didn't know what derivatives were. Today, Vector's artificial intelligence has taught me what it means. Why we use it. It's all coming through to me now. Why is it so bad?"

"I don't trust these things, Elise. Despite my job consisting of helping others attain what you have done, I don't believe that it is right. The only reason I have my current job in cybernetics is to get your food on the table. It's the highest paying job right now. Why else would I stay with it? It allows me to provide you all with whatever you guys desire. I try to be the best husband I can for you and the best father for our children. The work I put into the hospital is only for you guys. I would go into another field if I had the option. You guys are the only reason I can go through with it," Mark ranted. "You guys are the reason I put those damned pieces of machinery within the bodies of my patients. It is the only way you could get everything you want. You wouldn't have that vast stove you love without me. You guys would be helpless without me."

"I stand by my decision. You can't dictate how I treat my body, Mark," Elise whimpered. "I will do what I feel is right for me, and I feel that getting a Vector was the right thing to do. Now, I'm sorry that I didn't tell you. I should have. We should have at least talked about it."

"I hate this kind of technology, Elise, but I really need you to tell me about these decisions. Who the hell was responsible for implanting that in your brain? I will look into this further. I need to know that this doctor at least did it right," he said with a sigh. Mark was starting to calm down. "I'm sorry I yelled, but it's only because I love you so much. I need you guys, and I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I appreciate that, Mark. I love you too. We'll just see what happens, ok?" Elise said while wiping her tears. She kissed him. "I think it'll prove to be nothing. We just need to wait it out and see what happens. Ok?"

"Fine. I don't agree with your decision, but what's done is done," Mark said. "There's no reversing this operation you have undergone."

"Just hold me," she pleaded.

The pair embraced in the foyer. The water barely audible in the water feature just inches from them. A tiny amount of water droplets landed on them as she melted into her husband's chest.

The night wasn't very eventful. Elise would spout of new facts that she knew as a result of her implant. The cybernetic technology had transformed the woman. Out of giddiness, she had started asking Mark random questions, wondering if she knew more than him. Her favorite area was mathematics, specifically derivatives in Calculus. It may have had something to do with the fact that that's the first type of question Mark had asked her when he got home. That was when she wanted him to test her intelligence.

Mark simply prayed that nothing bad would happen to his precious wife as a result of her endeavor. She meant the world to the man.

---

A few more weeks passed. Elise displayed her new intelligence as often as she could. The technology had made her already fantastic cooking ability rise exponentially. She was even smarter than Mark in some fields. It worried him. She would use every chance she got to display her new abilities.

The attributes she acquired through Vector started getting on Mark's nerves. It wasn't just her. Others did it around him. Some of his patients would come back after the fact to display their new powers as some called it. The commonality of this technology baffled Mark. It seemed like two in three people now had Vector. He was now the minority. His refusal in he technology made him a social outcast in some ways. Others would have significantly more intelligent conversations when he was around, showing off how awesome Vector was. He would not succumb to the peer pressure of attaining this "power". Mark would not give in to the temptation. He wanted this knowledge because he felt left out, but he would not give up his beliefs of cybernetics having a negative effect on the body in order to get this intelligence. He would not change his ideas for personal gain. It was no different than drugs in his eyes.

---

Mark entered his office after integrating another Vector with a patient. It was now his only task. The novelty of music players and other small electronics had worn off. Now, people only wanted to increase their intelligence artificially.

"Dr. Mark Grant," Dr. Kendrick, the GM for the hospital greeted Mark from behind Mark's own desk. "You're just the man I wanted to see. Of course, you knew that since we're in your office. Please sit down," he said pointing to a chair in front of the mahogany desk.

"What's this about, sir?" Mark asked cautiously. "Am I in trouble for something?"

"Well, not really. We do need to talk about your job though," Dr. Kendrick said whle clasping his hands in front of his face and putting his elbows on the Mark's desk. "The thing is, Dr. Grant, you haven't been performing recently. You're starting to be inefficient with your given tasks. You are slow and still don't know everything possible in this complicated field of cybernetic technology. You need to be able to perform better. Sadly, I don't think this is something you can fix easily. I feel it's something to do with your limited brain. You refuse to get a Vector implanted into your own brain like me and the other doctors," Dr. Schmidt elaborated while pointing to his head. "I feel that unless you choose to get a Vector implanted into your brain, you're going to have to be replaced. It's the best thing for this hospital. It's nothing personal, but I do need someone more competent in your position about the future. It's necessary in the world we live in to enhance our bodies with technology," Dr. Schmidt concluded.

"But, sir," Mark trailed off trying to gather his thoughts. "What about how much I've done for this hospital?"

"We appreciate the work you've done here, but you aren't necessary anymore. We even have someone chosen alrady unless you decide to get the Vector module," Dr. Kendrick said calmly. "Those are your only two options that you have, Dr. Grant. I'm sorry, but for this hospital to take care of the patients and live up to its high reputation, you'll need to either get Vector or leave."

"Even after all I've done for you?" Mark started raising his voice. "I've given this hospital my life. I have been here my entire career as a surgeon. I jumpstarted your hospital's reputation in cybernetic technology. I was the first doctor here to have any knowledge of cyborgism. If it wasn't for me, your hospital wouldn't be where it is today. It's all my doing. The majority of patients everyday in this hospital come here to get an implant of some sort. Recently, it's been mainly Vector. Why would you let me go after all I've done? Haven't I proved myself competent? I've devoted my entire career to you and this is how I'm thanked? I could have moved. I could have transferred hospitals. I could have even kept my original profession as a brain surgeon. Instead I went to medical school a second time in order to learn a field that was brand new. You needed someone to do it, and I volunteered. You should be thanking me! I'm the only one that attempted to follow your wishes. I went to school a second time for you and this hospital. I have had a loyalty to this place. Even though I wouldn't see another dime if more patients came here for the new abilities they would inherit from their electronic devices, I stayed and kept with it. I volunteered my time away from my wife and children to help you and this hospital. You are the very reason I have stayed with this field, Dr. Kendrick. I hate cyborism. I hate how people have integrated cybernetic technology into their bodies. It has to degrade the human body in some shape or form. Everyone thought cocaine was a miracle drug until it was proven to have harmful effects. The only reason I have stayed here is a loyalty to you and this hospital." He stopped to catch his breath.

"I see that, Dr. Grant, but I have no other choice. This is a business in the end. You are no longer needed. Like I said, it's nothing personally," Dr. Kendrick said calmly. "You are just an unnecessary expense. A younger, smarter doctor enhanced by the Vector technology could do so much more for a lesser paycheck. I'm sorry, Dr. Grant, but you apparently won't go with the first option, getting a Vector module. All well, we'll miss you, doctor. It was a good career you had. Pack up your things and leave."

---

"Hey, you're home early. What's wrong?" Elise said as Mark walked through the front door in the mid-afternoon. "What happened?"

"I. . ." Mark started, hesitating. "I. . . was let go," he finished solemly.

"What?" Elise exclaimed. "Why the hell did you get fired?"

"Apparently, there are countless people that can take my place now. That damned Vector technology has forced me to lose my job," Mark explained. "Apparently, there are people who can do my job for less and are more intelligent than me at the hospital."

"Well, Vector has increased my knowledge exponentially, and I can't even begin to fathom the IQ of your coworkers after acquiring Vector," she said.

"But how am I supposed to survive without a job? How are we supposed to survive?" he said gesturing towards her and then himself. "I really need that job. How could they do this to me? I have been with that hospital for twenty years. I am the only reason some of them have Vector. They were lucky to have me. I went against my beliefs to implant their goddamn technology in their bodies. It's like how you sold cigarettes at the drug store even though you despised smoking. Without me, that hospital would be no where. They would be without that technology. It is the only reason I have remained in my position. I was helping that damn hospital even though I didn't like what I was doing. It was me. It was all me that helped them in that business, and they do what as thanks? They throw me out like a pile of garbage because I am not smart enough. I, the man that helped that hospital get that technology, am not smart enough to help people make dumbass decisions," Mark raged. "It was me that got them where they are."

"Maybe. . ." Elise hesitated. "Well, maybe they'd take you back if you got Vector?" she suggested.

"What?" Mark yelled. "You want me to go against what I feel and conform to what they think everyone needs? I shouldn't have to change when I am perfectly capable of handling that job. I've been doing it for four years for crying out loud. It's them who should be begging me back."

"Think about it. You were already smarter than most of those doctors before they got Vector," she explained. "Imagine how much smarter you'd be than them if you had Vector. You would be smarter than anyone there. You'd be able to get your job back. I think you'd be happier too. I know I am."

"It's not reasonable though. Why should I change and go against what I believe to keep my job? It's them who should change," Mark said. He was no longer yelling.

"Honey, I think it'd be the best thing to do right now. If you do this, I think we'll be able to communicate more effectively," she said as she embraced him. "I just want what's best for you. You would be able to get your job back. Maybe, you'd be able to get paid more!" she exclaimed trying to be optimistic.

"Well, I don't know, Elise," Mark said as he warmed to the idea. "It might be a smart thing do from an economic standpoint, but it goes against what I think. It has to be bad for you. . ." he trailed off.

"Look at me. I'm as healthy as a horse," she said confidently. "You would be fine. I love the results. I think after you get it, you will too. Listen to me. I'm a Vectorized human," she said with a wink.

"Fine," Mark said as he gave in. "I'll get one. I'll schedule an appointment with the hospital. I am not sure about this decision, but I feel that it's the right devision for now. It will allow me to provide for you, Jill, and Rick. You guys are more important to me than even my own body."

"Good. Go make that call. We need you to be happy. Otherwise, I won't be happy," she said. "I think you're making the right decision, Mark. No, I know you're making the right decision."

Mark left her standing in the foyer to bask in the mid-afternoon sunlight as he headed towards a phone. He would go through with this. It was the only way. Most people had it now. It was only a matter of time before everyone had one or was left behind. It was only evolution he reasoned within his mind. It was just them modifying there bodies to adapt instead of their bodies doing it on their own. It was only natural for him to better himself. It was survival of the fittest. Only the tough would survive.

"Hey, Dr. Schmidt, it's me Dr. Mark Grant, the one whose job you took," Mark said awkwardly into the handset. "I have decided something. I. . . " he hesitated. "I want a Vector implanted into my brain. It's the only thing to do now in our current work. Everyone is getting them, and I think those without it will die off."

"So that's what you want?" Dr. Schmidt, Marks' replacement questioned. "Didn't you just give a huge speech to Dr. Kendrick this morning about not wanting, and I quote, 'the bioligical mutating scrap metal and silicon imbedded into my perfectly working body'?"

"Er. . . Yeah. I've changed my mind. It seems like the best thing to do right now. Don't you agree?" Mark asked.

"It is," Schmidt admitted. "Ok, what time can I pencil you in for? I'll make you a priority because without your tardiness in your decision with Vector, I would have never gotten this job."

"Yeah. . . Don't rub it in. How's next Thursday at noon, a week from today?" Mark inquired.

"That works. Anything else I can do for you?" Dr. Schmidt offered. "You know that you have to go out and buy yourself a Vector module and where to get that right?"

"Yeah, I just have to go to an Orange store. There's one not far from here," Mark said. "I'm sure you're busy. I'll let you go. Goodbye, Dr. Schmidt."

---

The queues at the Orange Store in Colorado Springs, about fifteen minutes south of Monument, stretched went out of the door of the store. The midday sunlight glanced off the glass doors and windows of the store. The white walls were accented with silver ceilings and a wooden floor. Products lined tables for customers to try out. At least, the products meant to not be integrated with the human body were out on demo, displayed before the thousands of customers the store saw daily.

It was utter chaos. Everyone wanted their products. The Vector module device was obviously the hottest item. Luckily, Dr. Mark Grant had called the store ahead of time and had placed one on hold. It was the only thing that could get him his job back. He waited in line for hours. Dusk fell as he finally got to the counter.

"How can I help you, sir?" the salesperson inquired expectantly with a wide smile on his face.

"Ah yes," Mark started, a bit creeped out, "I have a Vector module on hold. It's under Grant."

"One moment please and I'll go get your item," the salesperson stated with his unusual smile. He headed back through a set of glass doors.

Mark looked around the store while he waited for the strange young man to return. A family stood by screen watching an infomercial on Vector and how it could enhance everyday life. One of the kids was playing with a tablet computer, a transparent piece of glass with a touch screen. The others watched in awe as beautiful colors covered the screen as it described Vector and how it worked.

"Mr. Grant, I'm back with your Vector module, sir," the unusual salesperson came back. "That'll be $3758.98, sir."

"That much, eh? All well, it's worth it, I guess," Mark said as he pulled out his phone. Near field communications allowed everyone to pay for things with their phones. He swiped it over a a module on the counter. It immediately.

"Thank you, sir," the salesperson said to Mark. "Have a nice day."

"Thank you," Mark said as he departed the store.

---

Heading home, Mark thought about the box sitting on the passenger seat of his car. Anticipation filled him as he thought about what he'd go through the following week. The box taunted him from the seat. He was conforming to the social standard. He wasn't one to give into peer pressure usually, but Elise was right. This was his only chance to get a job, even if it isn't his old position. Pretty soon, it'd be a requirement just like college is.

He pulled into his driveway. Elise didn't meet him at the door this time. He continued into the house, passing the water feature on the wall. He walked into the entertainment area and found Jill and Rick sitting on the couch watching television.

"Where's Mom?" he asked, trying to conceal his worry.

"She wasn't feeling well," Rick said, looking up at his dad. Jill didn't even flinch.

"What was wrong?" Mark asked his teenager.

"She had a headache, I think. I don't know exactly. She was just holding her head and went upstairs," Rick said.

Mark was really worried. Elise didn't usually leave the kids alone, despite their age. He headed up to his bedroom to see if he could find his love. Upon entering the room, he discovered her in their bed. He went over to her and touched her shoulder, kneeling beside her. She was cold.

"Honey, are you all right?" he asked her quietly.

"I'm fine," she said groggily, arising from her slumber. "I was just taking a nap. I've had a headache for a couple hours and I'm trying to make it go away."

"Have you taken anything for it?" he asked his sick wife.

"I've had some aspirin. It hasn't helped at all," Elise replied.

"Is there anything I can get you?" Mark asked, rising from the bed.

"No, I'm fine. I'm just going to rest a bit more," she said. She was clearly not herself.

"I'll just let you rest. Don't worry about anything. I'll take care of the kids," he said lovingly. "Rest well, and I love you."

"I love you too," she said slowly. Sleep quickly overcame her as she closed her eyes.

Mark headed down to the entertainment area oncemore to fill the kids in on the situation.

"How's Mom doing, Dad?" Rick asked as he turned to look at his father as he entered the room.

"She's just resting. You were right; she has a headache. She'll be fine. We just need to let her rest a while," Mark said reassuringly.

"If that's what you say, Dad, it must be true," Rick said while he turned back to watch the TV. An old show from the 1960s was on, Tom and Jerry.

Mark sat down next to his kids to watch a show four times as old as he was. The family had taken a liking to vintage cartoons. It was before the government had started censoring television to the point where comedy didn't really exist anymore. Actually, entertainment didn't exist too much anymore.

Mark worried about his daughter, Jill, as well. She didn't seem too worried about her mother. She wasn't usually the talkative type or sensitive, but she should at least be thinking about her sick mother a little bit. The little things like that made Mark question how his daughter was doing. Maybe something was occurring at school and she just wasn't telling them. They didn't speak much other than the obligatory "Hello"s in the morning. He would have to talk to her soon. The lack of communication bothered him. No father should have that kind of relationship with his daughter.

The night ended with Mark preparing them all dinner. He made his sick wife a bowl of soup to try to help her feel better. He wasn't exactly sure why soup was the most common prescription to common ailments, but he did know it made him feel a bit better. Since Elise was cold earlier, it may also help warm her up. Mark wanted to show Elise that he loved her.

When she felt a bit better, he'd tell her that he got the Vector. It was only a matter of days before he got it implanted. Just thinking about it made him nervous. Mark wasn't sure how it'd feel being smarter than he already was. It was a mixed feeling of anticipation and angst that filled im. On one hand, he'd be able to get a job, possibly his old one, and he'd be welcomed back into his former social circles. Almost everyone he knew had one now. Only people that lacked the money like Jim, the security officer at the hospital wouldn't be getting them. It was the way of the future, and he just needed to accept that.

"I brought you up some soup," Mark announced as he entered the bedroom. The bed was a mass of blankets.

"Thank you so much," Elise forced. "I really could use some hot soup."

Mark's worry peaked as his wife's pain was audible. She groaned as she turned to face him. She looked nothing like the wife he knew and loved. She was seriously sick. Elise was extremely pale. Despite her chills, sweat glistened off of her forehead.

"If you don't get better soon," Mark instructed her, "we'll be going to the doctor to get you checked out."

"I'm fine, but if you insist. I'll get better in no time. It's just a cold," she insisted.

She took the bowl of soup from Mark's hands and slowly began eating a few small spoonfuls of the hot broth. After the few slurps, she set the bowl on the nightstand next to her bed, rolled over, and went back to sleep. Her subtle, constricted snores forced Mark to worry even more about his sick wife.

---

The couple days before his scheduled implant passed swiftly. Elise didn't recover too much over those days. Mark was going to take her to a doctor closer to Monument after he returned from Denver. He brought Jill and Rick with him because he wanted to keep an eye on them and let Elise have a peaceful, quiet house to rest in before their trip to the doctor.

"Are we almost there, Dad?" Rick complained from the backseat.

"Yes, Rick. Just be patient. We're coming up to Denver now. It'll just be a few more minutes until we get there," Mark tried to quell the restless teenager in the backseat.

Traffic suddenly stopped. Horns honked around their vehicle.

"I wonder what's going on. . ." Mark pondered outloud.

He heard screams echoing between the cars. Mark opened the sunroof and lifted himself off his seat to get a better view. Chaos was in front of him and his children. He didn't know why, but smoke poured out of the city buildings. He looked around to find a way south. Due to the traffic only being in the northbound lanes, he decided to make his way across the medium of the interstate and that he would head south back down to Monument.

"Hang on, kinds," Mark said as he thrusted the wheel left. He barely scraped the cars next him. The car's bottom scraped the medium, causing noticeable damage the the undercarriage of the vehicle.

Jill let out a yellp as they went over the cement hump. Without the traffic, Mark was able to see the city more clearly. It sounded as if a riot was occurring downtown near the hospital. Without doubletaking, he floored the pedal and headed back soputh to Monument to check on his wife.

The minutes seemed like hours while Mark worried more than ever about his wife. Since they had almost arrived in Denver, he had to make the entire trip back to Monument. The drive was significantly shorter on the way back because of the lack of traffic in real time, but in his perceived time, it took hours. He finally reached his exit and began the last leg of the journey.

"Dad, do you think Mom's ok?" Rick asked from the backseat clearly nervous.

"I'm sure she's fine," Mark replied. He wasn't too sure of that, but he couldn't let his thoughts invade his children. they would just freak out even more about the incident. When they got home, they would turn on the news on the television and find out what was going on.

They pulled into the driveway. The neighborhood was eerily quiet. There weren't any children playing in the street. No dogs were barking. It was complete and utter silence. This forced mark to worry even more.

The trio entered the house. It felt like a mausoleum due to the silence and eeriness of the place. They could hear the faint sounds of The Flintstones coming from the entertainment area from when they left. They must have forgotten to turn off the television. They headed up the stairs to the master bedroom to find Elise.

"Honey, are you home?" Mark called out softly. He heard a groan come from the bathroom. "You ok, Elise?" he inquired through the wooden door of the facility.

The door crashed open, causing pictures on a nearby wall to plummet towards the ground. A dent in the wall formed as a result of the collision. Elise exited the bathroom with an empty look upon her face. She was even paler than before, if that was even possible. She stared at the floor. A musky odor filled Mark's nostrils as he observed his wife.

"Elise?" Mark whispered quietly.

She looked up quickly at him and lunged. Mark was able to sidestep, evading her advance towards him.

"What are you doing? Elise?" Mark said, his voice cracking in his worry. "This isn't normal. What's wrong? We'll get you to a doctor. Just come with me," he said offering her his hand.

She took that hand gesture as a reason to attack even further. She lunged at him once more. Mark was unable to dodge this advance from his sick wife. She tackled him to the ground with a large and very audible thud. They struggled on the shaggy beige carpet. She made attempts at his face, but he was able to push her away long enough to push her off of him. Fleeing was his only option right now if he didn't want to inflict any pain upon his partner in holy matrimony.

While Elise was still on the carpet dazed, he quickly got to his feet and exited the bedroom with great haste, slamming and locking the door behind him.

"Dad, what happened?" Rick called from the bottom of the stairs.

"There's something wrong with Mom, Rick," Mark answered while gasping for a breath of air. "She attacked me and I don't know why. She didn't seem to be doing it knowingly, however. She had a glazed look upon her face. She didn't seem to be all there. Why don't we turn on the news and find out what was going on in Denver while we figure out what to do?" Mark offered whle collecting himself. He had to remain calm for Jill and Rick.

"We have alerady started watching it, Dad. They're saying it's zombies," Rick said plainly. "Zombies started attacking the people who live in Denver."

"You can't be serious," Mark said with his jaw open. Disbelief filled him. "You're sure you heard that right? They said zombies?" It only made sense. It was impossible for zombies to actually be there, but how else would one explain Elise's odd behavior? She must have been turning into a zombie over the last week as she was feeling under the weather. That would explain her suddent persistent illness.

"That's what they said on TV, Dad," Rick said. "Do you think that's what happened to Mom? You said she had a weird look on her face and that she attacked you."

"I don't know. Let's not worry about it. I'm sure these zombies aren't real. It'll turn out that this was just a riot started by a group of drug-taking neanderthals," he tried to convince Rick as well as himself. "Let's go and watch the news. They tell us what is happening. I'm sure their use of the word zombie was just the term they were calling the the rioters. I'm sure everything will be fine soon." They both walked back into the entertainment area.

"What appears to be zombies, yes zombies, are attacking downtown Denver," the news anchor said on the television. "We have no idea where they came from, but we do know that it started near the hospital near the southern tip of out vast city. We are trying to compile as much information on the incident as we can. We shall inform you of anything else we hear."

"Oh my. . ." Mark trailed off. It seemed that people were losing control of themselves some how.

Elise suddenly came to his mind. What if she was infected? What if she had gotten the infliction? What if she had gotten whatever it was that caused people to change? What if his dear wife was one of them? What if she was a. . . a zombie? He shuddered at the thought. That would explain everything. That would explain her suddent illness. That would explain her sudden urge to attack him. It would make her unconciously attacking him. IF he were to let her out, it could mean death for everyone else. If these "zombies" as the news called them were anything like the ones from movies, they could casue anyone one else to turn into a zombie. He sure as hell didn't want that fate. He quite liked his role as a normal, sane human. He didn't have a job at the moment, but his unemployment was a better option than randomly meandering the earth in search of who knows what.

What if she got out while he was down here? It would mean the end of them. Rick and Jill would also be zombies if it was contagious. Speaking of which, how'd she get it? She had suddenly started acting like this a week ago when he got purchased his Vector. He would have to look into this. He was a doctor afterall. How widespread was this epidemic? Was it just Denver or were other cities inflicted with this deadly disaster?

Elise reentered the thoughts of the middle aged doctor. How would he cure her? Where would he find this cure if the hospital was overrun with these things? The questions were endless. What made her so susceptible to this virus or whatever had caused it? What was causing it anyway? Was it a virus? Could it be a form of bacteria? Could it even be something of this world? What made her different than him and the children? She and the kids had similar DNA. They had similar attributes like how tall they were, what color their hair was, and how intelligent they were. Well, she was significantly smarter because she had gotten a Vector implanted into her brain. Then it hit him. Vector must have caused this. That's the only explanation. That is what separated him from her, Jill from her, and Rick from her. She was the only one with a Vector chip. It was the thing enabling her state. This must be the cause. It made perfect sense. He nor the kids had this device.

He was fortunate that this epidemic had occurred before he was able to get one implanted. What would have happened to him if he had gone through with it? How would he have changed? How sudden would it have happened? This revelation allowed him not to be as fearful of coming in contact with people that were affected. He also wondered how vicious they were. Elise had come at him aggressively. He wouldn't forget the look of lust in her eyes. It wasn't a sexual lust however. It was a lust of hunger. The hunger of one who hasn't eaten in days. When was the last time she ate anyways? It was that bowl of soup a few days ago. She hasn't eaten since. Now she has a desire to consume flesh. That must be the reason why she had attacked him as well. It was the only reason she would go after her husband, other than the fact she was a "zombie".

What would he tell the kids? They had to have figured it out by now. They were pretty smart. He didn't think Rick would take it very well. Jill on the other hand, he wasn't sure of. She was pretty quiet and was well versed in hiding her emotions. Her lack of friends allowed her to be quiet and withholding of personal information about her current life and what was going on in it.

Mark looked at the two kids sitting on the couch, watching the television intently. They had been listening to the news as he had spaced out and thought about his dear wife that was probably no longer the love that he had known for the last twenty three years.

"Did you hear that, Dady?" Rick asked looking up at him. Mark was jolted out of his thoughts.

"I'm sorry. I was just thinking," Mark said whilst trying to hide his current thought process. Rick was not to know about his mother until the very last minute.

"The hospital that you worked at got attacked," Rick said with a look of fear on his face. "It looks like if we had made it there, we'd be. . . be. . . dead."

"Now, we don't know that," Mark said while placing his hand on his son's head. "Luckily, we made it home. Otherwise, we don't know what could have happened out there with what's going on. For now, we're safe."

"No we're not," Jill said from the corner solemnly.

"What do you mean?" Mark asked trying to deflect her accusing look that he knew more than he was letting on.

"Mom's one of them, isn't she?" Jill said calmly. "I can tell by the look on your face. You know."

"That's impossible. She's been at home the last week," Mark said defensively trying to remain calm in front of his kids.

"She's been sick because of this, Dad," Jill said while standing up. "I'm not stupid. She's gotten whatever has transformed these people. That's why she attacked you. You said it yourself. She attacked you. You know I'm right, Dad."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mark said looking away.

Suddenly, a huge crash echoed through the house as the master bedroom's door fell from its rusty hinges. A high, loud roar bounced off of the halls of the stairwell.

"Seems like Mom's out," Mark said expressing no fear even though it was scared beyond belief. "Let's get down to the basement," he said quickly.

Jill and Rick jumped up to their feet. Sweat poured down their faces despite the cool whether. Thumping rushed down the stairs towards them.

"Hurry, guys," Mark said more urgently. The trio headed towards the basement door, not worrying about the blaring television.

The sounds got closer as they opened the heavy wooden door to the basement. It creaked against the hinges, straining to open. It had lost the ability to open easily because it has sat there motionless for years. The door opened slowly. They quickly went across its threshold. The loud thumping grew closer as Elise approached the frightened trio.

Drool slipped down her pale blue lips. Her mouth hung wide open displaying her yellowing teeth. She had apparently been forgetting about dental hygiene in her current sick state. Her hair was messy and mashed against her head. Her pale face emmitted no warmth like that of a normal human. Elise's face had scratches from her time she spent fighting the wooden door of the master bedroom. Her clothes were shredded as well, barely considered decent in the normal society of yesterday. That society was nevermore as in the words by the famous nineteenth century poet, Edgar Allen Poe.

She saw Mark as he followed his children through the doorway to the basement. Elise attempted to thrash at him with her arms. Mark was able to close the door on her right arm before she could advance even further. Pain shot up the limb; yet, she didn't feel pain. The current state of her mind must have either caused her pain threshold to exponentially increase or the state dulled the senses in the mind of Mark's young sick wife.

Her hand continued thrashing towards its target, not able to get through the barrier that Mark had placed between him and it. The struggle continued. Mark held the door as tight as he could possibly manage. The door threatened to crack against the forces that held it shut against the zombiefied limb of the wife of Mark. The arm continued to grasp at the air between Elise's face and Mark's. He was leaning back on the stairs, only standing upright due to the door's handle. Blood started to spurt from the arm of Elise as it was being crushed in the door. It released a torrent of blood that spurted into the air. Mark dodged while putting more pressure on the arm when he leaned back to evade the spurt of the red human liquid. This effort caused the door to come close, separating the arm from its owner. Elise's body vanished from Mark's view. The door now separated him from her. Hopefully, the heavy mahogany wood would prove its strength by keeping her upstairs. Also, the lack of an arm may have weakened her, disabling her ability to break through the sturdy door.

Mark headed down wooden stairs to his children. He had to tell the news. As he reached the cement floor of the unfinished basement, a wave of guilt washed over the man. He had just come to accept that he had effectively removed his wife's arm from her own body. He had dismembered Elise. All hope of returning her to normal was gone. She might be able to turn back into a human, no matter how unlikely; however, she would no longer have a right arm. This meant that if she was returned to her previous state, she would no longer be able to write or have full use of her body.

Mark walked over the dusty cement, following the footsteps of his offspring. Spider webs covered the walls. They infiltrated every crevice the spiders could find. It had been a while since anyone had been down there. They usually avoided the floor because they had no use for it. Their main floors had enough square footage and room to suffice for the average sized family.

Rick and Jill were conversing about the events that had just taken place whiloe sitting on a pair of red beanbag chairs in the middle of the floor. The bags had remained there since the children had played down in the basement during the childhood of Jill and Rick.

"She won't be down here," Mark said with his face flush with color. The struggle with Elise had caused more physical stress than it had seemed at the time. "Well, at least not for a while. She can't get through that heavy door, especially while missing an arm." He hadn't intended to tell them the last part.

"Her arm's missing?" Rick exclaimed.

"She was trying to reach me through the door, and I slipped, causing the door to completely sever the limb from her body," Mark explained. "It wasn't intentional. Either way, I did what I had to do to protect you guys and myself."

Jill just shrugged at this news. She didn't seem to care.

"I believe we have some sort of weapons down here," Mark said while trying hard to remember what the basement contained. "I think we had a few hunting knives and a rifle," he said heading toward a big black metal box that was hidden in a closet.

The gun safe had safeguarded the children from the various instruments Mark used to hunt while they were young. He had to give up the past time as they grew older due to work being more demanding. He fumbled for the key on his keyring. The tiny piece of metal eluded him for a few minutes as it masked itself among the other larger keys. He finally was able to keep a hold on the tiny tool and opened the safe. Inside was the couple knives and rifle that he had alluded to earlier, but something else was inside. A pistol wsa inside the metal rectangular figure. The firearm was a Glock pistol. There were a few empty magazines also in the safe. A box of rounds were there for the pistol. Another box was on the shelf for the Remington hunting rifle.

"It seems like we are able to defend ourselves for a while," Mark said as he loaded the weapons. "We don't have any food down here, do we?" he asked the others, turning around to face them.

"Nope. If we need food, we'll have to leave here," Rick confirmed Mark's suspicions.

"Well, we'll have to make a food run eventually. I don't think we should stay here for long. Once your mother gets bored of the door, I think she'll leave," Mark forsaw. "She can't be too interested in a door that is safeguarding us from her. We'll wait it out until then. Afterwards, we'll. . . Well, we'll figure out what to do at that bridge when we cross it."

"Sounds like a plan," Rick replied back to his father. Jill simply nodded in understanding. She seemed to retain her composure and personality even in this time of chaos.

The time passed slowly for the trio. They were sitting there in agony. The scraping against the door ceased after about an hour into their long time in the basement. They decided to wait another hour just to be safe.

"What's the plan now, Dad?" Rick asked his father as they approached the dark stairwell to the main floor of their large house. "We've reached the bridge we need to cross, you know."

"Well, we need to find some shelter. I doubt our house is safe enough from anymore. We're lucky your mom left," Mark said as they approached the top of the stairs. "Well, I hope she left. We technically have no idea if she's gone. We all understand that if we see her and she attacks us, we'll have to slay her, right? It's our only choice unless we want to die and face a vicious death."

"Agreed," Rick said. Jill shrugged once more. "It's the only way," he said while pursing his lips and looking down. He saw his mother's arm and held in a scream. He composed himself a few seconds later. He had a look of determination on his face.

"Ok, let's go," Mark said placing his hand on the door. He had the Remington in his hands. The Glock was in a holster attached to his belt. It served as a failsafe in case he lost the rifle among whatever chaos they might get themselves into. "Are you guys ready?" Mark asked.

"Yes," the children said in unison.

"Let's go." Mark opened the door quickly and as quietly as possible. It stlil creaked extremly loudly.

They walked silently from the basement door to the foyer. Water still trickled down the wall in the water feature. They continued towards the door until they heard a crash behind them. Something or someone was behind them. Mark spun around raising the rifle. Their household dog ran up to them. The yorkshire terrier whimpered in fear at Mark's legs, wanting to be saved. It could tell something was wrong.

The yorkie attracted Elise from where she was hiding. She emerged from the top of the stairs. She saw the trio of humans and their dog companion. She skipped the stairs climbed up onto the banister. She had difficulty due to only having one arm. She finally reached the top and immediately jumped off of the balcony and onto the tiled floor below. She stood a few feet from the shaking trio. Elise looked at them and tilted her head as if examining them scientifically. The dog barked at her and headed towards her feet, recognizing his master.

Elise looked down to the puppy. She waited a few seconds before swiftly grabbing the canine with her only hand and bringing him up to her mouth. She took large bites from the dog's neck, killing it immediately. Blood sprayed her face. Her face now matched her lower body, covered in blood from when she lost her arm. The arm's stump still released small amounts of blood every few seconds.

"This is our chance," Mark whispered to his kids who watched in fear. "She may not notice if we leave right now."

The pair of children nodded without averting their eyes for even a second from the bloody meal that their mother was enjoying. They all slowly walked to the door. They kept their steps few and far between and in unison. When one took a step, the others did as well. This was a result of their determination in minimizing all sound that they emitted. The floor creaked under their shoes.

Elise stopped eating and looked at them. Suddenly, she rushed them, dropping the yorkshire terrier to the ground. She would have to enjoy him later. She headed towards Rick, the closest to her. Mark acted swiftly and brought the rifle up and pointed it at his wife.

"I'm sorry, Elise," he said. Tears filled his eyes. "I didn't want it to end this way, my love."

He pulled the trigger on the Remington hunting rifle, causing the rifle to fire. The resulting events seemed to happen in slow motion for the doctor. The round went straight into Elise's neck. Blood sprayed the wall behind her. It fanned out in a great arc. The crimson liquid dripped down the once beige wall.

Jill started crying uncontrollably. The situation had finally gotten to her. She didn't seem to have it most of the time, but she did indeed have emotion. This girl had just lost her mother. She had lost the human being that had given birth to her. If any time was proper for this usually emotionless girl to portray her emotions, it was now. Jill collapsed to the ground in tears at the site of her dead mother in front of her. The dead corpse was missing the arm that Rick had found on the stairs. All three began sobbing together in the grief over their lost loved one.

They spent the next half hour collaborating on what to do next. Their next move was crucial to the survival of the group. The television droned on behind them about the disaster that had occurred. It relayed information about how the ratio of zombies to humans was increasing. Pretty soon, it had gotten to the point where zombies outnumbered normal humans significantly. Survivors were few and far between.

Eventually, the news studio that was relaying this information was overrun by the zombies. Pounding was audible through the microphone. The news anchors apologized that they would not be able to inform their viewers, if anyone was actually watching. A crash distorted the sound captured by the microphone and emitted from the television speakers. A zombie was momentarily in view before the station ceased all broadcasts.

Television shows were airing on other channels. That would also soon end as the programmed schedule would reach its end. The unmanned stations wouldn't be up for long.

"What are we going to do now, Dad?" Rick asked as he wiped the tears from his face. The poor lad still had tears streaming down his face from the loss of his mother. "With Mom gone, you are the only one we have left to take care of us." As he finished that statement, he started sobbing once more in a deep sorrow.

"I know how you feel," Jill said, trying to console her brother as she cried with him.

"Don't worry," Mark said, trying to reassure his children. "We will survive. I'm thinking we should head out in the SUV. With that, we should be able to protect ourselves if we come in contact with any other zombies. We need to figure out a place to live and hide out until this disaster is over. We need a place with lots of food and water."

"How about the grocery store?" Jill offered.

"Too many entrances for the zombies. There are glass windows everywhere. We need a place or building with only a small entrance area to protect. Therefore, we can maximize our security. This way, we'll only have to watch one area, making it easier for us to survive," Mark explained. "We might need more weapons too. I don't think a single Remington rifle, a Glock handgun, the limited ammunition we have, and a couple of hunting knives will last us very long in terms of protection."

"Where will we go though? I think this would be the safest place, but we have lots of doors," Rick reasoned to his only remaining parent and his sister. "I also don't want to stay here either because of. . . of. . . Mom," he forced before continuing his sobbing.

"We need to be strong," Mark said sternly to his children. "Elise, your mother, would not want you to be like this. She would want you to be strong. She would want you to fight this. She would want you to survive. Your mother would not want you to sit on the floor and pout because you didn't have her anymore. She would want you to live on. Don't let her death be in vain. Live for her, children. Live for the woman that gave birth to you. Live for the one that indirectly gave her life for you. Without her, we would not have figured out the cause of the state she had been in. She was a zombie, but she was also your mother and she was also my wife.

I feel extremely sad as well because of our loss. She is no longer with us. However, I am choosing to mourn later. Your survival is more important to me. Our survival is the only thing making me continue on. It's the only thing that makes me want to continue. You guys are all that I have left. Let's move on so that we'll survive."

"How do we know what is causing this?" Rick asked. "Have you figured it out already?"

"Well, a while ago, I had to go in to the hospital in the middle of the night. It turned out the patient's cybernetic technology that she had integrated above her stomach had started to cause cancer within a month of insertion. Your mom is the only one of us with a Vector module implanted," Mark explained. "It seems like something about the Orange Vector has mutated the cells around it, causing users to turn into zombies. I'm lucky that I hadn't gotten one sooner."

"Wow, I would have never guessed," Jill said. "It's sad that so many people got this. Does this mean it's not contagious?"

"I'm not sure," Mark said. "This is just my hypothesis. We should stay clear of all body fluids from these zombies, your mom included. We don't want to accidentally get what they have."

"It makes sens, but, yes, there'll be time to be sad later," Rick said to his father while sniffling. "We'll need to leave soon."

"How about Rick and I gather what food we can?" Jill offered. The loss of her mother had changed her personality. "We should bring as many supplies as we can in case we can't find anything for a while during our search for shelter."

"Good idea. While you do that, I'll think about possible locations for us to hide out at. I have an inkling of an idea, but I'm not sure," Mark said. "Autobots, move out."

Each member of the Grant family went to do their mission. Before starting his task, Mark had collected a couple of white sheets from the bedroom and draped them over his deceased wife in the foyer. He didn't want to move her, however. It was dangerous for him to come in contact with her and it was a sign of respect for the deceased.

An idea struck Mark. The perfect place for them to hide out was the apartment complex a couple miles away. It would be perfect. It only had one entrance. The building was made of stone. The lobby was the only way up the building. It had a bank of elevators and one stairwell. The lobby had glass windows, but they could be boarded over quite easily. The furniture in the building would be excellent building material.

The children filled the vehicle with as many different kinds of food as they could. They couldn't use anything from the fridge, so they prepared a meal to eat before they left. None of them really knew how to cook, so it was sort of on the fly, but it turned out to taste pretty good. The main course was a beef roast with a nice dark gravy. The side dish of mash potatoes perfectly accented this main course. The steamed asparagus melted the butter as it was placed on top of it. They gathered around the large dining table. The odor from Elise's corpse was starting to permeate the building.

"Should we say 'Grace'?" asked Rick.

"Sure, why not?" Mark agreed. The three remaining members of the Grant family held each others' hands in a perfect circle.

"Lord, please protect us and allow us to survive this new disaster that plagues the Earth," Mark said praying. "We humbly ask that we be provided with the tools and essentials we need to survive this apocalypse. Please bless and protect Elise as she spends her time with you. Please let her know that we loved her. We hated having to kill her, but it was the only way for us to survive. I'm sure she knows that. Please allow the world to once again go back to its former glory. It would also mean the world to us if you were to bless and protect us as well, Lord. We humbly ask for your guidance during these trying times. In Jesus Christ's name we pray. Amen," Mark finished up.

"That was beautiful, Dad," Rick said to his father. A solitary tear glistened on his cheek.

"Thank you. Now let's hurry up and eat before this feast goes cold," Mark instructed. "We also need to leave soon. We only have a few hours before the sun will set."

The trio of family members stuffed their faces with the grand meal. The feast reminded Mark of Elise's cooking before she had felt under the weather. Her meals were the best that he had ever eaten. The memories of these delicious foods brought a single tear to his eye as he scarfed down the remaining grub on the table.

"That was delicious," Mark complimented the children. "Good work team. Now,  let's head out. We're wasting precious time. We'll need to clear the building once we get there, and that might take up a lot of time. We'll need to hurry and get a move on if we hope to complete this task before nightfall."

Mark, Rick, and Jill walked past the corpse of their dead wife and mother in the entrance hall of the house and opened the door to the garage.

"Oh," Mark exclaimed. "I forgot the Remington hunting rifle. We'd be in pretty bad shape without them."

He headed back into the kitchen to recover the rifle off of the counter next to the sink. A shriek emitted from Jill's gaping mouth reached his ears at the speed of sound. The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion. Dr. Mark Grant sprinted towards the garage in time to see his daughter fighting off a small child.

The small child had an empty look upon its face as it attacked Mark's only daughter. The pale hands attempted to scratch Jill's face with their sharp talons. Fear shrouded the room and souls of its occupants in a misty silence. Mark raised the rifle acquiring his target in his iron sights. He squeezed the trigger as soon as the child came into view. The round exited the chamber of rifle, rocketed out of the barrel, and collided directly with the child's head. The brass casing from the round departed the chamber to the side. The child still had a hold on Jill, now headless. Its empty grip proved to cause Jill no trouble as she freed herself.

"Thanks, Dad," she said breathlessly. "He almost got me. I didn't see him. I heard a noise. When I turned to see what it was, I saw the painting tarps, dropcloths I think they're called, move as if something had just gone under them. I didn't think it could have been a zombie. It didn't seem plausible in the locked garage. I lifted the tarp and out came that small child. He looked so scary, Dad," she said with fear in her eyes. "It was as if he wasn't a child anymore. The empty gaze, pale skin, and yellowing eyes made me shriek. He lunged at me. I don't really remember the rest of the details. The only thing I remember after that is you blowing its head off. It was the scariest situation I've ever been in."

"Don't ever let your guard down," Mark commanded. "You too, Rick," he said as he directed his attention to his son. "You never know what could happen. You almost got killed, Jill. I don't know what I would have done if you had died. Especially with me so close to the situation. It would have killed me to have not been able to prevent it."

"I'll be careful, Dad. I know better now," Jill reassured her father. "I just wasn't prepared."

"And I'm telling you to always be prepared," Mark stated firmly. "Ok, now that another crisis has been averted, are we ready to go? I have the rifle, as you blatantly saw when I saw your situation. If there's nothing else, we need to leave. We'll need to get to the apartment complex as soon as possible."

"We're ready," Rick said. "Let's go."

Jill nodded in agreement. They headed towards the SUV, wide alert. They didn't want another incident like what had just occurred to happen again.

"Shotgun!" Rick called loudly.

"Quiet!" Mark snapped at him. "We don't need to attract any attention to us more than we already have. There could be zombies out there and we don't want to make more noise than we have to," he said in a hushed tone.

"Sorry," Rick apologized. "Shotgun?" he whispered.

"Sure," Mark replied in an equally hushed tone.

"Yay," Rick said in a voice barely above a whisper.

They piled into the SUV as quickly as possible.

"Is everyone prepared to face what we do not know is out there?" Dr. Mark Grant articulated to his children. Determination was etched upon his face.

"Yes, Dad," Rick said to his father.

"Yes," Jill nodded. She had recomposed herself and become her normal self. She was back to normal despite the tragedy that had occurred not one hour ago.

Mark checked to make sure all the windows were closed and all the doors were locked in the vehicle. He didn't want to make them more vulnerable than they had to be out there. The sunroof was also closed. He thought it might be useful to open the sunroof in times of need as a turret of sorts. He would be able to fire upon any zombies he needed to without breaking the windows of the vehicle and compromising their safety.

After ensuring that the vehicle was secure, he bit the metaphorical bullet and pressed the button to open the garage door. The large metal door began its slow ascent to the garage ceiling. Moans were audible from the crevice that got larger with each passing second. Zombies were apparently on the other side. Mark planned on exitting the garage as soon as he had enough clearance to do so properly. The gears on the box that controlled the garage door's height groaned as it lifted the heavy garage door.

Zombies from outside attempted to get into the garage as the door rose to its full height. They at first didn't figure out that they could duck under the door to enter, but they eventually figured out how to crawl into the garage. Zombies flanked the vehicle. They surrounded the remaining members of the Grant family in their SUV. The garage door slowly widened the gap between the floor and the metal barrier.

The pocket of air finally got large enough for the vehicle to make its exit. Mark floored the accelerator after putting the vehicle in reverse. The zombies that were behind the vehicle were flattened immediately. Blood gushed from the corpses as Mark slayed the beings blocking him and his children from the outside world. The journey to the driveway forced Mark to plow through numerous zombies. Upon reaching the street, he put the car in drive and floored it once more.

The state of the neighborhood had changed completely in the last two hours since they had arrived. The neighborhood was in ruins. It was void of all humans. The only beings there besides themselves were the zombies. The almost undead were the only ones "alive".

Mark plowed through zombie after zombie. The gore filled the street. Pools of blood filled the sewer drains.

The vehicle collided with zombie after zombie. The power of the car was apparent as the zombies turned to a mulch after coming in contact with it.

"How far until we reach the apartment complex?" Jill yelled over the sound of the engine. "I don't know if the car can take this much abuse."

"I think you should be more worried about the zombies," Mark replied. "Anyway, it'll only be about ten minutes if we can make it out of the neighborhood. The only thing we can do right now is drive over there."

"All right!" Jill exclaimed. "Let's do this!"

"As soon as we get there, we'll have to clear the building. It's the only way for us to be completely safe there," Mark exclaimed. The SUV rattled along the side streets. It continued to decimate the local zombie population. "We'll also have to board up the lobby. The glass windows would not be able to protect us from these zombies."

"All right!" Jill said. She would have to wait patiently for them to get to their destination. The lack of difficulty in eradicating these things astounded her. The movies always showed zombies to be hardened beings that could withstand anything. Her mother also displayed this in some way because of how she acted when she lost her arm. Elise was unfazed and continued to attack them when she realized they were in the house still.

"Anything I can do?" Rick inquired his father. "I'd really like to be doing something. You're having all of the fun, Dad!"

"Not right now. Believe me, this isn't fun," Mark said sternly. "This is life or death. To be honest, I'd rather be at home right now sleeping. This has fatigued me greatly. I'm exhausted."

"When we reach an area where we can stop momentarily, why don't you let me drive, Dad?" Jill called from the back seat. "It'll allow you to rest back here.

"It's too dangerous," Mark said. "I need to be the one to do this. It's the best way for us to get there. Besides, you don't even know where this apartment complex is."

"You're right," Jill gave in. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, honey," Mark said trying to console her. "You were only trying to help."

They reached the main street outside of the neighborhood. The zombies seemed to be primarily in neighborhoods right now. There were a few wandering the sidewalk and a rare one would run out in front of them, but the journey for the last few minutes of the drive was quite uneventful. This was until they reached the apartments.

The building was swarming with them. Screams were audible from the top floor. A woman was clinging to the window ledge. The zombies were hanging out the windows, attempting to reach her for their meal. They were obvioiusly hungry. Their endless hunger seemed to be what drove them to attacking the humans. The woman slipped and plummeted down the five stories and hit the concrete with a loud smack.

Mark realized that this time would forever rob the innocence from his children. At least, it would steal whatever innocence they had left.

"This doesn't seem as secure as I would have hoped," Mark said as they circled the building. Zombies surrounded them when they heard the vehicle's engine approach. "It seems like it's been overrun," Mark yelled over the noise created by the zombies. "We need to find somewhere else to stay. Also, we may need to stock up on whatever supplies we can on the way. I only have a single box of rounds for the Remington rifle and only one box for the Glock handgun," Mark said as he recollected the boxes in a bag at his feet. His arm knocked the radio. "Birthday" by the twentieth century band, The Beatles, came on. It seemed a bit ironic that such a cheery tune would come on during a zombie apocalypse, a worldwide disaster.

The sound roused the zombies around the vehicle to start attacking it. They clawed helplessly, trying to find entrance into the sport utility vehicle.

"At least we're safe in here," Rick said confidently. He tried to feign confidence  although he was feeling extreme amounts of fear internally. "We're safe right?" he asked when no one answered him.

At that moment, a side window cracked into a spider web of tiny pieces of glass. They threatened to shatter and separate at any given moment.

"Shit," Mark exclaimed at the moment it had cracked. "We need to get out of here NOW," he said with emphasis on the last word. He floored the accelerator once more in an attempt to flee the zombies.

The glass broke in several places due to a zombie clinging to the door. "Birthday" continued to play as the zombie attempted to gain entrance into the speeding sport utility vehicle.

"Uh, Dad?" Rick said, trying to get the attention of his father. The zombie next to him was becoming a more serious threat as time passed. "There's a zombie next to me!" he yelled.

Mark immediately drew the Glock handgun while steering the sport utility vehicle with only one hand. He averted his gaze from the road to quickly line up the sights with the zombie's head. The zombie had successfully destroyed the window enough to start to climb in. Mark fired the Glock handgun, causing a bullet to be expelled from the barrel. It spun erratically as it approached its target. The bullet entered the zombie's forehead and continued its journey until it exitted the zombie's cranium. The force of the shot caused a spray of blood to follow the bullet in its path during its exit. The zombie slumped over the side of the vehicle before the shaking and force from the sport utility vehicle traveling at a speed of seventy three miles per hour caused it to drop to the road. The sport utility vehicle continued onward to its destination of safety, leaving the now deceased humanoid figure on  the road.

The window now only consisted of a few pieces of glass hanging on the edge of the window. The rest was now laying on the asphalt road next to the zombie that Mark had just slain. The shatter glass on the road became dust on the asphalt street as the body of the dead zombie crushed it.

"Thanks, Dad!" Rick exclaimed.

Mark did not reply. He simply just placed the Glock firearm back into the holster on his belt at his waist. Thoughts permeated his brain has he tried to figure out through thinking where they would go. Their only option for survival was now overrun by zombies. His plan had shattered just like the glass window that the zombie had destroyed and that now was on the street next to the very same dead zombie. The only option for their survival was gone and he didn't know where else to go. What other place could be just as safe and void of the zombie population? What other place exited for them to live and hang out at until this crisis was resolved? Was this crisis ever going to be resolved? What had happened to the government? Surely, the government officials had gotten Vector implants as well. Don't call me Shirley echoed through Mark's brain inside his head as he thought of the famous movie "Airplane!" from the late twentieth century. The goverment officials did get the Vector module implanted into their brains. They should have, at least to keep up with foreign governments. The other goverments would get them implanted too. At least the ones wealthy enough would. The increase in intelligence was reason enough to. The slight chance that they would be smarter than the other countries was another reason. If a country didn't get Vector modules implanted into their brains or refused to do so, they would be at a huge disadvantage if another war was to break out between them and their neighboring countries.

"Dad?" Rick said, breaking Mark out from his thought process. The proverbial train of thought had crashed into a million burning pieces of abstract ideas. "Where are we going to go now? Our only place of refuge is now overrun by the very zombies we were trying to escape. What shall we do now, Dad? We need a place to stay. We need a place to eat. We need a place to pray. We need a place to remain discrete," Rick ended quickly. He had the habit of coming up with small poems whenever he got stressed out. That one stanza was just the beginning if he wasn't calmed down soon.

"Don't worry, son," Mark said, trying to calm down his sun while retaining his gaze on the road before him in order to avoid collision with something that wasn't a zombie. "We'll get somewhere safe. You just have to trust me," Mark said calmly.

"Where will we go though? Dad, we need to find a place to rest," Rick said quickly and loudly. "We'll need a place to go. It'll be best if we find somewhere to rest! We need to sleep. We can't just drive endlessly. Also, we will run out of fuel soon if we keep driving around. Dad, we need to find a place where we can hang up our feet in order for our survival. Otherwise, we'll just die. What supplies do we need too? We don't have much. We're almost out of ammunition too."

"Calm down," Dr. Mark Grant said sternly. "Trust in me, my son. I've figured out a place for us to go, at least for the time being. We're going to go to a Walmart. We need supplies. That's our first concern. They'll have ammunition there. They'll have food. We'll also get clothes, something we didn't even think about when we left the house. We'll need to get lots of things there. It might even be safe to live there for a while. Who knows? For all we know, it could be a barren building. Walmart also has gas pumps where we can fill up containers from inside the building to fuel our journey. I have a feeling that if we drive somewhere with a low population, we'll be the safest. That means east from here. We'll have to go to the flatlands east of here. There are fewer people in the plains area. If we can make some kind of fortress out there, we'll survive. Plus, out there we may be able to start growing our own food."

Rick sighed. "I guess I was getting too paranoid. I'm sorry. I'm just a little stressed in a zombie freaking apocalypse," Rick articulated slowly. "We'll be fine, right? We'll be fine."

"Yes, we will be fine, Rick," Mark said, reassuring his son that they would indeed be fine. "Look," Mark pointed ahead of them, "it's Walmart. We'll stock up on supplies and we'll figure out how we'll head east. How's that, you guys?"

"Sounds like a plan," Rick said.

"Sounds like a plan," Jill echoed after her brother mindlessly.

They got off of the road and entered the Walmart parking lot. They appeared to be alone. Dr. Mark Grant grabbed the rifle from behind his seat as he parked the sport utility vehicle in front of the store. He exited the sport utility vehicle and motioned for his children to follow them. He checked the magazine of the Remington hunting rifle to make sure he had enough rounds in the firearm. Not satisfied, he walked to the driver's side of the sport utility vehicle and grabbed the box of ammunittion from in front of the driver's seat and put a handful of rounds into his right pocket. He did not think he would have to reload, but he wanted to make sure that he could defend himself, Rick, and Jill from any terrors that they found inside the convenience store. Dr. Mark Grant rejoined his family as he walked over next to them in front of the store. They stood in its shadow, mentally preparing themselves for whatever they found inside.

"Let's go," Mark said confidently to Rick and Jill.

They entered the store. Blood covered a few of the shelves, but otherwise, the store seemed like it was relatively undisturbed by the disaster outside the dwelling. They headed over to where carts were available for them to grab and store their items that they were going to purchase into. They were not there to purchase anything though. They're mission was to loot the place of anything that could prove useful to them. The sport utility vehicle outside could hold a lot of supplies. It could hold anything they needed it to hold for them. The vehicle was quite versatile for the family. It was the perfect machine for them to survive a zombie apocalypse with.

They headed back to the sporting goods section to pick up firearms and more ammunition. Luckily, they were the first ones there. In days, this store would be an empty barren wasteland with nothing on the shelves or rack. They picked out a few rifles, shotguns, and pistols from the rack of firearms. After breaking the glass that safeguarded these firearms from thieves, they were able to gain access to them. They loaded a couple Remington shotguns, a couple Remington rifles, and a couple Beretta handguns. These items would prove useful in their survival against the Vector powered zombies. These firearms would be what protected them from these beings. These firearms would be what separated them from death and survival. They would allow these remaining humans to fight the world's populations of zombies one shot of them at a time.

Their next objective was to gather clothes. They spent the time "shopping" for clothes, not really trying anything on. They sized up themselves with clothes and grabbed lots of them. They needed enough clothes to last them until the end of this disaster, if it ever ended. Mark grabbed several pairs of jeans and shirts. He grabbed armfuls and filled the cart with them. Rick, Jill, and Mark needed another cart because they had filled this one up. Following his rule to stay together in order to avoid a situation where one of them would face a zombie, they all headed back to the front to get another cart. Dr. Mark Grant thought of the idea to load what they had into the sport utility vehicle to maximize how much they could carry on their next trip to the front of the convenience store.

They opened the sport utility vehicle and proceeded in loading it up. Jill was responsible for loading up the clothes and Rick was responsible for loading up the firearms. Before Rick put up one of the Remington shotguns and its corresponding 12 guage shells, he exchanged his Remington hunting rifle and the ammunition in his pocket for the firearm for the Remington shotgun and a handful of shells. The pump action shotgun would prove more useful against a horde of zombies because he wouldn't have to be more accurate than aiming in the general direction of the zombies. Plus, he would be able to hit more than one at a time, enabling him to slay more at a time. He was going to fulfill his role as the group's Zombie Slayer as best as he could with the firearm.

They reentered the store. Dr. Mark Grant thought of something else they could use from the sporting goods section, so they went back to the sporting goods section to grab it. They came up the various sharp objects that the convenience store offered. He looked upon the rack until he found the machetes. They would prove versatile because they could slay zombies, but they could also chop things if they needed them to. If they were out in the woods, the machete would be able to chop up the trees around them or the tree branches. He grabbed a few and put them in the cart. He also found a blade sharpening tool nearby. Dr. Mark Grant put a few of those into the cart as well.

After loading up the assortment of blades, sharp objects, and their sharpening tools, they headed towards the food section of the store. They stockpiled a few fruits and vegatables from the fruits and vegatables section of the fruit section, but their primary goal was to get as much unperishable food as they could. They needed the food to last them as long as possible. The fresh fruit and vegetables from the fresh fruit and vegetables section would be a nice treat since the fruit and vegetables from the fruit and vegetables section might be their last for a very very long time. They grabbed as many perishable foods as they could. They filled the cart Dr. Mark Grant was pushing that contained the machetes and their sharpening tools with fruits and vegetables of all sorts. They got bananas, carrots, grapes, pears, plums, peaches, lettuce, spinach, and asparugus. They even were able to put coconuts, pineapples, and strawberries into the cart. The cart was almost full now.

After stockpiling on the perishable foods like the fruits and vegetables, they started filling the cart that Rick and Jill took turns pushing with cans of soups and other unperishable foods. They got cans of chicken noodle soup, tomato soup, steak and potato soup, mushroom soup, beef broth, and chicken broth. They also filled the cart with various kinds of ramen. They got beef flavored ramen, chicken flavored ramen, and shrimp flavored ramen. They got boxes of crackers, bags of chips, and boxes of various kinds of cookies too. They got a package of chocolate chip cookies, chocolate chip chewy cookies, Oreos, and peanut butter cookies. Rick and Jill's cart was now full of delectable treats that would have to last them a few weeks. If they rationed the cookies, ramen, soup, crackers, fruits, and vegetables, it should last them for a few months. Otherwise, they might start to starve to death. In the mean time, they would have to figure out a way to grow their own food source. They exited the convenience store after making their way through the numerous aisles without incident. They didn't even attempt to stop at the cash register to pay for their goods. They just continued through the checkout area and exited the store. They loaded up the sport utility vehicle with their newly found items. They placed the ramen, chicken noodle soup, tomato soup, chicken broth, steak and potato soup, mushroom soup, beef broth, chocolate chip cookies, chocolate chip chewy cookies, oreos, bananas, carrots, grapes, pears, plums, peaches, lettuce, spinach, asparagus, coconuts, pineapples, and strawberries.

After they emptied the carts of their fruits, vegetables, crackers, cookies, soups, ramens, machetes, and sharpening tools for the machetes, Dr. Mark Grant realized something. They had forgotten to get water. Without water, these various foods of various shapes and sizes would do them no good. They would be plump, dehydrated beings without water.

"We forgot water, you guys," Dr. Mark Grant said when Rick and Jill settled into their seats. "Let's go back in and get it. Otherwise, we'll be plump, dehydrated beings without the water."

The pair groaned, having just gotten comfortable. Rick and Jill removed their seatbelts before exiting the car. They exited the car. They walked to where their dad was standing on the sidewalk. Dr. Mark Grant, Rick Grant, and Jill Grant reentered the store. They grabbed a couple of carts from the cart containment area. They grabbed the same carts they had last time Dr. Grant had noted. Dr. Mark Grant had taken note of the sappy ads on the carts and those same ads were on the carts they now pushed. They headed back towards the beverage section. They were going to grab a couple cases of water bottles and maybe some soda for the occasional celebration. When they got to the beverage section, they grabbed a case of Aquafina water, a case of Dasani water, and a case of the convenience store's own brand of water. They wanted to have at least some variety in their beverages. They grabbed a couple cases of soda as well. They got a case of grape soda, they grabbed a case of lime soda, and they grabbed a case of cola soda. They would save these for when they had a cause for celebration. When they were exiting the beverage aisle, Dr. Mark Grant noticed the energy drinks. Normally, he wouldn't approve of these things, but he grabbed a couple packages of the energy drinks just in case they had some late nights or days without rest when they would need an extra spurt of energy to keep them going. These could come in handy if they got into the situation where they were sleepless or just had a rough day where they needed an extra small spurt of energy to keep them going. Mark placed a pack of Monster energy, a pack of Red Bull energy, and a pack of NOS energy. These packs of energy drinks should suffice.

Dr. Mark Grant also remembered to visit the pharmacy before they left. They gathered up aspirin, allergy medicine, and different sorts of bandages. They didn't want to be without medical supplies in case one of them got hurt. After going through the contents of the cart and making sure he was satisfied, Dr. Mark Grant motioned for them to follow him. They left the store and headed towards the car once more. They loaded the car with the new items the got from the convenience store, water, soda, energy drinks, medicine, and bandages. Dr. Mark Grant just left the carts near the entrance of the store near where their sport utility vehicle was because no one would be around to care. They all three got into the sport utility vehicle, buckled up, and left the Walmart in search of their next home.

"Where are we going to go now, Dad?" Rick asked his father from the passenger seat of the sport utility vehicle.

"East is my plan, my son. East," Dr. Mark Grant said to his teenage son in the passenger seat of their sport utility vehicle.

The trio consisting of the Grant family took various roads to get to the interstate. The interstate was flooded with empty cars. Dr. Mark Grant decided to take a separate highway to Denver where they would take either Interstate 70 or another separate highway east to a farm on the plains of Colorado. They headed north finding various zombies. In the middle of the highway, they found a zombie eating someone. It was a horrible sight. The children of the Grant family shouldn't have had to witness such a thing at such a young age. Dr. Mark Grant, however, was used to the bloody disgusting gore.

"Dad, I may throw up," Jill said to her father as she covered her mouth with one hand. The zombie had begun munching on the human victim's throat. The sight was truly disgusting.

"If it wasn't so sad, this would be kind of cool," Rick said as he watched the zombie continue its lunch. Rick was a fan of gore, as were most boys his age.

As the sport utility vehicle began its somewhat slow approach towards the zombie, it sensed their presence. It turned and faced them, now standing above the deceased human fillet at its feet. It sprinted at them with an empty look in its eye. Dr. Mark Grant floored the accelerator and slammed right into the zombie, killing it instantly. It was attached to the grill of the sport utility vehicle, grinding against the grill of the sport utility vehicle, driven back by the sheer force of the sport utility vehicle moving forward. Dr. Mark Grant slammed on the brakes of the sport utility vehicle. The zombie flew forward by the force of inertia. It flew into the middle of the road in front of the sport utility vehicle. Dr. Mark Grant lined up the driver side wheels with the head of the monster and floored the accelerator once more. The zombie's cranium popped like a grape when the sport utility vehicle's heavy body crushed it as it passed over the dead zombie.

"Surely, he's dead now," Dr. Mark Grant said as he turned to face his teenage son in the passenger seat of the sport utility vehicle.

"He is dead and don't call me Shirley," Rick said with a smile. He loved the late twentieth century film, "Airplane!", as well. "There sure are a lot of cars around here, Dad," Rick commented on the vehicles as Dr. Mark Grant weaved the sport utility vehicle in between other sport utility vehicles, vans, sedans, and four door cars on the highway before them.

"People abandoned them in the panic, Rick," Dr. Mark Grant explained to his teenage son. "The zombies must have swarmed this highway because of all the noise. The drivers fled their vehicles because of the traffic. Some floored their accelerator, killing themselves as they crashed into other vehicles, like that van over there that is now a convertible," he said as he pointed to the flaming wreckage of a people carrier now gone convertible when it crashed head first into a sport utility vehicle.

"You see, panic causes people to do strange things," Dr. Mark Granted continued as the remaining members of the Grant family hurtled down the highway in their sport utility vehicle at an astonishing eighty miles per hour. "Luckily, I didn't panic. I forced our car to come immediately home in order to check on your mom. Unfortunately, we were to late to save her.

"Ah, here we are," Mark said as he came upon the exit for the roadway that headed east towards the farms on the plains that were their destination and their only ticket towards survivlal in this zombie apocalypse caused by the technology that the Orange company had created called Vector. "This should be an easier trip. No one lives out there.

Dr. Mark Grant was wrong. The interstate called Interstate 70 was even more packed with sedans, people carriers, sport utility vehicles, trucks, and four door cars than the interstate that they were about to take north towards Denver was. Zombies also flooded the asphalt road. Lots of zombies were separating their path to safety. The remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, were in a situation of utter peril.

"Oh, shit!" Dr. Mark Grant exlaimed in surprise. The loud sound that the sport utility vehicle emitted got the attention of every last zombie in the area. All of the Vector driven zombies headed straight towards the sport utility vehicle that contained the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself. The zombies rushed toward the sport utility vehicle at full sprint. "Zombies aren't supposed to be like this!" Dr. Mark Grant yelled as he put the sport utility vehicle in reverse and floored the accelerator. He was referring to movies. Zombies in the movies were slow beasts that one could easily outrun by jogging. These zombies were running at them at a flat out sprint. It turned out the movies weren't as accurate as everyone thought they were. The old video games from the twentieth first century were more accurate than the movies from that time period describing zombie apocalypses. They were fairly inaccurate apparently.

The remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, continued on their way in their evasion of the zombies. Weirdly, they were able to keep up even though they were going forty miles an hour. They turned off of the road into a grassy field in an attempt to evade the bloodthirsty creatures that followed their trail as if they were emitting some signal to attract the beasts. These beasts didn't slow their pace for a second when following the sport utility vehicle. The field turned to a rocky area. The sport utility vehicle crashed into a boulder. Luckily, there seemed to be a hot air balloon not far from there.

"Let's go!" Mark said as he grabbed what he could from the sport utility vehicle and ran towards it.

The trio sprinted toward the balloon. It was their only hope. The SUV was in flames behind them. Smoke poured out from the engine underneath the hood of the vehicle. It disabled their vision. It obscured it. It ceased to allow them the ability to see their destination. They felt their way through the pack of zombies in front of them. Mark fired off shots from the rifle. The chamber expelled several rounds. It sounded as if it was an automatic weapon he was firing the weapon so often. The ability to have the accuracy he had was staggering for the children. A zombie would pop up in front of Rick or Jill and immediately it would sink to the ground, missing its cranium. It seemed like their father, Dr. Mark Grant, was not thinking about himself. Actually, it didn't seem like he was thinking at all. It looked like he was on autopilot. The accuracy and speed he had with each shot allowed them to reach the hot air balloon in time.

"Start it up!" Mark yelled as he cleared the crowd of zombies around them. "I mean now," he yelled when no one responded. "Rick, you do it! Start the damn hot air balloon. I know you know how to start a fire. I've seen the matches and lighters in your room! Light this thing up so we can reach the sun!" Mark bellowed. His voice was obscured by numerous shots from the rifle in his hands.

Rick climbed into the hot air balloon after his father and sister. He immediately began work on starting the hot air balloon's fire source. He twisted a knob on a propane gas tank near the edge of the balloon. A low hiss was barely audible between the gunshots and the moaning and roaring from the zombies. The air started to smell of the propane gas. Rick hurried over to the spot on the balloon where the flame was to emit its warm glow. He grabbed a match from under his shirt in a hidden pocket. How had his father known about htis secret? It was something he attempted to hide extremely well from his parents. He was a pyromaniac. He was one who enjoyed lighting fires for no reason in particular. The child also felt more adult like in the carrying and transporting of lighters and matches. He had been close to obtaining a a Zippo branded lighter soon. The zombie apocalypse had ended that chance. It was gone as if the sun had scorched it into the very smoke that was now pouring out of the SUV's engine. The crash had mutilated that vehicle.

As Rick underwent this thought process and lit the hot air balloon's heat source, Mark continued his onslaught against the diseased beings in front of them, the zombies. He continued to fire until the magazine of his rifle was empty.

"Jill, do you know how to load this?" he yelled to her as he tossed the weapon behind him and drew his Glock from the holster on his belt. "If so, I need you to reload it with the shells on the bottom of the balloon's container. Hurry!" he yelled as his Glock emptied its magazine into the beings in front of him.

"Yes, sir," Jill yelled. She fell to the bottom of the basket. Her hands were a blur in front of her eyes. She grabbed the shells in the open box in front of her. She popped out the magazine from the rifle and placed shells repeatedly into the void. Magazines fell next to her as the Glock used up the ammunition her father had.

"Here!" she yelled out to him, spinning around after she had replaced the magazine within the firearm.

"Now, fill up those magazines that I've dropped! I appreciate it, Jill!" he yelled over the moaning. "How are we doing, Rick? We don't have much time!" he roared as he began firing upon the crowd once more.

"Almost there, Dad!" Rick yelled back to his father from near the flame emitted by the metal container in front of him. The propane smell had evaporated as soon as the flame started. "We just need to wait until the air in the balloon gets hot enough. We'll be ready to take off momentarily!"

"Hurry!" Dr. Mark Grant dropped the Remington rifle and grabbed one of the Remington shotguns. He easily cleared the zombies in front of him.

The hot air balloon that filled with the hot air made with flame burning behind the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself.

"Dad! It's ready!" Rick Grant exclaimed loudly to his family. "Weird ready to get in the hair! Get in here before you lose hair!"

The family hopped into the hot air balloon after Rick Grant. The firearms and some food and water was all they had.

Rick Grant yelled out, "And now we take off with fear! Make the way, dear zombies, be clear!" He released the rope tethering the basket of the hot air balloon to the ground. They lifted up into the air easily. Their basket appeared to be weightless. The very basket that was carried up into the air by the hot air balloon powered by the hot air heated by the flame next to the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself carried the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself.

The air rippled around their faces as they rose into the air with the wind around the bodies of the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself. The zombies below them tried to climb the rope that was still on the ground. A few were able to attach themselves to the device that once tethered the basket of the hot air balloon that held the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself.

"Uh, Dad?" Rick Grant asked his father, Dr. Mark Grant, quizzically. "A couple zombies are climbing the tethering rope to reach us up here in the hot air balloon! We'll be eaten by these creatures if we don't do something soon!"

"Don't worry," Dr. Mark Grant said as he raised the shotgun. He aimed below the balloon at the zombies clinging to the rope that had tethered the basket of the hot air balloon that held the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, to the ground before they had to take off due to the zombies below them. Dr. Mark Grant aligned the zombie below them that was clinging to the rope in the iron sights of the Remington shotgun. Once he had a clear shot, he pulled the trigger, releasing the shotgun shell that released the tiny 12 guage balls outward. The majority of the expelled balls hit the zombies clinging to the rope that once tethered the basket of the hot air balloon that held the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself. The rest of the tiny balls hit the basket. It obliterated the corner, causing the bottom of the basket to become a bit unstable. The power of the shot caused severe fraying to occurring. Unfortunately, one zombie still clung to the rope that once tethered the basket that held the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, to the ground. Dr. Mark Grant had to fire one more shot or worth risking the integrity of the family's survival. It was worth the risk of damaging the balloon even more. He pulled back on the trigger causing another shell to be expelled from the end of the barrel of the Remington shotgun. The zombie was forced to let go of the rope that once tethered the basket of the hot air balloon that held the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, to the ground. The basket was further damaged. It had a significant hole in the bottom now. The stability of the bottom of the basket that held the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, was failing. The remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, were all crammed in one corner of the basket in an attempt to remain in the basket of the hot air balloon.

"Dad?" Rick asked. His voice was dripping with fear. "What are we going to do? If we don't hurry, we'll become zombie food!"

"I'm not sure, son," Dr. Mark Grant said to his child. He was also full of fear. "I think we'll have to return to the surface of the Earth. We'll have to descend. It's too dangerous up here. Once of us shall die, surely."

"Once of us shall die if we stay up here, and don't call me Shirley," Rick said with an apparent fear in his voice. "I'll start our descent. We surely won't have this decision to repent!" he yelled as he reduced the burner of the hot air balloon in whose basket the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, were in. They slowly began their approach on the very terror they were attempting to escape. The zombies were literally jumping in the air in vain attempts to catch the hot air balloon that approached them. The distance that separated the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, and the ground decreased with each passing moment. The fear of the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, was increasing with each passing moment as they approached the zombies on the surface of the Earth. The zombies were jumping in the air repeatedly. They were like dogs reaching for a slab of raw meat in front of their faces. The moments passed slowly asd they approached the ground. The zombies were able to start climbing the rope that once tethered the basket of the hot air balloon that held the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, to the ground that they now approached.

Their food and other supplies like cookies, crackers, water, energy drinks, fruit, and vegetables plummeted to the ground. Luckily, the basket of the hot air balloon that held the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, was close enough to the ground that the cookies, crackers, water, energy drinks, fruit, and vegetables did not get destroyed. However, the energy drinks ricocheted off of the heads of the zombies and caused them to dissipated momentarily as the basket of the hot air balloon that held the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, was about ten feet from the ground. The bottom of the basket of hot air balloon that held the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, was starting to fall apart even more so than it already had been. The hole in the floor of the basket of the hot air balloon that held the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant, grew larger as the weight of the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, caused the bottom of the unstable basket to break even further. The remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, squeezed together at the edge of the basket of the hot air balloon in an effort to not fall through the widening hole in the bottom of the basket of the hot air balloon that held the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself. Their efforts were in vain as Rick Grant, the youngest of the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, fell through the ever widening hole in the bottom of the basket of the hot air balloon that once held the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, that now only held two of the remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself, because Rick Grant now plummeted to the ground ten feet below them and covered in zombies.

The youngest child of the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, landed upon the head of one zombie that was investigating the new food at his feet and cracked the zombie's neck, killing him instantly. The zombies around the youngest child of the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, looked up from their observation of the human food at the ground and stared heavily at the child, turning their heads ever so slightly in an effort to get a better look at the youngest child of the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself. After realizing the youngest member of the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, was a human with fresh flesh to feast upon, the zombies that surrounded the youngest member of the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, swarmed the youngest member of the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself.

"No!" Dr. Mark Grant yelled out as the zombies started feasting upon his youngest child. "You monsters!" He watched in horror ten feet below him as the zombies took big monstrous bites out of the youngest member of the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself. He grabbed the shotgun from beside him and jumped through the hole below him. Before landing, he got a shot off at the zombies surrounding Rick Grant.

"Rick, my son! How could I have let this happen to my son? He's done everything for me! No, I won't give up on him! I can still change things! These zombies have crossed me for the last time. They've turned my wife into one of their own. They've forced us out of our home! They've mocked our human ancestry by feeding on us! They will pay the ultimate price for what they have done to my son.

The enraged human rushed the zombies head on and fired shots left and right as he attempted to force the zombies off of his child. The zombies started attacking him from all sides, but he was able to slay them in groups. The spread of the shotgun allowed him to kill multiple zombies at a time. The pellets from the shotgun shells invaded the heads and brains of the monsters. The zombies started to dissipate as they fell in great numbers around the enraged man, Dr. Mark Grant himself. Eventually, Dr. Mark Grant was able to slay all of the enemy in front of him. They fell in great numbers and the field around him was littered with the corpses of the monsters he had just slayed.

"How is he?" Jill yelled from the hot air balloon as it reached the ground. "What's the status of my young brother?"

She jumped through the hole in the basket of the hot air balloon that once held the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself. The balloon didn't even reach the ground as it was sitting upon the corpses of the zombies that Dr. Mark Grant had just slain.

"He's. . . He's. . . He's dead," Dr. Mark Grant finally let out as he collapsed near his fallen son. The zombies had made a grand meal out of the youngest member of the remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself. The remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, had now decreased in number. The remaining members of the Grant family, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, had become solely Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself, the last remaining members of the Grant family.

The pair consisting of the remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself, buried the their former member. They had a hard time grasping young Rick Grant as he was missing all of his limbs and the majority of his torso area. The blood covered their hands as they lowered Rick Grant into his grave. They placed a rock to signify his existance there over the grave. Tears rolled down the faces of the remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself.

"I will seek revenge on you," Dr. Mark Grant started solemnly. He had a look of determination upon his face. The dry tears upon his face accented his emotions perfectly. He no longer sobbed. "This is last member of my family that you shall slay. I will take revenge on you, you monsters!" Dr. Mark Grant yelled into the sky as the sun finished its descent towards the horizon. "You will pay! I shall wreak havoc upon you all! You are now my only reason to live. I shall slay every single fucking one of you!" Dr. Mark Grant's voice echoed into the dusk. The rage of the man seemed to give him an aura. An aura of pure rage.

"Father?" Jill asked her father that was on his knees. The rage from him was felt by the now youngest member of the remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself.

Dr. Mark Grant ignored his daughter in his rage. He looked around in the dark night sky. They had to find somewhere to go. They had to find somewhere to sleep. Dr. Mark Grant walked slowly over to the sport utility vehicle that poured gallons of smoke from under the hood where its engine lay. Silently, Dr. Mark Grant headed behind the wheel of the vehicle and reclined the seat. He closed the driver's side door and locked it. Jill Grant, not knowing what else to do, followed suit in the passenger's seat.

Jill Grant had no idea what they would do next. Without her brother, it was just her and her dad in the remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself. Without Rick, she didn't know how she'd go on. She used to be a quiet girl, keeping to herself. She used to despise others. Now that the others were gone, she had begun to open up to the world. The lack of humans on the Earth frightened her.

Dr. Rick Grant was still furious. He no longer felt the pain of mourning. He was now running on anger. He was running on pure and utter anger. That's all that drove him. His survival didn't matter as much to him as revenge meant to him. The thought of revenge towards the zombies was what drove him. He was now running on pure anger. That's all. Jill Grant was still a concern of his, but he no longer cared for his own survival. He would survive long enough to enact his revenge towards the zombies, but afterwards, he didn't care how long he would live. It didn't matter to the poor Dr. Mark Grant anymore. The pure anger that drove was all that mattered to him. Dr. Mark Grant would avenge his son. He would stop the zombie apocalypse.

Jill Grant watched her father contemplate what they would do next until she fell asleep in the passenger's seat of the sport utility vehicle that she sat in and that held the remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself.

As the sun rose, Jill Grant felt her shoulder shaking.

"Wake up, Jill," Dr. Mark Grant said to his sleeping child who sat in the passenger seat of the sport utility vehicle that held the remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself. "Wake up, Jill. We need to go. We need to find a form of transportation. We need to get to the Orange Inc. building in Denver. We're pretty close already, but we need to get there as soon as possible. I think that's what is the key behind stopping this apocalypse and avenging Rick."

Jill opened her eyes slowly and said, "What? What did you say, father?"

Dr. Mark Grant sighed and repeated himself, "We need to find a form of transportation. We need to get to the Orange Inc. building in Denver. We're pretty close already, but we need to get there as soon as possible. I think that's what is the key behind stopping this apocalypse and avenging Rick."

"Ok," Jill Grant said as she was still trying to wake up. "How are we going to find a car?" We're in the middle of a field."

"We're not far from the interstate," Dr. Mark Grant replied to his daughter. "We shall get there and find a vehicle there. That's the only way for us to move on. My plan is to find a vehicle and drive it back here to gather our supplies. No use wasting this food. We need all the crackers, cookies, soda, fruit, vegetables, chocolate chip cookies, energy drinks, and pineapples we can have. It's key to our survival during this apocalypse."

"Ok," Jill said slowly. "We'll head out. I just need a moment. It was a long day yesterday. It's just now starting to sink in."

"Take two," Dr. Mark Grant said to his daughter, a member of the remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself. "I'll head out a bit and scout a bit. You know how to handle a Remington 870 shotgun?"

"Yes, Father," Jill Grant said as she rose from her seat. "I know how to fire a Remington 870 shotgun. Be careful, Father."

"I shall, my only remaining child," Dr. Mark Grant said to his only remaining child as he grabbed his Remington 870 shotgun and exited the vehicle. "You should be careful too. It seems like we are alone, but we can't be sure about that. Never lower your guard, my child."

"Ok, Father," Jill Grant said to her father. "I love you."

Dr. Mark Grant was taken aback a bit because she hadn't said such a thing since she was a young child, years and years before this disaster had occurred, " I love you too, my dear child." Dr. Mark Grant headed out into the field, heading west. It was his best chance of finding the interstate.

Jill Grant grabbed a Remington 870 shotgun from the backseat and loaded it. It offered her a little protection from the outside world. The fear she felt alleviated a little as she held the firearm in her hands. She turned the key of the vehicle to "On" in a small hope that the battery would be able to provide her a bit of power. The battery power that she would be able to use would be used towards the radio. In an off chance, she would try to find a radio station that was broadcasting a sliver of news.

Jill Grant turned on the radio and heard static at the first channel she attempted to listen to. She flipped through several stations. None of them were broadcsting. The next station she hit was broadcasting classic rock from the twentieth century. The song was "I Wanna Be Sedated" by The Ramones. It was one of her favorite songs. It proved to be comforting as she mulled over the events that had occurred the day before.

"Twenty twenty twenty four hours to go, I wanna be sedated," the radio outputted in the voice of The Ramones' lead singer. "Nothin' to do, no where to go ho. I wanna be sedated. Just put me in a wheelchair and get me to the show. Hurry hurry hurry before I go loco. I can't control my fingers, I can't control my toes. No no oh oh oh oh. I wanna be sedated."

The song played in the background as she mulled over her thoughts about the event that had occurred the day before. Her family had been destroyed. Now only she and her father remained. Jill Grant's mother, Elise Grant, was now a deceased zombie that was missing an arm. How could this have happened? The day was fine until the disaster had occurred. Her father, Dr. Mark Grant, her brother, Rick Grant, and she were going to Denver to go to a hospital so that her father, Dr. Mark Grant could get a Vector chip by the Orange Inc. integrated with his brain to become as intelligent as his wife, Elise Grant, Jill Grant's mother.

"Twenty twenty twenty four hours to go, I wanna be sedated," the radio continued with "I Wanna Be Sedated" by the Ramones. "Nothin' to do, no where to go ho. I wanna be sedated. Just put me in a wheelchair and get me on the plane. Hurry hurry hurry before I go insane. I can't control my fingers, I can't control my brain. No no oh oh oh oh."

How was she expected to go on? Her family members were now gone. All she had left was her father. Would he step up and be there for her? This was too complicated for her. She could take the easy way out. Killing herself was an option. Would she go through with it? Jill Grant was appalled that the thought had even crossed her mind. Well, she would be able to see her mother and brother, Elise Grant and Rick Grant respectively, again. They'd all be together oncemore. Plus, her father Dr. Mark Grant, would have no one else to take care of. He'd only have to worry about himself.

Jill had convinced herself that suicide was one of the best options. It seemed like it was the only viable option. She would be able to leave behind the worries of life in the fucked up universe around her. It was the only way.

Jill looked behind her for the Glock pistol that her father had brought with them from the house. It was the handgun that he had always carried with him after they fled their house the day before. Her father, Dr. Mark Grant, had opted to carry a Beretta after they had looted the Walmart the evening before. She found the Glock handgun under a pile of foodstuffs. The crash into the boulder in front of the sport utility vehicle had caused the foodstuffs to cover the pseudo armory in front othe back seats due to inertia.

Jill Grant, the youngest of the remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and her father, Dr. Mark Grant himself, was shaking uncontrollably. The Glock handgun vibrated in her hands as she held it. Its barrel was pointed directly at her head's temple. She flipped the safety to off and pulled the trigger. Click. Nothing happened. She was still alive. Jill Grant had forgotten to put a round of ammunition into the chamber of the firearm when she put in the magazine full of ammunition. She pulled back the slide of the firearm, causing a round of the Glock handgun's ammunition to enter the chamber of the Glock handgun's chamber.

Jill Grant readied herself to try once more. She had prepared the Glock handgun correctly this time. The teenager held the firearm in line with her temple once more. She was shaking even more uncontrollably than before. She placed her finger in the trigger guard onto the trigger itself. Before she could place any pressure on the trigger itself, she heard footsteps behind the vehicle.

"I found the interstate, Jill," Dr. Mark Grant's voice echoed above the sport utility vehicle. Jill Grant brought the Glock handgun swiftly down from her head to her lap. "Hey, what's wrong?" Dr. Mark Grant inquired as he reached the driver's seat of the sport utility vehicle.

Jill was sitting with a nervous look upon her face with the Glock handgun in her lap.

"Are you ok, Jill?" Dr. Mark Grant asked his daughter. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Jill Grant said swiftly. "I. . . I was just startled that's all. I was just thinking about Mother and Rick, and then I heard your voice come out of no where. I didn't know it was you at first. I was just startled. That's all."

"Well, now that you know it's me, let's go," Dr. Mark Grant said as he motioned to his right. "I found the interstate. We should just follow it until we find a vehicle suitable enough for us to use. We'll then come back and get our supplies. You ready, Jill?"

"Yes, Father," Jill Grant replied. "I'm ready." She placed the Glock handgun behind her on the seat. She would only need the Remington 870 shotgun on this journey to the interstate to find a suitable vehicle for her, her father, and the supplies that filled the back of the sport utility vehicle.

"Well, come one! Don't keep me waiting. We need to get there as soon as possible. The sooner we get to Denver, the sooner we may be able to clean up this mess that is a zombie apocalypse!" Dr. Mark Grant exclaimed with a false sense of encouragement. The man really felt a tremendous pressure on him from the rage that he felt. The rage from the night before had subsided to a dark dull.

The pair of the remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself, crosssed the grassy field west. Their only objective was to find a suitable vehicle on the asphalt road of the interstate to carry Jill Grant, Dr. Mark Grant, and their supplies that filled the back of the sport utility vehicle.

The thought of suicide plagued Jill Grant's thoughts as they crossed the the grassy field. She planned to do it as soon as she was alone. She didn't want her father to witness her death. This was her escape. She didn't care about getting revenge or just surviving. Who would want to survive in a world without anyone else? There was nothing to live for. Who would have a way to bring it back to the way it was before? No one. That's who. No one would be able to restore world order. No one would be able to restore the planet's inhabitants to the way they were before. Jill Grant's mother was a dead one armed zombie for Pete's sake. No one would be able to do this. Who would want to live in a world alone with only their father? No one would want to live in a world alone with only their father. It wasn't plausible. Why would that person want to continue on? That was the question. No one would be able to restore the Earth to its former glory, enact the process for taking revenge on the zombies or whoever was responsible for the deaths of Jill Grant's family members, and no one would be able to turn the planet back into the prosperous and human filled planet it was once before. Jill Grant hoped she would meet this No One one day. She would love to meet the one that would restore the Earth to its former glory. This was why she would slay herself. She had nothing to live for.

The pair, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself, the remaining members of the Grant family, continued their short journey to the interstate that was made of asphalt. When they reached it, they followed it further west in hopes of finding a vehicle to carry them and the contents of the sport utitlity vehicle. They came across a small sport utility vehicle not unlike the one they had come to this place in before. It did not have any flat tires. The only damage it had sustained was the dent in the driver side door. It appeared like it had been the cause for the death of the one in the driver's seat.

A corpse was in the seat. The body looked familar to Dr. Mark Grant.

"Holy. . ." Dr. Mark Grant did not finish his sentence. He had once known the man in the driver's seat. He had once known the man that was now before him in a deceased state. The man had been a coworker of his at the hospital. Well, coworker was the wrong word. He was more of a colleague. The man was Jim. The very same Jim that had called Dr. Mark Grant the night of the tragedy. The tragedy of the young woman's sudden death in the middle of the night. The lack of communication in the few months that had taken place killed Dr. Mark Grant. He had not taken the time to know this man more than his work ethic. He was a good man, but he was not able to with the busy months of embedding the Vector module into thousands of patients.

"What, Father?" Jill Grant asked him cautiously. "What's wrong?" She walked to the driver's side of the car next to her father, Dr. Mark Grant, and gasped. "Did you know this man, Father?"

"Yes," Dr. Mark Grant said solemnly. "Yes, I did. He was the night security officer at the hospital. He was someone who I didn't get to know so well because we usually worked different shifts, but I wish I had gotten to know the man. He seemed like a good man."

A similar rage from the night before crested the edge of Dr. Mark Grant's mind. It engulfed him. It filled him. Why did another have to die? Why couldn't the ones he had known survived? Why couldn't anyone survive? The fury engulfed him. It was pure rage that filled him. The zombies would feel the full force of his revenge. He would make them pay the ultimate price. Despite their lack of emotion, Dr. Mark Grant would make them pay the ultimate price, death. They robbed him of people in his life. They robbed those people of their loives. He would take the lives of all the zombies. He would slay them. He would be known as "Mark Grant, Zombie Slayer" by the time he was done with these monsters.

As Dr. Mark Grant was going through this thought process, a being crept slowly behind the seat. It slowly opened up the door behind the driver's side door. Dr. Mark Grant nor his daughter, Jill Grant, noticed the disturbance. Dr. Mark Grant continued to revel in the rage that consumed him.

The being dropped to the ground making barely any noise. Dr. Mark Grant continued to revel in the rage that consumed him as the result of the death of Jim and his son, Rick Grant. Jill Grant, however, noticed the noise. She didn't think anything of it though. When the door opened even further for the unknown shadow to put more of itself onto the ground, Jill noticed a slight movement in the corner of her eye. She swiftly turned her head in the direction of the car, and the being caught the being red handed, as the saying was, trying to escape the vehicle.

"Father!" she screamed loudly.

Dr. Mark Grant did not react fast enough to stop the shadow from assaulting the last remaining member of his family, Jill Grant. It turned out to be a different form of zombie. It had a metallic luster to its skin. It was also the size of a child. It clawed at Jill Grant's face in a effort to kill her. Jill Grant brought the Remington 870 shotgun in her hands up to her face and pried the small best from it by sticking the barrel of the Remington 870 shotgun in between her and the small creature. She used it as a crowbar to separate it from her face. Once it had fallen to the ground, she took a shot at it. It hit the being, but it didn't seem to faze it too much.

Jill Grant lined up the creature in her Remington 870 shotgun's iron sights once more, but before she could get a shot off, the small cybernetic zombie sprouted a pair of metallic wings. The sounds of the electronics in the wings hummed as it began to flap them. They flapped about as fast as a hummingbird's wings, causing the small cybernetic zombie's wings to appear to be a blur. The zombie took off into the morning sky, swiftly fleeing the scene. Within moments, it was too far away for the Remington 870 shotguns that the remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself, to hit if they were to fire at it. The spread of the shotgun pellets would cause them to miss the small zombie entirely.

The sky was filled with dark clouds. They fit the mood of both of the remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself, perfectly. They both were feeling as low as a human being could. Especially considering their circumstances. It was a zombie apocalypse of course. Smoke from nearby vehicles filled the nostrils of both members of the remaining Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself. The pair stood on the asphalt of the interstate as they watched the tiny, mechanically winged zombie fly off into the light filled sky. The sun expelled hot rays onto the pair of remaining Grant family members, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself. The stench of rotting corpses also filled their lungs with its gruesome and repulsive smell. The revolting aroma reminded them of the task at hand. They were there to find a vehicle to carry them, not watch a zombie fly off into the sky. Jill Grant's thoughts still had remnants of her thoughts of suicide. She planned to do it when she was alone. It was the best way to escape this dreadful death filled world.

The skyline was filled with the tops of the buildings from the Denver downtown area. The buildings at first gave off the appearance that nothing was wrong with the world. The buildings just reflected the harsh light from the hot sun above, making the two remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself, squint as they observed the dead city. Jill Grant, through her squinted eyes, looked closer at the fallen city. With the increased attention to detail, she was able to make out broken windows and blood covered skyscrapers in the ruins of the once large city. The skyline was not filled with the skyscrapers of an unchanged city. It was filled with the skyscrapers of a city that didn't survive an apocalypse. The city did not exist anymore. That much was clear to the remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself.

Dr. Mark Grant turned back to face the sport utiltiy vehicle that held the corpse of Jim, the once quite good security officer at the hospital that Dr. Mark Grant once worked at. The corpse had started to decompose in the driver's seat of the vehicle. Dr. Mark Grant removed the man and placed him in the field next to the sport utility vehicle that they were going to commandeer.

"That was some weird stuff," Dr. Mark Grant said aloud. "I think Jim's SUV will work for our needs. It doesn't seem damaged."

"Yes, Father," Jill Grant said.

"You there! Place your weapons on the ground!" a harsh voice came out of no where.

Dr. Mark Grant didn't feel like arguing, so he put his Remington 870 shotgun on the asphalt ground of the interstate. Jill Grant followed suit.

"That's right," the voice continued. The remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself, heard footsteps behind them. They didn't dare take the chance of looking at the source of the incoming footsteps.

The heavy footsteps stopped a few feet behind them they guessed. They heard breathing behind them. It was a series of short and heavy breaths.

"You on the left," the deep voice commanded.

"Who, me?" Dr. Mark Grant asked cautiously.

"Yes," the deep voice said. "Continue facing the vehicle in front of you and walk backwards toward me. The girl is to stay where she is. If either of you make a movement I don't approve of, my rifle will correct your behavior."

Dr. Mark Grant walked slowly backwards in the direction of the heavy low voice. Fear rippled down his back as he approached the deep voice.

"Faster, dammit!" the deep said louder. "I don't have all day!"

Dr. Mark Grant quickened his pace despite his fear. He backed up into the vicinity of the voice that had erupted behind him.

"Stop!" the deep voice commanded. "Turn around to face me. Don't you try nothin'. I've got my rifle pointed straight atcha. If you do somethin', you'll be dying pretty quick."

Dr. Mark Grant slowly turned on the balls of his feet. The man shivered has he continued this motion. He realized he was looking at the ground when he did this and slowly rose his face to see who this strange voice belonged to. He rose his face and didn't even have to raise it far. There was a short man in front of him. The deep voice couldn't have belonged to the small man.

"What are you staring at?" the small man grunted. He brought the rifle in line with Dr. Mark Grant's face. The small man was more threatening with his voice and the rifle in his arms.

"What do you want?" Dr. Mark Grant inquired. "We don't have anything. We. . . just. . ." he stuttered slowly.

"I required your supplies," the small man said quickly in his loud and deep voice. "Give me everything you've got."

"Well, as you can see," Dr. Mark Grant said cautiously, " we only have weapons. We have nothing else of value. If you must rob us of our talismans that is the key to our survival, then these are all you require."

"Yes, give me all the ammunition and firearms you have," the small man instructed fiercely. "The only thing I need is everything you've got!" He chuckled loudly in front of Dr. Mark Grant.

"How do you want to go about this?" Dr. Mark Grant inquired. "You are only one man and you would have a total of three weapons after this."

"You are going to load your weapons into that vehicle there," the small man explained in his deep voice. "I'm going to drive it with your supplies. You are going to stay here and probably die."

"So you won't leave us with anything?" Dr. Mark Grant asked cautiously. He had to give the impression that only the weapons were what they had. He couldn't reveal that they had a sport utility vehicle full of supplies a couple miles away. That was detrimental to their survival.

"No," the small man in his deep voice exclaimed quickly. "It's survival of the fittest, my lad. It's eat or be eaten. You've lost. Too bad you won't get another chance. Now, load up the vehicle in front of us with your weapons and ammunition. Be quick with it, but don't try anything. I've got this rifle on you and it'll kill you before you have a chance to assault me."

The remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself, loaded their Remington 870 shotguns into the sport utility vehicle that was once under the ownership of Jim, the former security officer at the hospital that Dr. Mark Grant worked at. It was only a matter of minutes before they had finished. They were completed with their task in a matter of moments. Dr. Mark Grant emptied his pocket of all remaining shells into the back seat of the sport utility vehicle before them. Jill Grant followed suit. The small man had a few more instructions for them once they were finished loading the Remington 870 shotguns into the back of the sport utility vehicle. Dr. Mark Grant had discovered a Mossberg 510 .410 shotgun in the back seat as well, but alas, the small man had noticed mere moments after Dr. Mark Grant.

"Now that I have your weapons, and the shotgun you were trying to hide in the back seat of the sport utility vehicle," the small man added in his deep, loud voice, "I shall be leaving now. You two are to stand at the side of the road there and wait until I leave with your hands up," the small man said in his deep voice. He pointed to the side of the road that was a few feet in front of the sport utility vehicle. It was where they had carried Jim not ten minutes ago.

The remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself, followed the small man's instructions and headed to the spot he had indicated. They slowly rose their hands above their heads as the tiny man got into the driver's seat of the sport utility vehicle. It amazed them how he was able to reach the accelerator and brake pedals below his feet. The engine of the sport utility vehicle roared to life as the small man turned the key that was left in the ignition of the sport utility vehicle. He threw the shifter into reverese and floored the accelerator of the sport utility vehicle as best he could. The small man was promptly forced backward into his seat as he crashed into another vehicle that happened to be behind the sport utiltiy vehicle he had just claimed as his own. The force of the crash nearly killed him. Despite the marks around his neck from the seat belt, the small man acted as if nothing had happened and turned the vehicle around, put it into drive, and drove off down the vacant interstate. The only remains of his existance there were the tire tracks, the smashed in vehicle, and the remaining members of the Grant family,  Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself, standing where the small man with the deep voice had instructed at the side of the road with their hands up. Once the tiny man's sport utility vehicle was out of sight, Dr. Mark Grant lowered his hands and Jill Grant followed suit.

"Well, that was interesting," Dr. Mark Grant stated plainly. "Luckily, he didn't interrogate us further. He would have learned about our cache of supplies in the sport utility vehicle from which we just came from."

"How did you act so calmly, Father?" Jill Grant asked her father, Dr. Mark Grant. "How were you able to submit to his demands so easily."

"I was extremely scared, Jill, but I didn't let that show. I needed to give him what he wanted because he didn't ask for much," Dr. Mark Grant explained. "He only wanted our weapons. We have more at the sport utility vehicle that we are about to head back towards. We won't last long out here without any protection. Anyway, he only asked for what we had on us. We have more supplies in the sport utility vehicle, meaning we were able to give him what he wanted without hurting ourselves as much as I led on what he was doing to us. Our only hope was to force him to leave. The sooner he left, the sooner we would be able to continue our plight against the zombies and enact our act or acts of revenge against the ones that killed your brother and forced your mother against us."

"Yes, Father," Jill Grant said. "It was the right thing to do. You were right to do that. I guess I just didn't see the whole picture like you did. The only thing that stopped me from having the same courage as you was pure fear. I'll try to be stronger next time, Father. I promise."

"Now now," Dr. Mark Grant said to his daughter, trying to console her, "you were fine. He didn't seem to care about you too much anyhow. He was mainly preoccupied with me. Luckily, he didn't kill us. I'm sure I could have overpowered him if I was lucky, but I didn't want to risk injury because we needed to get rid of him as soon as possible."

"Of course," Jill Grant said to her father, Dr. Mark Grant. "Shall we continue? What should our next move be? We need a vehicle, but we are also out here without any protection. We might run into one of those things that was in your friend's sport utility vehicle."

"I think we should head back to the sport utility vehicle that's connected to that rock. That way, we'll get some protection before we continue our plight against the zombies. Afterwards, we'll return to find a working vehicle for us to travel in," Dr. Mark Grant explained to his children. The only thing he was thinking about was the survival of his daughter. That and his own process of revenge against the ones that slayed his son and wife.

"Ok," Jill Grant said simply to her father, Dr. Mark Grant himself.

"Let's head back before that small man with the deep voice comes back," Dr. Mark Grant said quickly as he started walking in the direction they had come from. He had been referring to the short man with a deep loud voice that they had just come across.

The remaining members of the Grant family, Jill Grant and Dr. Mark Grant himself, walked across the plains once more to find their sport utility vehicle to arm themselves again. This time the trip seemed to pass more swiftly since they had already undertaken the task of traveling the distance once more. They soon arrived at the sport utility vehicle. They began to arm themselves once more. All they had left was one more Remington 870 shotgun, the rifle from their former house that they had lived in just the day before, the Glock handgun from that very same house, and the Beretta handgun that Dr. Mark Grant had forgotten to take that morning. His forgetfulness over that handgun proved to be a smart decision because they still had it after their encounter with the small man with the loud deep voice.

The only thing that was on Dr. Mark Grant's mind besides Jill Grant's survival was the revenge that Dr. Mark Grant would carry out upon the zombies once they got to Denver. He wasn't sure how, but he would slay as many as he could before he died. It would become his mission.

Jill Grant's thoughts were only suicidal. She didn't want to survive anymore. It wasn't even an option. Who would want to live in a world like this? No one would want to live in a world that was overrun by the zombie scourge that plagued the Earth right now. Jill Grant would carry out her suicide as soon as she got time alone. She was carring the Glock pistol. That was her ticket out of the nightmare that had become a reality. The way out of the nightmare of a zombie apocalypse was suicide. She relished the idea that it would soon be over.

"Father?" she asked as they were about to start their trek back to the interstate to find a suitable vehicle to drive.

"Yes?" Dr. Mark Grant replied without looking up.

"I. . . uh. . ." Jill Grant stuttered. "I have to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back. Mind holding my gun?" she said as she offered the remaining Remington 870 shotgun to her father, Dr. Mark Grant. She had opted to go with the shotgun over the rifle because it required less skill to fire. She wasn't the marksman that her father, Dr. Mark Grant, was.

"All right," Dr. Mark Grant said calmly. Jill Grant knew he didn't suspect anything. "Give it here," he said as he looked up. She handed over her firearm to her father. She looked around and found a secluded area behind a rock.

"I'll just be over there, Father," Jill Grant said slowly while she pointed to the area she had found. "I'll just be a few seconds."

"All right, but hurry. We're on a tight schedule. We also don't want to be around if any more zombies come across the ridge," Dr. Mark Grant said to his child. He didn't realize it would be the last thing he said to her.

Jill Grant made her journey to the secluded area she had chosen as her last place to be before she died. Away from her father's view, she pulled the Glock handgun out from the holster on her belt. Not wanting to make the same mistake that she had done earlier that morning, she checked to make sure a round was in the chamber of the Glock handgun. Satisfied that the firearm was prepared for her self inflicted demise, she raised the firearm to her head. She said a small prayer to whatever God might be out there and pulled the trigger. Blood splatter onto the rock as the shot echoed off of the rock faces around her. The small teenage child slumped to the ground with the firearm in her hand. Her eyes remained open and stared blankly at the disasterous world around her. Jill Grant was no more.

Dr. Mark Grant looked up swiftly as he heard the gunshot. Where had it come from? It seemed like it came from where Jill Grant had gone to use the restroom. Had something happened to his only remaining family member? He had been leaning against the sport utility vehicle that held the cache of supplies that were for Jill Grant and her father, Dr. Mark Grant himself.

He sprinted to the area where his daughter was supposed to be while shouting out her name, "Jill? Jill?!" He started to become more desperate as his shouts were ignored. Everything became a blur as he rounded the corner to see where his daughter was supposed to be. What he found came as a shock to him. His daughter, his first born was slumped on the ground. Her lifeless eyes stared up at him as he rushed to her side. He removed the Glock handgun from her hand. How could she have done this? His thoughts swam as he tried to comprehend what just happened. His daughter had killed herself. For some reason he would never discover, she had taken her own life in favor of surviving with her father, Dr. Mark Grant. She had ended her life to escape. Why did she feel that it was the only option? The child of Dr. Mark Grant was gone.

Dr. Mark Grant held his lifeless daughter in his arms as he kneeled on the rocky ground. Blood pulsed from her head where the bullet had made itse exit throught the girl's head. Dr. Mark Grant's tears mingled with the blood from his fallen daughter. Blood started to coat the clothes of the middle aged man, but he didn't care. He was mourning his daughter. Grief filled him. The thought of continuing on without anyone was unbearable for the doctor. Just twenty four hours ago, they all were in a car on the interstate towards Denver. Now, only Dr. Mark Grant remained of the Grant family. Depression filled every part of Dr. Mark Grant's body. It overflowed and erupted in the form of tears.

Hours passed as Dr. Mark Grant mourned his deceased daughter. He dug a small grave with his hands after carrying her back to the area near the sport utility vehicle that held his cache of supplies. The shallow grave would be the last one Dr. Mark Grant would ever have to dig because he was now alone. As Dr. Mark Grant lowered his daughter, Jill Grant, into the shallow grave, his grief turned to rage. The thoughts of revenge permeated his mind. He saw Jill Grant's death as another at the hand of the zombies. He would make them pay the ultimate price. He would force them to feel the pain he felt. Despite their lack of emotion, he would somehow find a way for them to feel the very same pain he felt. That was his drive. He didn't care about anything other than the fact that he would slay all of the zombies in Colorado, if not the whole world. His mission was clear. He would head to Denver to find a way to stop them. He would find a way to kill those beings that had caused him so much pain. He would find a way to end the lives of those that killed is family. He would end the short time of the zombie.

Dr. Mark Grant packed up the small amount of supplies he would need to get a vehicle. He now used the Glock handgun that his daughter, Jill Grant, used to slay herself. The only thing that drove the man was the thought of revenge against the zombie scourge that killed his family.

Dr. Mark Grant wandered back towards the interstate. The small man with the loud deep voice was no where to be seen. The interestate was littered with crashed vehicles. Not a single sound could be heard. This silence worried Dr. Mark Grant. He took his Remington 870 shotgun off of its safety in anticipation of some surprise attack by a zombie, or even worse, a flying zombie that might come out of no where. Dr. Mark Grant didn't even know how zombies were able to sprout the mechanical wings. Were they able to evolve in the short time period that the zombie apocalypse was in effect?

The thoughts disappated as Dr. Mark Grant came upon a small sports car. It had no corpse or zombies within it. It appeared to be just abandoned by its owner. Funny how these important vehicles in the life of old were now nothing. They were just vehicles of survival.

He checked every crevice in the small sports vehicle. It was an ugly pink, but it would have to do. Beggars couldn't be choosers, as the saying went. Dr. Mark Grant entered the vehicle and got behind the wheel. He was barely able to fit because the sports car was so small, but it was adequate for his task. He raced off towards his supply cache in the sports utility vehicle. Once he arrived, he didn't waste any time in loading the small sports vehicle. Dr. Mark Grant loaded the crackers, cookies, fruits, vegetables, soft drinks, and energy drinks into the small pink sports car that was going to take him to his destination, Denver, the capital of Colorado.

The trip took a few hours. The thoughts that had filled his head consisted of revenge. He would find some way to annihilate the zombie population. He remebered a military base being around the Denver area. It had not been populated in several yeras. The lack of humans there probably encouraged plant growth to grow prosperously. The building was overrun with vegetation due to the lack of people in its vicinity.

Dr. Mark Grant found himself on the city's edge. He rushed across as swiftly as possible because he had the fear of running into zombies. They would halt his progress if he were to run into a group of the beasts. His hopes were promptly shattered. As soon as the sound from his engine echoed off of the skyscrapers' glass sidings, a flock of zombies headed straight towards him. They didn't slow a bit as he ran his sports vehicle directly through the center of the flock. He slayed several zombies as he went through the middle. The power of his vehicle was evident as he slaughtered hundreds of zombies in front of him. He didn't slow as the several hundred horse power engine pushed his vehicle to new heights.

He drove through the middle of the city, ignoring the zombies around him. They followed him at inhuman speeds. A group of smaller zombies flanked the vehicle. They were pretty smart for a group of mindless creatures. They sprouted mechanical wings just as the one that had appeared out of the back seat of the sport utility vehicle that the small man with the loud, deep voice had stolen. They prepared for an aerial attack on the doctor in the pink sports car. They flew past him and circled around like birds of prey. The group of twenty or so zombies dove as Dr. Mark Grant flew through an intersection. He attempted to swerve and dodge them. However, he was unable. They pelted the vehicle. The hard top of the sports car became dented in by the flying beasts. He could see the areas that they had penetrated the hull of the vehicle. They tested the hull in different areas for weaknesses. When they hit areas they had hit before, causing large holes to appear, they grew wise to their damage to the vehicle. The pink car continued its trek through the city as they increased the diameter of these holes. Pretty soon, the pink sports car had no roof remaining. Dr. Mark Grant was exposed.

He jerked the wheel right into the glass window of a shopping center. He infiltrated the building without hesitating. As he continued across the linolemum floor. The floor was slick with water as the ceiling above gushed the fluid due to a leak above. Dr. Mark Grant began to lose control of the vehicle. The vehicle slid in the opposite direction every time Dr. Mark Grant attempted to correct the vehicle's position. He failed every time. He crashed into a a mannequin. He just fled as the zombies pursued him. A shriek echoed across the soaked floors.

"Quick!" a female voice yelled. "In here!"

Dr. Mark Grant grabbed the Remington 870 shotgun and followed the voice to its position. It had come from across the shopping center in what appeared to be an abandoned restraunt. The heavy wooden doors were slightly ajar as a head poked out.

The head continued to yell, "Quick! You're almost here! We'll offer you shelter!"

"Arghhhhhhh!" Dr. Mark Grant grunted as he sprinted as fast as he could with the firearm towards the door. He had a hard time getting a grip on the floor. He slipped and started sliding on his back. Luckily, the inertia from his sprint to the door allowed him to slam into the door that was closed. Hands shot out of the opening and dragged him into the dark restraunt. The last remaining light was shut out as the door slammed shut. The lack of light caused Dr. Mark Grant to become suddenly dizzy. He didn't like being in wide open spaces without light.

"Light! Turn on the light!" Dr. Mark Grant shrieked out. He was acting unlike himself. His phobia of wide open spaces and the lack of light was destroying his confidence. He laid there writhing on the ground. His life flashed before his eyes, as the saying went, as he imagined himself dying.

"We can't turn on the lights!" the voice broke him out of his trance. "They'll find us. Those creatures are attracted to the light. They'll know we're in here. The windows are boarded up, but the light will get through any cracks it can. The zombies will find us in here if we turn on the lights!"

The voice calmed him for some reason. The urgency had an adverse effect on the zombie fleeing doctor. Dr. Mark Grant stopped hyperventilating and stood up. He took several deep breaths. He tried to calm down as best as he could.

"Does this help?" the voice asked as a single light came on. A face was in its glow. A young woman's face appeared in the dark. "How are you feeling? That was quite a scare. What were you doing out there?"

"I was. . . fleeing the zombies," the man stuttered. The shock was apparent to the young woman.

"It's fine," she said slowly as she tried to reassure the doctor of the safety in their location. "We're safe here. We've boarded up the windows and that door is too heavy for them to break through."

Dr. Mark Grant sighed heavily as he collected himself. The tiny light had adverse effects on the man. His fears suddenly slipped away. His phobia was picky like that. He took a deep breath before replying to the woman.

"I'm sorry. I was just trying to get to the military base a few klicks away from here," Dr. Mark Grant said calmly. He sounded the exact opposite of what he had sounded like before. His demeanor had changed in a matter of seconds as a result of the tiny light that was in front of him.

"Oh, do you mean Fort William? They shut that down about fifty years ago. Nothing's there. It's a ghost town. There hasn't bee anyone there since thye shut it down," she asked with curiosity. "What do you expect to find there?"

"I expect to find someway to end this apocalypse," Dr. Mark Grant said plainly.

"Really?" the woman said in shock. "What could possibly remain there that could help us in this disaster?"

"I don't know, to be honest. I just feel that it's the way to stop this disaster. Do you know anything about it? Heard any news?" Dr. Mark Grant asked.

"Not since yesterday when it started. I was working here," she explained. "A weird looking man came in here. He had blood all over his face. He looked like he had just killed someone. Everyone ran away in fear. Behind him were twenty or so more like him. One of the cooks. . ." she stopped and held back sob. She barely could continue her story. "One of the cooks sacrificed himself for us. He took a table and forced that. . thing out of here. I haven't seen him since. Afterwards, the other cooks boarded up the restraunt to turn it into a fortress of some sort. We've been here since. A couple hours ago, they went off to find water. You see, the water had turned off sometime in the night. We didn't have any water source because this restraunt didn't serve bottled water. I haven't seen those cooks since." The woman broke down into tears.

"It's fine," Dr. Mark Grant. He remembered seeing a couple in white clothing outside of the restraunt. He saw their faces plainly. They were covered in blood and were dismembered. Their clothes were primarily red due to the blood that pulsed out of the areas that their limbs once were. He pondered whether or not he should tell the woman that he had seen the cooks that had gone off for water not two hours ago. They were there right outside the door. The woman didn't know that they weren't coming back. They would have to leave this shelter soon or else they faced dehydration. They had to head out towrads the military base on the west side of Denver near the mountains. It was their only chance of destroying the zombie scourge that lay before them.

"We can't stay here," Dr. Mark Grant said plainly. He tried to be sensitive to the woman's feelings.

"Why not? Garth and Jules will be back soon," the woman said. Her fear was obviously rising.

"Uh. . ." Dr. Mark Grant stuttered. "I just didn't see them outside, so I don't think they'll be coming back soon. We should get out of here now."

"Oh," the woman said plainly. "I think you're on to something. Yes, let's follow your advice."

"Mind if I eat something first?" Dr. Mark Grant asked the young woman. "I haven't eaten since yesterday."

"Uh," the young woman said as she was taken off guard. "Sure. I'll prepare you something if you'd like?"

"That'd be wonderful," Dr. Mark Grant said. He thought this woman would be a vital assistance while she was alive. He'd try to help her, but he didn't think she'd survive long. How would he hide her friends' bodies from her? The only exit, that he knew of, was the way he came in. Their bodies were right outside. Maybe they were mauled enough for her not to recognize them. Maybe they would rush past so fast that they wouldn't be able to see them clearly. Well, he'd jump off that bridge once they got to it.

"You can wait wherever you please," she said calmly as she headed to the back. "It'll just be a few minutes. There's a couch over there if you want to lie down for a bit," she said as she gestured toward the upholstered couch.

"Thank you," Dr. Mark Grant said. He walked over to the couch and laid down like the woman had suggested. It felt wonderful. He hadn't been able to rest on anything besides a vehicle's seat in a while. He was out in moments.

Screams jolted him up. He opened his eyes. The restraunt was covered in zombies. The young woman that had helped inside the restraunt was sprawled on the floor with blood enveloping the floor around her. She was now a mere sack of flesh in a pool of the crimson liquid. The zombies flocked around her, taking sips from the pond on the linoleum floor. The creatures ignored Dr. Mark Grant. It was as if he wasn't even there. This new development mystified him. Why did the zombies ignore him like so? Did he have some sort of power over them or were they simply oblivious to the man? He lay still, not wanting find out.

As he lay on the couch watching the horror, Elise Grant, his deceased wife walked in suddenly. How was this possible? She seemed to be unharmed except for her current state of being a zombie. She also had her arm once more. How was this possible? Dr. Mark Grant had slayed her, granted unwillingly, just a few days ago. How could she be there in the restraunt in which he now was laying? Behind her, the door opened once more to reveal his children. They were perfectly fine. They weren't even zombies. They didn't even appear to be harmed. They just followed their mother into the restraunt. Dr. Mark Grant was just mystified at the sight of his children. How were they no longer dead? The deceased could not come back from the dead. How was this possible?

Suddenly, the employees that had worked at the hospital with him, the doctors, nurses, and even Jim, walked in behind the children. They were all supposed to be dead as well. What was going on? Suddenly, the small man with the loud deep voice walked in behind them as well. Why would someone so insignificant to Dr. Mark Grant be in the restraunt with his wife, children, and hospital coworkers? This entire scene unfolded before Dr. Mark Grant, and he wasn't sure why. The current situation baffled Dr. Mark Grant. He had never been as baffled as he was right now.

Everyone had been ignoring him as well. It was as if he wasn't even there. It was a grand phenomenom. Suddenly, everyone turned to face him. All of the zombies, the deceased Grant family, Elise Grant, Rick Grant, and Jill Grant, his former hospital coworkers, including Jim, and even the small man with the deep, loud voice turned to face him. Fear enveloped Dr. Mark Grant. It was a fear he had never felt before.

"Mark," Elise Grant groaned.

"Nark," the others moaned behind her. The groans echoed off of the walls of the restraunt that Dr. Mark Grant was laying in.

"Why didn't you come home?" Elise Grant asked in an ominous moan. "Why didn't you save me?"

"Why didn't you come home? Why didn't you save us?" the others moaned in unison.

"Mark, it's all your fault," Elise Grant said to her husband. "Why did you let this happen to me?"

"Mark, it's all your fault. Why did you let this happen to us?" the others repeated in a solemn toan. Their questions echoed off of the walls of the restraunt.

Suddenly, he was standing with the group around him. the room was empty otherwise. The woman that was on the floor in her own pool of blood disappeared. The room shifted into a black space with the group of zombies, former coworkers, and his deceased family, Elise Grant, Rick Grant, and Rick Grant. They all held flashlights, illuminating their faces.

In the darkness, they chanted, "Your fault."

They continued the chanting. They ceased to stop. Their bright faces in the dark room was burned into his memory. They didn't seem to falter in their chanting.

"Your fault, Mark. It's your fault. Why did you let this happen to us?" Elise Grant said.

The others continued chanting their phrase, "Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault."

"Why did you leave us to this disaster? Why, Mark?" Elise continued to ask her frightened husband. "Why did you leave us to die? How did we wrong you? What did we do to deserve this? Why did you abandon us? Your fault, Mark. It's your fault."

Dr. Mark Grant's head swam in the confusion. It was his fault. He had caused his loved ones to perish. Their deaths were events that he could have prevented. They had died because of him. They died as a result of his actions. Why else would they come back? They came back to torment him. They came back to seek their revenge. It was a righteous revenge. They had died as a result of his actions. Why else would Jill Grant take her own life? It was the only plausible explanation for this madness.

"Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault," said the others as the chanting continued.

"Why did you leave us, Mark? Why did you cause us to suffer? What did we do wrong? Why were we left to face death alone?" Elise asked quietly.

Jill Grant walked forward to stand next to her mother and said, "Why did you force me to kill myself, Father? Why did I feel the need to take my own life? What did you do to make me think that I had no reason to live? What did I do to deserve it? What was the meaning behind my death?"

Rick Grant walked forward to stand next to his family in front of Dr. Mark Grant. The others continued their chanting. It seemed as if they needed to say that word just to remain in existence.

"Why did you let me fall out of that balloon, Dad?" Rick Grant asked his father, Dr. Mark Grant. "Why did you not save me? It's your fault, Dad. It's your fault that I am no longer part of the living. You killed me, Dad. Your actions, or lack thereof, caused me to die. How are you going to live with that, Dad? What did I do that made you not save me?"

"I'm sorry, my son," Dr. Mark Grant said slowly. Tears rolled off his face in cascades of salty water. "I'm sorry that I caused your deaths, my family. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you. Rick, my son," Dr. Mark said while facing his son, "I should have been there to stop you from falling out of the basket that was attached to the hot air balloon. It shouldn't have even happened. If I had not destroyed the basket that was attached to the hot air balloon, youu would still be alive. We'd probably all still be in the air, a space void of all zombies." Dr. Mark Grant turned to his daughter. "Jill," he said. The tears continued to slide down his cheeks in torrents. "I'm sorry for whatever I had done to cause you to take your own life. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I should have noticed that you were in pain. You were in a pain that even I didn't feel in this current state of zombie apocalypse in this world. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you in your time of need."

"And Elise," Dr. Mark Grant said to his wife. She just stared back at him.

The others continued their chanting, "Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault."

"Elise, my love," Dr. Mark Grant said again. "I am so very sorry for causing your death. I thought I had no other choice but to kill you. You were one of them. You were one of the zombie scourge that plagued our Earth. I had  no other choice, my love. Please understand that. It was either you or us. I had to choose."

"Liar!" Elise screamed. Her voice drowned out the chanting of the others. "You knew you could save me. You knew there was a cure. You knew there was a way for you to cure me of the disease that affected my brain. You knew of the existence of the cure! You decided that I wasn't the effort! You decided to kill me, your wife, in favor of going the distance to find me a cure. You knew! You knew! It's your fault, Mark! It's all your fault. Now, you shall pay!" she screamed loudly.

The others continued their ominous chant, "Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault."

"Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark," Elise stared to chant. Jill and Rick Grant followed their mother in her ominous tones.

"Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark," they chanted.

The rest of the people in the dark space with the Grant family, Elise Grant, Rick Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, changed their chant.

"Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark," everyone chanted in front of Dr. Mark Grant. They slowly walked towards him. He stepped backwards in an attempt to evade them. Somehow, a group of zombies had thought he would try such a trick. They had flanked him. The group of family members, former coworkers, enemies, and zombies circled him. They reached for his hair. They continued at him. They were squeezing him with their bodies.

"Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark," they continued to chant as they shook his shoulders. Their chanting continued to grow loud after each passing second.

"Mark. Mark. Mark," Dr. Mark Grant heard as he was shaken. His eyes burst open. He wiped sweat off of his brow. His entire body was drenched in the salty liquid.

"Dr. Mark Grant," the woman said as she continued to shake Dr. Mark Grant's shoulders. "The food is ready. You were napping it seems."

The restraunt snapped back into reality. It had just been a dream. It was all just a dream. Dr. Mark Grant could still see those faces in front of his eyes. They were burned into his skull. The flashlights illuminated the faces of all of them. All the ones he's failed. He would make it up to them. He would stop this apocalypse. He would be the one to end it.

"Doctor," the woman said once more as Dr. Mark Grant sat up. He was again in the dark restraunt. The young woman that had saved him was very much alive.

"I've prepared some pheasant and chicken for you, Doctor. It was something we had started yesterday. Since we, well at least me, won't be here any longer, I thought it would be a good idea if we both ate it. It would just be a waste otherwise."

"Thank you, ma'am. Your kindness is much appreciated, as is your hospitality," Dr. Mark Grant said with a bow of his head.

"You are very welcome," she said with a smile. "Follow me. I've prepared a table that's close to the kitchen doors. It was easier for me to set up."

The young woman led Dr. Mark Grant to a table with a couple of roasted birds on it that was lit by candlelight. It was a grand meal for a zombie apocalypse. They ate quietly until Dr. Mark Grant broke the silence.

"What is your name? You never told me your name," Dr. Mark Grant asked in between bites of the poultry.

"Jessica Kramer," she said slowly. "The name's Jessica Kramer."

"Well, Miss Kramer," Dr. Mark Grant said while extending his right hand, "it's a pleasure making your acquantaince. Thank you for the shelter and the meal. Both have been needed dearly. Now, we should probably hurry up and get out of here. We want to make it to the military base before dark."

"Of course," she said quietly.

The pair finished their meal quickly and didn't bother doing any dishes since they would not be returning to the restraunt. They gathered up a few supplies in preparation for their journey.

"A couple things: One, do you have a back door to this place? Two, do you have a vehicle for us to drive? I don't plan on walking to the military base on foot," Dr. Mark Grant inquired.

"To your first question, yes. We have a back door. It's a loading bay," Jessica Kramer answered. "To your second question, yes. There's a small truck out there. Will that be satisfactory as a mode of transportation?"

"Yes," Dr. Mark Grant said. "Let's get out of here now. We can't wait any longer."

Dr. Mark Grant grabbed his Remington 870 shotgun from the front of the restraunt. Quietly, he looked in between the slats of the boarded up windows. Between these slats, he was able to view the outside world. He flinched at his first look. He looked once more. Outside was a whole horde of zombies. They were clawing their way into the store splinter by splinter. They were working gradually on the door. Jessica Kramer and Dr. Mark Grant did not even realize what the zombies were doing outside. The two had been completely unaware of what had been occurring outside. The zombies appeared to be almost through the door.

"Uh, Jessica!" Dr. Mark Grant yelled.

"Shh! What?" Miss Jessica Kramer said in a whisper.

"We needn't whisper any longer. The zombies are outside and they're almost through the door. We didn't even notice. We need to leave now!" Dr. Mark Grant said while emphasizing on the last word of his last senetence.

Dr. Mark Grant rushed to the back of the restraunt. Once he had caught up to Miss Jessica Kramer, the pair ran out of the establishment via the back door. Zombies awaited the pair as they exited the building. Dr. Mark Grant shot at the pair of zombies with his Remington 870 shotgun. He caused both of the zombies to falter with one shot. They still were living, so he shot at them once more. The second shot caused the buckshot to spread out between them and decapitate them both.

The doctor and the restraunt owner, Dr. Mark Grant and Miss Jessica Kramer, respectively, ran through the alley. The sun's light stunned them as they were used to the dark of the restraunt. They didn't falter, however, and pressed on.

"Over here!" Miss Jessica Kramer exclaimed as she pointed to a black pickup truck that she was running towards. "This is our truck! It's our ticket out of here! Do you want to drive? I can't really drive too well. I especially can't under this much pressure!"

"Fine!" Dr. Mark Grant said a bit too loudly. His voice echoed off of the alley walls. Roars also echoed off of the alley walls as the zombies approached them. Dr. Mark Grant ran around to the other side of the car as the pair switched places. He waited patiently as the young woman, Miss Jessica Kramer, opened the vehicle. As he got into the cab of the pickup truck, she gave him the keys. He started the vehicle and sped off before she even had a chance to close her door. The door collided with a corner, forcing it to slam shut. The paint was scraped off of the door, but it wasn't really a concern of Miss Jessica Kramer.

The pair sped off into the hot sun. They had quite a journey ahead of them. Despite the military base being a mere ten miles away, they had to navigate the city, increasing the time they spent driving. They also may have to evade hordes of zombies on the way. The pair continued through the maze that was Denver.

As Dr. Mark Grant drove through the empty city, they came across a group of zombies circled around flaming trash can. It was a source of heat for the zombies. The zombies were showing human qualities. They had found a sense of kinship with each other while surrounding the flaming trash can for heat. They chased after the truck momentarily until it got too far in front of them for them to keep up.

This scene of zombie hobos reminded Dr. Mark Grant of a time when his children were young. Rick Grant was merely six years old and Jill Grant was eight years old. She was nothing like how she was before she had died. She was a daddy's girl and loved to be around Dr. Mark Grant. They had been driving down a a street in downtown Colorado Springs. They passsed under a bridge and a man had been huddling under it for warmth. It was October, so it was getting quite chilly. The temperature was on its way down for the year. In Colorado Springs, the weather usually fluctuated. It would be sixty degrees one Halloween, October thirty first, and it would be twenty degrees another. It was quite sporadic for a city's weather.

The Grant family, Elise Grant, Jill Grant, Rick Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, was taken aback that a man would have to resort to sitting under a bridge and huddling to get warm. They stopped momentarily to investigate the situation further. The man appeared to be in his seventies. It was a poor sight for the family. Deciding that they couldn't help the poor man, they drove off. They didn't even figure that they could have sheltered him. All bums were drunks anyway right? That's what the Grant family, Elise Grant, Rick Grant, Jill Grant, and Dr. Mark Grant himself, thought. They didn't know what had happened to the man.

Dr. Mark Grant reveled in these thoughts as he drove among the skyscrapers. It had never occurred to him that he could have helped that poor unfortunate soul.

"Surely, we are almost there," Miss Jessica Kramer asked him, interrupting his thoughts.

"We are almost there, and don't call me Shirley," Dr. Mark Grant said to the young woman sitting in the seat next to him. The mood that he was in robbed that phrase of all humor that it had had before their encounter with the zombie apocalypse. It was unreal how a simple dream could affect someone so much. His family's faces filled his eyes everytime he blinked. He was in misery now. Guilt filled him as he thought about his loved ones. He felt responsible for them. They had come to him in a dream as apparations. Zombies were even blaming him for Elise Grant, Rick Grant, and Jill Grant's deaths. They were invading his thoughts. They had been his reason for life and now he felt that he had taken that from them. They had been robbed of their lives because of him. They were no longer there because of him. His actions had slayed his family.

"Are you all right?" the young woman, Miss Jessica Kramer, asked the depressed doctor. "You look like you. . . well, I don't know, but you seem really depressed."

"I'm fine," Dr. Mark Grant said swiftly, shutting out the woman. "The only thing that should be on our minds right now is the task at hand. We must get to that military base and stop this apocalypse. There has to be something there that we can use. Maybe there will be some ancient weapon that will allow us to go around and slay the zombie scourge that plagues the planet. The zombies will no longer be a problem. We shall rid the Earth of them. If there's no government any more because of this, we shall create our own. We shall make things be the way we want them to be. We shall mold the world to be the way we want it to be. How's that?"

"Fine," the young woman, Miss Jessica Kramer, sighed slowly. She had no idea where that had come from. Granted, some of it was true, but some of it had come out of no where. Mold the world to be the way they wanted it to be? How were they going to do that? For all they know, the world would be fine after all the zombies were slayed.

Dr. Mark Grant returned to his thoughts. He had no idea what they were going to do once they got to the military base, but he did know one thing: they would find a way to rid the Earth of this filth. They would no longer be at the mercy of zombies. They would be the ones to survive. The zombies would no longer be a problem after Dr. Mark Grant got to the military base. He would be the cause for their destruction. Dr. Mark Grant would be the cause for the restoration of peace on Earth. He would be the one to bring back the Earth to its former glory as a planet with the human race as its caretaker. Zombies would be purged from this Earth once they arrived at the military base. They would be ones to slay the zombies. They would abolish all remnants of the fact that zombies had ever existed. They would be victorious!

Dr. Mark Grant started to speak shortly after returning his concentration to the road, "We may need to make a stop soon," he said plainly.

"Why? What's wrong?" the young woman, Miss Jessica Kramer, said with apparent worry on her face.

"Nothing. Nothing," Dr. Mark Grant said to the woman without averting his eyes. "I just. . ." he stuttered. "I just need to. . . Well, let's just say nature calls, all right?"

Miss Jessica Kramer blushe. "All right, we'll make a stop soon. I could do the same thing. Where do you think we should stop? There could be zombies in whatever building we choose to relieve ourselves."

It was Dr. Mark Grant's turn to blush. "I say we find a well secluded building and try to get into it without being noticed. We'll have to lock the pickup truck. I've noticed that some zombies can open doors. They've become quite versatile creatures. I've even seen some of the smaller ones sprout metal mechanical wings and fly off. That's actually how I came to be in your company. They were circling me like buzzards, waiting until the ones on the ground had made their kill. I was to be their feast. Anyway," Dr. Mark Grant said while shaking his head. "We'll find a place. We'll be fine. Don't worry."

"All right, but we'll need to hurry," the young woman, Miss Jessica Kramer, said anxiously. Fear started to invade the atmosphere of the pickup truck. Miss Jessica Kramer was not good at hiding her fear.

"Don't worry," Dr. Mark Grant said reassuringly. "We'll be fine. I have my Remington 870 shotgun. Did you want to carry my Glock handgun as a form of protection, Miss Kilner?"

"It's Kramer," Miss Jessica Kramer said quickly. "The name's Kramer, Jessica Kramer."

"I"m sorry. I didn't mean to. I just didn't really get a chance to learn your name in the current situation. We're not running from zombies or anything," he said plainly. "Now, back to my original question. Did you want to be in charge of my Glock? It'd offer you some form of protection against these creatures. You might feel safer just holding it."

"Sure," the young woman, Miss Jessica Kramer, said slowly. "I don't really know how to handle a firearm though."

"Don't worry. I'll teach you real quick. It's not rocket science, as the phrase goes," Dr. Mark Grant pulled over in front of a trashed McDonald's. "We'll go in here. First, I'll teach you how to handle my Glock." He grabbed the firearm from the holster at his belt. He held it up in between them to show her the firearm.

"First, this is the safety. 'S' means it's on safe," Dr. Mark Grant said as he showed the young woman, Miss Jessica Grant, the safety on the weapon. "Red means it's ready to fire." He flicked the safety with his thumb and showed her the red dot that signified that the Glock handgun was now operational. "Well, that's all you really need to know. Just aim and fire if you need to shoot something. Here you go," he said after he flicked the safety back to safe and handed her the firearm. "You're armed now. Do you feel any safer?"

"A bit," the young woman, Miss Jessica Kramer, said moreconfidently. "I'll be fine. Let's go before they find us. We don't want to be out in the open for too long."

They both exited the vehicle after Dr. Mark Grant turned off the idling pickup truck and removed the keys from the ignition. He locked the doors of the car. They both entered the abandoned fast food restraunt. They each headed into the separate bathrooms. Dr. Mark Grant entered the men's restroom, and Miss Jessica Kramer into the women's restroom.

As Dr. Mark Grant entered the restroom, a smell hit him in the face. The force of the small caused him to step backwards. A stench of rotting flesh combined with the already awful smell of public restrooms caused him to be stunned for a few seconds. After overcoming this challenge, he continued forward. He heard a slurping sound coming from behind one of the stall doors. The lights above crackled as they lost power every few seconds. The slurping sound continued as Dr. Mark Grant walked towrds the stall. He raised his Remington 870 shotgun in preparation for whatever might be behind door number three.

Dr. Mark Grant slowly approached the barrier between him and whatever was causing the slurping sound from beyond the barrier. The door was barely on its hinges and didn't appear to be locked. The door's sign that showed if the current stall was vacant or not read "Vacant", meaning whatever was inside didn't care about privacy. Fortunately, Dr. Mark Grant could just open the door with the muzzle of his firearm. He pushed open the door of the bathroom stall with the tip of the barrel of his Remington 870 shotgun and opened the door as slowly as he could. He didn't want whatever was slurping the toilet water to realize he was there. As he opened the door slowly, a creature came into view. It was a zombie. It was drinking the water from the toilet. The filthy water splashed onto the linoleum floor every so often. The sound was disgusting. It caused Dr. Mark Grant's stomach to turn. As he raised the Remington 870 shotgun, the zombie had heard him and stopped slurping up the filthy toilet water. The zombie turned slowly toward the human doctor, Dr. Mark Grant, and slowly approached him. The zombie roared heavily. Its voice echoed through the small bathroom.

Dr. Mark Grant wondered if his female companion, Miss Jessica Kramer, had heard the roar from the beast in front of him. Dr. Mark Grant realized that he had dropped the muzzle of the Remington 870 shotgun and brought it back up in line with the blood and toilet water covered zombie. The zombie didn't falter in front of the Remington 870 shotgun owned by Dr. Mark Grant. The zombie wasn't frightened at all by the shotgun pointed directly at its face. It slowly walked towards Dr. Mark Grant on all four limbs. It used its arms to further support itself. Dr. Mark Grant tried to come up with something to do that didn't involve shooting this creature. The Remington 870 shotgun might draw in more zombies if fired. The power of the shotgun shot might create a sound loud enough to cause more zombies to invade the filthy, empty McDonald's that Dr. Mark Grant found himself in. The zombie in front of him roared once more, trying to intimidate the middle aged doctor. The door to the bathroom slammed open. It shook the tiles on the wall next to the aspirin dispenser. The young woman who was Dr. Mark Grant's female companion, Miss Jessica Kramer, had entered the men's restroom. The normally improper act that Miss Jessica Kramer had just committed didn't faze Dr. Mark Grant. Now the pair of them stood in the way of the zombie and its exit. Either way, the zombie would perish. Dr. Mark Grant prefered that the zombie would die by the Glock pistol in Miss Jessica Kramer's hand. That way, the zombies in the surrounding area may not hear the gunshot.

Seeing that the situation had changed, the zombie rushed towards Dr. Mark Grant. Before Dr. Mark Grant could think of anything else to do, he pulled the trigger on the Remington 870 shotgun. The recoil caused him to move backwards hard because he didn't have a proper, balanced stance. Because he was already next to the stall wall, the force of the recoil caused him to fly into the wall. This action caused him to hit his head, effectively knocking him out cold.

"Dr. Mark Grant!" Miss Jessica Kramer yelled out. Seeing that the zombie had surived the shotgun blast, she raised the Glock handgun in her hands and without thinking pulled the trigger. The metal slug entered the zombie through its left temple and exited through its right. The zombie slumped to the ground without making a sound.

Miss Jessica Kramer walked over to the fallen doctor on the bathroom floor. The zombie was a mere two feet away from the fallen Dr. Mark Grant. Miss Jessica Kramer, Dr. Mark Grant's current companion, lifted him up with an unknown strenth and carried him out to the dining room. She let go of him with one arm long enough to clear a table. She placed him on top. Miss Jessica Kramer had no idea how long Dr. Mark Grant would be unconcious.

They waited there until Dr. Mark Grant awoke from his slumber.

"What happened?" Dr. Mark Grant asked slowly. "What happened in the bathroom? I don't remember a whole lot. i remember a zombie, but I don't remember what happened after I saw it drinking that filthy water out of the toilet."

The young woman, Miss Jessica Kramer, didn't respond right away. She didn't know how to tell the man that she had saved him. How would he react? Most men would be furious at the thought of a man saving them. How would he react to her act of courage for the man? Well, there was only one way to find out.

"I shot the zombie for you. The blast from your Remington 870 shotgun caused you to fly backwards into the wall. You were knocked unconcious," the young woman, Miss Jessica Kramer, said slowly. She still wasn't sure how he'd react to such a series of events. It was unknown to her how the doctor would be now that she told him that she had saved him.

"Ah, yes," Dr. Mark Grant said plainly. "Thank you for that. I remember firing a shot at the zombie in the bathroom. It was quite weird. I don't understand why the kick of the Remington 870 shotgun was so ferocious that time. It's unbelievable. Now that that experience is over, how are we doing on time? We should probably head out soon. It's imperative that we get to the military base a few miles from here."

"As you may be able to see," Miss Jessica Kramer said while gesturing to the glass windows behind her, "it's getting dark out. It's dusk. Do you think we should still continue our journey to the military base?"

"I think it'd be the best course of action. Since I got an unintentional nap, did you want to sleep in the pickup truck's passenger seat?" Dr. Mark Grant asked as he stood up from the table. "You probably need some sleep, don't you?"

"That sounds like a good idea. Sleep deprivation is a leading cause in insufficient motor skill function," Miss Jessica Kramer stated. "Let's head out. Are you ok with this though? Are you able to drive sufficiently?"

"Yes, I'm fine. 'Twas just a bump on the head. Don't worry about it," Dr. Mark Grant said as he walked to the front of the empty fast food restraunt. "Let's go before more zombies arrive."

The pair headed out of the abandoned fast food restraunt, McDonald's, and got to the pickup truck. Dr. Mark Grant fumbled about in his pocket trying to find the keys.

"I seem to have lost the keys. They're probably in the men's restroom inside the McDonald's. I must have dropped them when I was knocked out onto the floor," Dr. Mark Grant said. "Let me go in and try to find them."

Miss Jessica Kramer just nodded and sat on the the hood of the vehicle to wait for his return. Dr. Mark Grant headed back into the McDonald's. He got to the back of the restraunt and into the bathrooms. It was just as before. This time, however, there was no slurping sound from behind the stall wall. It would not take his concentration. He also realized he didn't relieve himself earlier. Now would be a perfect time for that. Dr. Mark Grant did just that before heading into the stall with the deceased zombie.

Dr. Mark Grant opened the bathroom stall door as before with the muzzle of his Remington 870 shotgun. This time there was no zombie awaiting him. Actually, the zombie that they had slayed earlier was now gone. This turn of events baffled Dr. Mark Grant. He found his keys sitting in a puddle on the linoleum bathroom floor. Dr. Mark Grant picked them up and dried them off with some paper towels. That was one thing that was normal about the bathroom, the paper towels were still there for their use. Dr. Mark Grant placed the keys in his pocket and exited the bathroom. He proceeded through the restraunt quietly. The sun had set while he was in the bathroom. Visibility was minimal. He had either forgotten to turn on the lights, or they didn't have power. Dr. Mark Grant didn't remember which.

It was a slow trip back to the pickup truck as he tried to maneuver his way through the abandoned fast food restraunt. The darkness impeded him tremendously. Moonlight came in the front windows of the abandoned fast food restraunt. Dr. Mark Grant became more anxious as the fear of the dark infiltrated his mind. The moonlight was some solace in the dark. He finally found his way out.

"Guess I forgot to turn on the lights," Dr. Mark Grant said as he exited the restraunt. His statement was left unanswered. Miss Jessica Kramer was no where in sight. Instead, Dr. Mark Grant found a pool of blood in front of the pickup truck to which he held the keys.

"Oh no," Dr. Mark Grant said with some fear in his voice. Miss Jessica Kramer must have been attacked by some zombies. Maybe it was even the zombie that some how disappeared from the bathroom stall in the abandoned fast food restraunt, McDonald's. The thought of his dream when he took that short nap earlier that morning infiltrated his mind. He had been the cause of another death. That woman had been the way to survival. She had helped him evade the zombies that morning. He was under attack in that sports car and he caused her to die.

Dr. Mark Grant felt even guiltier at the thought that he had caused the death of another individual. Everyone he had come in contact with had perished. Dr. Mark Grant slowly entered the pickup truck. He realized that he had lost the Glock handgun. Miss Jessica Kramer had it. Dr. Mark Grant had lost one of his prized possesions. It wasn't that important to him before Jill Grant, his daughter, took her own life. Now, though, it was his only reminder of his deceased child. How was he supposed to continue without it?

Dr. Mark Grant shook his head furiously. How greedy! He didn't even think about Miss Jessica Kramer's death more than him losing a commodity. How selfish of him! How could he have stooped so low in his thought process?

Dr. Mark Grant started the pickup truck and drove off. He drove without the headlights to minimize the chance that he was to be detected by the zombie scourge that now plagued the Earth. Also, where did the zombie that he and Miss Jessica Kramer killed go? Was it responsible for her death? The question remained unanswered as Dr. Mark Grant smashed into something due to the lack of visibility. He slowed the pickup truck down to a halt. Dr. Mark Grant decided it would be best if he were to check out what he hit. For all he knew, it could have been something important, like a person.

Dr. Mark Grant left the keys in the ignition as he exited the pickup truck. After walking away a few feet, he realized he hadn't put the parking brake in place. He turned around and did just that. He enabled the parking brake. That vehicle would not be rolling away from him. It was his only chance to get to the military base a few miles away where he might find something to get rid of the zombie scourge.

Dr. Mark Grant walked behind the pickup truck. He could barely see. He tried to make out what was on the asphalt ground behind the pickup truck that he had used to hit the thing on the asphalt ground behind the pickup truck. It was almost undescernable. He stooped over closer to it. It appeared to be metallic. As he observed it closer, he heard footsteps behind him.

Dr. Mark Grant whipped around to see a tiny body enter the truck. Dr. Mark Grant raised his Remington 870 shotgun and walked swiftly towards the driver's seat of the vehicle. He pointed the weapon in the window. As whoever was in the driver's seat foolishly turned on the headlights, the driver's seat's occupant came into view. It was the tiny man from earlier that morning who had stolen their weapons. It had been a chance meeting for Dr. Mark Grant.

"We meet again, lad," the small man with the deep loud voice said in his deep loud voice. "I'm surprised to see that you survived. How did you get that weapon anyway? I took all of your weapons. I actually confiscated a weapon exactly like that from you."

"Well, next time you want to take all of the supplies a group of people have," Dr. Mark Grant said with an evil grin, "make sure you take all of them. We had a cache of weapons and supplies a couple hundred yards from where you robbed us." Dr. Mark Grant shoved muzzle of the Remington 870 shotgun in the small man with the loud voice's face.

"Now get the hell out of my pickup truck, you mangy thieving midget!" Dr. Mark Grant yelled at the man. "You have crossed me for the last time. You have stolen our supplies and the vehicle that we were about to commandeer. Now you just tried to steal another vehicle from my possesion."

The small man with the loud deep voice exited the pickup truck with his hands up.

"That's better. Now walk over here. You won't be able to escape me," Dr. Mark Grant chuckled.

"You'll never get away with this," the small man with the loud deep voice said with a grin. "I'll get you for this. You'll never kill me."

"Never can be a long time!" Dr. Mark Grant chuckled. "Are you sure you want to say that?"

"You'll never get away with this, young lad," the small man continued. "I'll come and slay you myself."

"Never say die!" Dr. Mark Grant yelled out with a bellowing laugh and fired the shotgun. The pellets swiftly disintegrated the small man's head. The small man's words were his undoing. Dr. Mark Grant wouldn't take the backtalk from the man that took his favorite weapon from him. He was lucky enough to find the same model in the Walmart that he and his children, Rick Grant and Jill Grant, had looted.

Dr. Mark Grant just left the man's decapitated body where he had shot him. The small man with the deep loud voice didn't deserve a proper burial. Dr. Mark Grant just walked back to the pickup truck, sat in the driver's sesat, turned off the headlights, and proceeded to drive off into the night. He proceeded towards the military base that he would find the solution to the zombie scourge that plagued the planet. He would solve this apocalypse. This disaster would end.

Dr. Mark Grant finally reached the outskirts of Denver. The gate the delegated the entrance to the military base had been sealed since the base was closed down. Dr. Mark Grant went into the booth and found the switch that opened the barrier. It was a successful task. He opened the gate and continued his way through the barrier. Dr. Mark Grant pulled the pickup truck into the military base's grounds. He was on the soil of the American Army now. There was no turning back. He had no other choice. Dr. Mark Grant made sure his Remington 870 shotgun was fully loaded. He still had a pocketful of shells. It was all he had for protection against whatever he may find inside the various buildings of the United States of America military base west of Denver.

Dr. Mark Grant also made sure the Smith and Wesson .45 caliber revolver that he had confiscated off of the dead small man with the loud deep voice had ammunition. He didn't have much ammunition in that firearm, but it would have to suffice. The powerful revolver made by Smith and Wesson would have to do in his effort for survival. He placed the revolver in the holster at his belt. It didn't fit perfectly right, but it would have to do. It was his only option. It was his only way to carry the revolver made by Smith and Wesson and the Remington 870 shotgun at the same time.

Dr. Mark Grant pulled up to one of the main buildings. He removed the keys from the pickup truck's ignition and exited the vehicle. He, Dr. Mark Grant, grabbed his Remington 870 shotgun and proceeded into the building.

He could barely see in the darkness. It wasn't his best choice to carry out his excursion at night. He proceeded his way through, inching his way into the building.

Dr. Mark Grant's fear of the dark prevented him from going very far. He found a warm solace with the moonlight. The chilly night air was nipping at his ears. They were quickly becoming stiff. Dr. Mark Grant could see his own breath in the moonlight. The full moon seemed like a distant white, glowing wonderland to which Dr. Mark Grant would not be able to go. The white globe would provide Dr. Mark Grant with the light he would need to enter the dark building once more, but how would the doctor, Dr. Mark Grant, utilize it? How would he be able to direct it into the building. Dr. Mark Grant had an epiphany.

Dr. Mark Grant walked back towards the pickup truck and unlocked. It. He unlocked the driver's side door and got into the vehicle. He placed the pickup truck's key into the ignition and started up the vehicle. Dr. Mark Grant placed the pickup truck in "Drive" and inched his way closer to the building. He didn't even use the accelerator. Dr. Mark Grant let the idling engine do the work. He wouldn't risk creating more noise in the empty military base. For all he knew, there could be a whole horde of zombies just around the corner waiting for a human to make known their existance in the military base.

Dr. Mark Grant pulled forward until the pickup truck was on the porch of the building. He turned on the headlights briefly. They illuminated the building's interior for the split second that the headlights were on. They revealed to Dr. Mark Grant the interior of the building.

The inside of the building brought upon a wave of fear for Dr. Mark Grant. The inside was filled with a mountain of corpses. The zombies seemed to have stacked their victims. The building that Dr. Mark Grant was in front of seemed to be the warehouse for the zombies to store their food supply. Dr. Mark Grant was in their refrigerator, so to speak. Dr. Mark Grant put the vehicle in reverse and pulled slowly out of the building's parking lot. He wouldn't risk an encounter with the zombies there. It would do him no good if he was killed at the beginning of his time at the military base. He would have to find another building. It would have to be another building that held what he needed to fight the zombie scourge that plagued the planet that Dr. Mark Grant called home, Earth.

Dr. Mark Grant figured that the armory would be the place he needed to be. Assuming that the soldiers on base hadn't reached it first, it would be a sealed building. The zombies would not have been able to enter it. It would be a haven for Dr. Mark Grant until he was able to search that bulding to find his was to fight the zombies.

Dr. Mark Grant cruised around the military at a mere fifteen miles per hour. He didn't want to make the bulky engine of the pickup truck make a loud sound. It was his only chance of remaining undetected. The base was hard to navigate with only the moonlight to guide him, but it wasn't worth the risk of being discovered for light. Dr. Mark Grant would not turn on the headlights of the pickup truck because he needed the solitude he had. He would find the armory. He would avenge the deaths of his family and friends.

Dr. Mark Grant's dream from earlier that morning entered his mind. Why had they come to him in that vision? Dr. Mark Grant felt a large pang of guilt as he drove through the night. It had been his fault. It was he who had allowed his family to die. Mrs. Elise Grant would not have perished if he had been able to find a way to remove the Vector module before she had turned into a zombie. Dr. Mark Grant was responsible for her death as well. He had been the one to pull the trigger. It was his Remington 870 shotgun that had killed her. It was he that had removed her arm. He had removed her limb when she was trying to attack her. Dr. Mark Grant reasoned that he had no other choice. His conscience didn't feel that way. Dr. Mark Grant still felt extremely guilty for the death of his wife. Dr. Mark Grant still felt extremely guilty for the deaths of his entire family. He didn't save his son, Rick Grant. He wasn't able to stop him from falling out of the hot air balloon basket. He wasn't able to stop his son, Rick Grant, from becoming a zombie feast. Why couldn't he have saved his son? Dr. Mark Grant was also responsible for Jill Grant's death. He should have been able to sense the misery she was feeling. Dr. Mark Grant should have felt the misery that she was going through. He could have talked to her. He could have prevented her suicide. He should not have allowed this to happen.

Internal rage at himself caused Dr. Mark Grant to floor the accelerator. It didn't seem to be a wise decision as he lost control and crashed into a gate. The loud noise resulting from the crash echoed through the abandoned military complex. Dr. Mark Grant grabbed the Remington 870 shotgun and prepared himself for whatever might come after him. Zombies were sure to attack him after this little blunder. It was his fault. He wouldn't be able to avenge the deaths of his loved ones. He would now die because of his mistake of crashing through the chainlink gate. It was this mistake that would cost him. He would have to pay the ultimate price.

Dr. Mark Grant sat in the pickup truck's cab's driver's seat and just waited. Nothing happened. No zombies appeared out of no where. Nothing. Absolutely nothing had occurred. The zombies had apparently not heard the gigantic crashing sound that Dr. Mark Grant had caused. The lack of consequences for his terrible action rose the morale of Dr. Mark Grant. It appeared that he had not awakened the zombies from whatever slumber they maybe partaking in.

Dr. Mark Grant saw a twisted metal sign on the chainlink gate. It read, "Armory". What a stroke of good luck! He had found the place he needed to be at. Another sign of his fortune was that he had destroyed the barrier that prevented his entry from the armory with his act of foolishness. Dr. Mark Grant got out of the pickup truck and moved the fallen gate out of his path. He needed to get the gate out of his way to continue.

Dr. Mark Grant dragged the gate on the ground because he couldn't lift it. It made a loud screeching sound as it rattled against the asphalt ground. Dr. Mark Grant shuddered and stopped. He didn't want to push his luck any further. He decided that it was best if he did it quickly, no matter what loud noise might occur from the friction occurring between the metal chainlink fence and the asphalt ground. Dr. Mark Grant continued with the task at hand. The screeching sound was momumentous as he continued. It startled him. He tried to finish the task as quickly as possible. It seemed to Dr. Mark Grant that it would be better if he had created a louder sound that lasted a few seconds than a slightly quieter sound that lasted a minute. It was the best possible event for Dr. Mark Grant to create. Dr. Mark Grant quickly finished the task and threw the fence that last couple feet to the sade of the metal chainlink wall to the side of where the gate once stood.

A roar sounded mightily through the military base. The zombies had heard him. It was all over. The doctor rushed into the pickup truck. He had to get into the armory as quickly as possible. Dr. Mark Grant floored the accelerator. He was going thirty miles an hour in a matter of seconds. He headed straight for the armory building about three hundred yards away. He looked in the rearview mirror. A horde of zombies were investigating the destroyed metal chainlink fence. Dr. Mark Grant glanced at the road for a second to make sure there weren't any obstacles in front of him. He looked back at the mirror. The zombies were now chasing the pickup truck furiously. The man, Dr. Mark Grant, sped up as quickly as possible. He had to get into the armory before the zombies could reach him.

Dr. Mark Grant noticed that they were fast little blighters. They were gaining on him. In a matter of minutes, they could be parrallel with the truck. The armory building came into better focus for Dr. Mark Grant. He was only about one hundred yards away now. Dr. Mark Grant tried to locate the entrance. There it was! A huge metal door was located in the cement wall.

A horrible realization came to Dr. Mark Grant's mind. The door was surely locked. How would he gain entrance into the establishment? Say he was able to break down the door with the pickup truck. What was stopping the zombies from coming in the same way. Dr. Mark Grant was furious with himself. How had he forgotten that he probably would not be able to gain entrance to the building. He had to figure a way into the building quickly or he would surely die. Those zombies were fierce creatures. They had to be stopped. The only way he could stop them was to get into the armory.

"What the hell!" Dr. Mark Grant yelled furiously has he floored the accelerator. He caused the pickup truck to travel at a speed of seventy five miles per hour. It was all the pickup truck could take. The zombies were coming closer. Dr. Mark Grant gripped the wheel so hard that the whites of his knuckles were showing. Dr. Mark Grant turned the steering wheel slightly to line up the pickup truck with the metal door of the armory. He closed his eyes as he prepared for the impact.

The pickup truck hurtled towards the door. It groaned under the strain. The engine had not been forced to cause the car to travel at these speeds before. Dr. Mark Grant continued bracing for impact as the pickup truck crashed into the door. Dr. Mark Grant was thrown forward as a result of the inertia. He was quickly thrown backwards as the driver's seat seatbelt got a hold of him. The airbag had luckily deployed. It was a cushion for Dr. Mark Grant's impact with the steering wheel. Luckily, he had not been serioiusly injured. Blood dripped down the side of his head.

"It's just a flesh wound," Dr. Mark Grant muttered with a slight grin. Monty Python and the Holy Grail was one of his favorite movies from the late twentieth century. Dr. Mark Grant ripped the airbag from out of the steering wheel. It came easy for him. He threw it out of the broke driver's side window.

Dr. Mark Grant removed his seatbelt and exited the pickup truck. He didn't exit before grabbing the Remington 870 shotgun, however. He walked up to the door that he had just tried to smash through with the pickup truck. Dr. Mark Grant noticed that his courageous act had only managed to cause a large dent in the metallic door. As he looked closer, he realized the he had caused the door to separate at the door's sides. There was a small gap where the door bended. Dr. Mark Grant tried to push the door even more. It was barely budging. He just had to create an opening wide enough for him to slip his body into. When he was on the other side, he would be able to close the gap, sealing himself into the building. An exit for him wasn't a concern for him. He would worry about that when it was a problem.

Dr. Mark Grant pushed with all of his weight. It was still barely moving. Dr. Mark Grant heard the zombies coming even closer. They roared furiously. Dr. Mark Grant snuck a peek behind him. They were coming closer. A mere hundred yards separated him from his death. He gave one last effort into opening the door. If this didn't have any results, his life was over. Dr. Mark Grant centered his weight on his feet. He shifted it swiftly to his shoulders to create a wider gap in the doo. Dr. Mark Grant managed to open a gap wide enough for him to slip through. He dove through the opening as zombies pummeled the door with their bodies. They didn't slow down when they were near Dr. Mark Grant's location. Dr. Mark Grant stood up from the cold floor and gasped in horror. The zombies had caused the gap in between the door and the metal trim to open even further. He had to find something to close or barricade the door quickly.

The moonlight crept in the gap. It illuminated the room behind him. It allowed Dr. Mark Grant to look around and find something to solve the predicament he was in.

There were a few desks around him. It seemed to be the receptionist's desks. He lifted it as best as he could and rammed into the metal door with it. His efforts managed to cause it to close the gap about halfway. Dr. Mark Grant stepped backwards and prepared for another attempt at ramming the door. He ran swiftly back towards the door. He rammed into it. His efforts were fruitful. The door closed all the way. As long as the zombies didn't have enough strength to open it again, he was safe. Dr. Mark Grant was safe for now.

Dr. Mark Grant opened up one of the shades slightly. He peered outside. The zombies were bashing against the door to no avail. Dr. Mark Grant moved the receptionist's desk behind the door. The barricaded door seemed to be enough to keep out the zombies.

Dr. Mark Grant peered around the room. There was a light switch on the wall. He flipped it and prepared to turn it off just as fast. Unfortunately, the building didn't have any power. The lights didn't come on. He would have to rely on his human instinct to successfully navigate the armory and find what he needed to fight the zombie scourge that plagued the Earth. Dr. Mark Grant walked slowly through. He was able to find the door to the next room. He tried this lightswitch as well. Dr. Mark Grant turned on the switch. Light burst from the lightbulbs. Apparently, it was just a breaker that popped that prevented the power from reaching the reception area.

The room came into view for Dr. Mark Grant. It was a metal gated room. It had lots of firearms locked up. Even several assault rifles were in the gated lockers. The doctor looked around for a way to open the armory. Dr. Mark Grant found a pair of hedge cutters mysteriously placed next to the lockers. He picked up the hedge cutters and walked over to a locker with an AK-47 inside. He clipped the lock with some effort. After straining with the lock momentarily, he was able to gain access to the weapon. Beneath the weapon, he was able to find ammunition for the weapon. Dr. Mark Grant promptly was able to load the weapon and figure out how to use it quite soon after opening the locker.

The assault rifle came naturally for Dr. Mark Grant. He had been able to get the hang of the firearm quite soon after holding it. The assault rifle had a sling that he placed over his shoulder. He was able to find another couple of firearms that interested him. There was a Glock handgun, not unlike the one that his daughter, Jill Grant, had taken her own life with and his female companion for a short time, Miss Jessica Kramer, had taken with her.

Dr. Mark Grant felt that he was unprepared still. He had some decent firepower to slay the zombies in his approximate area, but Dr. Mark Grant did not have enough to have a decent effect on the zombie scourge that plagued the entire Earth's surface.

Dr. Mark Grant wondered if there was another building on the military base that he was now on that could help him with slaying the zombie scourge that plagued the entirety of the Earth's surface. Did they have some sort of weapons system that could aid him in his efforts against the zombie scourge that plagued the entirety of the Earth's surface? Was there something to help him in his efforts? Was there something that would allow him to complete this grand quest? Dr. Mark Grant didn't know. He would, however, find out as soon as possible.

Dr. Mark Grant exited the room and headed back towards the receptionist area. He peered through the window once more. There were still a few zombies out there. They were trying to find their way into the armory. Dr. Mark Grant didn't know how he'd escape from the armory building. He had to figure out a way to exit the building without drawing the attention of the zombies. At least if he had to have a confrontation with them, he would have the firepower to eliminate them. They would be able to perish at the end of his firearm. Dr. Mark Grant would be able to slay all zombies that came into his path because had a few weapons in his posession, weapons of unmatchable power.

Dr. Mark Grant realized that he had no other option. He had to go out the window. There was no other way for him to escape the building. He had a few magazines for the AK-47 assault rifle strapped to him. Dr. Mark Grant thought that he would be fine if he had to slay the zombies right outside the door. He would be able to destroy them mercilessly with the AK-47 assault rifle that he was carrying and all the ammunition that he was carrying. Dr. Mark Grant decided that it was best if he were to open fire upon the zombies instead of waiting until he was outside with them to slay them. Dr. Mark Grant had no other choice but to fire upon zombies from inside the armory building. Dr. Mark Grant was unable to open the window. There was a reason, of course. The building was supposed to be as secure as possible because it was the stronghold of the entire military base. Dr. Mark Grant slowly flicked off the safety on the assault rifle. He took aim at the zombie closest to him. He placed his finger within the triggerguard of the firearm. He placed his finger on the trigger. Dr. Mark Grant pulled the trigger as he held his gaze with the zombie in his iron sights. The zombie fell in a huge splash of blood after a huge explosion from the muzzle of the firearm.

Dr. Mark Grant moved swiftly out of the window. He jumped out of the window. Dr. Mark Grant was careful to not cut himself on the broken glass that edged the window. Dr. Mark Grant was approached by the zombies that were assisting the zombie that Dr. Mark Grant had just slayed mercilessly. Dr. Mark Grant didn't even to accurately aim at the beasts that were approaching him. He just shoulder fire, meaning he was just shooting from his shoulder without aiming down the sights. He was able to use the stream of bullets to hit the zombies. The zombies disintegrated in a mist of blood. The zombies were destroyed immediately. The zombies were sliced apart in the stream of bullets.

Dr. Mark Grant was able to evade anymore confrontation for a mere five seconds. More zombies approached the doctor, Dr. Mark Grant, as a result of all the ruckus that Dr. Mark Grant was causing with his firearms. Dr. Mark Grant didn't even attempt to evade them like he would have without the assault rifle. Dr. Mark Grant ran headlong into them. He didn't display the fear that he was feeling as he assaulted the zombies with his assault rifle. Dr. Mark Grant fired upon them, destroying their flesh.

"Arghghghghghgh!" Dr. Mark Grant yelled as he approached them. He was sprinting as fast as he could. He didn't hold back the anger. "This is for Rick!" the doctor shouted.

More zombies approached from the horizon. They were the small flying breed of zombie. Dr. Mark Grant attempted to shoot them down from the dark sky. He was unable to. They were too far away for his bullets to hit them accurately, and it was too dark. Dr. Mark Grant was using the moon's low light as a flashlight. It didn't work as well as it could have. Dr. Mark Grant sprinted towards them head on. He refused to give up. This was life or death. He would do all he could to survive. He had to do it for his family, the family that he had been responsible for. He would prevent the Earth from becoming overrun by these creatures. He was not going to let the Earth be assigned the grim future of being controlled by zombies. Dr. Mark Grant would not allow zombies to be the dominate species. Humans did not deserve the grim future of living in fear. Dr. Mark Grant would not allow the zombies to start a new era of Earth. He would end it there. He would be the savior that the Earth deserved.

Dr. Mark Grant followed the road that was in between him and the zombies. He would have to stop them some how. Otherwise, they would be able to slay him. How did they grow those wings? It seemed to be a weird, swift form of evolution. Dr. Mark Grant did not realize that they could probably pick him up too. Despite their small size, the flying zombies were able to lift three times their weight and fly off with the parcel. The parcel would sometimes be humans.

Dr. Mark Grant fired at them some more. He was able to hit one of them now that he wasn't as far away. The zombie shuddered as a mist of blood appeared around it before shortly falling. It fell the fifty feet it had climbed to and hit the ground like a brick. Oddly, the zombie caused a rather large dent to appear the asphalt ground. The zombies must have been extremely heavy. It had caused a small crater in the ground. Dr. Mark Grant tried to ignore that weird mystery. The other two flying zombies were still overhead. They loomed over him. Dr. Mark Grant fired off a few more rounds before the assault rifle stopped expelling projectiles. Dr. Mark Grant almost facepalmed. He had forgotten to reload. He ejected the magazine as swiftly as he possibly could. It fell to the ground with a loud clatter. Dr. Mark Grant grabbed another from his belt and placed it in the slot underneath the muzzle of the assault rifle. Dr. Mark Grant loaded the assault rifle successfully. He reached down and grabbed the empty magazine from the assault rifle off of the asphalt ground. He would be able to reload it with the rounds in his pockets. He couldn't waste the magazine. When he had the time, he would reload that magazine.

Dr. Mark Grant's thoughts returned to the predicament at hand as the remaining two zombies roared in unison. The zombies had no other thoughts on their minds besides killing Dr. Mark Grant. They seemed to be so determined, it seemed like it was their life's goal to kill Dr. Mark Grant. Dr. Mark Grant wondered if the sounds from his assault rifle were the cause for the zombies attacking him so mercilessly.

He had no other choice. He opened fire once more slay the zombies in the air above him. The bullets ripped through the zombies as if they were tissue paper. They fell in front of him. The gunfire drew in more zombies. A gigantic horde of zombies swarmed him. It must have been about sixty zombies. Dr. Mark Grant continued sprinting and shooting. He was able to hit the two zombies and caused them to fall to the ground. They seemed to shrivel up as they hit the ground. They acted like insects. They folded their arms, legs, and wings toward their bodies. Dr. Mark Grant was not unable to complete this feat of excellence without emptying the magazine in his AK-47 assault rifle though. He hit the switch on the assault rifle, and it dropped the empty magazine to the ground. Dr. Mark Grant grabbed a magazine from his pocket and placed it in the AK-47 assault rifle in one fluid motion. He hit the slide to secure a round in the chamber of the firearm. Dr. Mark Grant reached down and grabbed the empty magazine off of the asphalt ground below him in another fluid motion and placed it in his pocket for later use.

Dr. Mark Grant sprinted towards the west side of the military base. The base was close to the mountains and there seemed to be an entrance to the mountain with what looked like bay doors you'd see at a space port in a science fiction movie. The huge metal doors reflected the bright light that the moon emitted and created an easy way to spot them. Dr. Mark Grant made that his destination. The big metal doors seemed to hold his answer to his problem, the zombie scourge that plagued the entirety of planet Earth's surface.

More zombies appeared through the fog. Dr. Mark Grant made no hesitation in shooting the beasts. He had had it with them. They would all perish.

"This shit ends here!" he yelled out to nobody in particular. He seemed to be conversing with the zombies, the very creatures that he was trying to eliminate and that had no way of communicating outside of mere grunts and roars. Dr. Mark Grant continued his trek to the bay doors. They were the key to his genocide on the zombies. He just knew it. He didn't know how he knew it; he just did.

Dr. Mark Grant passed the mess hall and from inside about seventy zombies came out of its interior. Dr. Mark Grant spotted a vehicle near the zombies. Instead of finding some way to get to and utilize the vehicle, Dr. Mark Grant just shot at its fuel tank and caused the entire vehicle to explode. This grand explosion took out the majority of the zombies that were on their way to attack Dr. Mark Grant, the doctor from Monument, Colorado. The heat from the explosion seared his face. The explosion knocked him back a bit, and he landed on his back. He hadn't thought about the explosion's kinectic energy's repercusions with him so close. Well, he had to think about that in the future.

Dr. Mark Grant got to his feet and continued his journey to the metallic bay doors. They seemed to beckon him with their signal. They seemed to beckon him through the fog with their reflection of the moon's light. The fog obstructed his vision as he traveled through the side roads of the military base. Even back then before the military base had been closed down, it had become a self sufficient town. The base actually had housed a couple hundred thousand soldiers and their families before it was closed down in the middle of the twentieth first century.

The fog soon began to expel rain from their bellies. Fog was really just clouds on the ground. The rain didn't have far to go. It was really just a wet atmosphere for Dr. Mark Grant to travel through. He was soaked to the bone, as the saying went. He was freezing. Despite it being the end of August, it was a chilly night, especially with the rain. Dr. Mark Grant ran through puddles. His shoes splashed through the small pools of water. Dr. Mark Grant realized at the wrong time that he had holes in the sneakers he wore. Water seeped into the shoes with every step. This made the journey even harder for Dr. Mark Grant as he had frozen toes within moments.

The only thing visible to the doctor, Dr. Mark Grant, was the moonlight reflecting off of the vast metallic bay doors in the distance and his own breath in front of his frozen, wet face. Dr. Mark Grant couldn't even really see the big metallic bay doors' reflection of the moonlight either. They realy just made a patch of fog appear lighter than the fog surrounding it. It astounded Dr. Mark Grant that he could even see that much. His vision was greatly obscured by the fog and the rain. He couldn't make out much of anything beyond about a ten yard radius.

Zombies continued to chase Dr. Mark Grant. He fired his assault rifle to fend off his attackers. He tried his best to keep them at bay. Unfortunately though, there were too many of them. Dr. Mark Grant ran out of ammo in the AK-47 assault rifle. Luckily, he had the Remington 870 shotgun on a sling on his back. He dropped the AK-47 assault rifle, which also had a sling, so it just landed near his stomach, and he grabbed the Remington 870 shotgun. He fired off several shots at the zombies in front of him. The pellets were much more effective at making the zombies' numbers decrease rapidly. With the Remington 870 shotgun, Dr. Mark Grant was able to kill several zombies at a time. He just had to aim at one's head and the zombies' heads around it would also disintegrate in a mist of blood.

The blood from the zombies mixed with the rain in torrents. Soon, Dr. Mark Grant was sloshing through a weird revolting mix of water and zombie blood. He continued to slay them as he ran.

Dr. Mark Grant recollected the various games he played as a teenager. There were a few zombie games that he played. They were nothing like this. Sure, the mutant zombies with various powers couldn't ever be real, but the games weren't realistic in other ways as well. Dr. Mark Grant recolleted that the zombie games that he played in his youth did not emulate the recoil he felt while shooting the AK-47 assault rifle or the Remington 870 shotgun. This was no game though. This was real life. Dr. Mark Grant returned his focus to the problem at hand.

In his momentary lapse of focus, a couple hundred more zombies had begun to rush him. Dr. Mark Grant was in a vast crowd of zombies now. His efforts were proving to be nearly unfruitful. He was barely able to get through the crowd. Dr. Mark Grant remembered the few grenades that he had grabbed from the armory building an hour before. Dr. Mark Grant pulled the pin from one and chucked it as far as he could. He stopped and continued to shoot at the zombies all around him. The explosion rocked him, but it didn't have as big of an effect on him as when he shot the Jeep Wranger's gasoline tank earlier. Dr. Mark Grant still felt the heat of the blast as deceased zombie corpses flew past him from where he threw the grenade.

Dr. Mark Grant realized that this was a tactic that proved to be quite effective against the zombies around him. He repeated his actions by picking up a grenade from his belt, pulling the pin from hit, and hurling it about twenty yards in front of him. Dr. Mark Grant dropped the now empty Remington 870 shotgun and pulled up the AK-47 assault rifle. He hit the switch that dropped the current magazine, causing the current magazine to drop to the ground. Dr. Mark Grant grabbed the second to last AK-47 magazine he had in his belt and shoved it into the AK-47 assault rifle in his hands. Two more magazines until he ran out of ammunition in them. He would have to hand load the few empty ones he had if he wanted to use the AK-47 assault rifle after he expended the two magazines of ammo that he had left. Dr. Mark Grant didn't bother picking up the empty magazine on the ground. He didn't have the time to stop.

The grenade in front of him finally went off after a few more seconds. The blast caused a few dozen zombies to fly in all directions. The scorched beings flew near where Dr. Mark Grant stood. He felt the heat from this blast and relished the momentary warmth it brought. The rain had forced him to start shivering. Dr. Mark Grant finished slaying the zombies in front of him. Pretty soon, the only zombies that were left were behind them. Dr. Mark Grant thought this was a curious matter but didn't think it was worth his time to rationalize why this had occured. Dr. Mark Grant just turned around and started running backwards to slay the zombies that chased him. Dr. Mark Grant continued to empty the clip of ammunition that was loaded into the AK-47 assault rifle that was in his arms. He slayed as many zombies as he could. Dr. Mark Grant didn't attempt to see where he was headed. All that mattered to him was killing as many of these zombies as he could. Dr. Mark Grant would not give them the privelege of being able to follow him into the big metallic bay doors that he was headed towards.

Dr. Mark Grant picked up another grenade from his belt after he finished emptying the current magazine of ammunition in his AK-47 assault rifle. He pulled the grenade's pin and dropped it. He was running fast enough that he would be able to avoid the blast. Dr. Mark Grant continued running backwards. He got another burst of warmth as the grenade in front of him exploded once he got far enough away from it to avoid injury. The force of the explosion caused him to fly backwards. He hadn't gotten far enough away from it to avoid repercusions completely. The zombies flew in all directions as a result of the blast. Dr. Mark Grant flew into the big metallic bay doors that he had been approaching. He had reached his destination without even realizing it. He quickly looked around for a way to open them. What lie beyond them was useless if he didn't have a way to access it.

Dr. Mark Grant dropped the empty magazine from his AK-47 assault rifle with the switch that was used to drop magazines and placed his last loaded one inside the firearm. He slid the slide, causing a round to go in the chamber. Dr. Mark Grant picked up the magazine that lay empty on the ground. He fired off a few more rounds to slay a couple of zombies. "Headshot!" echoed through Dr. Mark Grant's head as he thought of the various video games that he had played that announced when the player was extremely accurate. He had just shot the two zombies right in their foreheads, causing them to drop after a mist of blood appeared behind them and mingled with the rain.

Dr. Mark Grant had managed to clear the area of zombies momentarily. He heard more roars in the distance. He quickly searched around the big metallic bay doors for a way to open them. Dr. Mark Grant was able to discover a control panel on the right hand side of the doors as he was facing them. Dr. Mark Grant opened it and was barely able to make out what anything was. He found the lock for the door and noticed that someone was kind enough to leave the key in the slot for him to open the door. Dr. Mark Grant turned the key and pressed the switch that would open the door. Dr. Mark Grant wasn't successful at first.

After three more tries at the switch that opened the big metallic bay doors, Dr. Mark Grant heard a metallic groan come from his left, the same place the big metallic bay doors were. A gap appeared in between them. He quickly closed the control panel and sprinted back towards the opening. It was his goal to get inside as quickly as possible and reverse what he had just done. What good was a fortress if the enemy could enter it with such ease? Dr. Mark Grant turned with his back against the slowly opening gap in the doors to see if anymore zombies were approaching. His suspicions were correct. Dr. Mark Grant could make out a few figures in the fog. The two figures roared. Dr. Mark Grant didn't hesitate and raised his AK-47 assault rifle to meet them. He opened fire. Two zombies dropped in the heavy rain. Their blood mixed in with the puddles of blood and rain on the ground. Due to all of his encounters with the zombies in this weather, Dr. Mark Grant was also covered in zombie blood. His entire body was dripping with blood. The rain had washed a good portion of it off, but his clothing was still stained.

Dr. Mark Grant stared off into the fog while he waited for the doros to open. They were quite slow for some reason. Dr. Mark Grant thought the fog was beautiful, despite his freezing. He really liked fog. Well, he at least liked it when he was indoors.

Dr. Mark Grant turned to face the doors again to check on their progress. A hole had opened up big enough for him to squeeze through. Dr. Mark Grant dove through the hole, not wanting to wait any longer for the doors to open. He landed on the hard cement floor of the inside of the big metallica bay doors. Dr. Mark Grant couldn't seen anything except a small portion of the room where the moon's light peeked in through the ever expanding hole in the big metallic bay doors. Dr. Mark Grant felt his way to the wall in search of a light switch. He found a control panel not unlike the one outside that he had used to open the big metallic bay doors. He felt a light switch inside it and flipped it.

The room came into view quickly. Dr. Mark Grant had to shield his eyes with his forearms until they adjusted to the brightness. They had been outside in the dark for several hours now. Once his eyes adjusted to the white light of the garage that he stood in, Dr. Mark Grant looked at the control panel for some way to close the doors. The control panel was a spitting image of the one outside except for the light switch on it. The only problem was that the key wasn't in the slot. It was outside in the control panel outside the big metallic bay doors.

Dr. Mark Grant was able to climb through the hole once more. Zombies had approached him. He fire his AK-47 assault rifle at them, emptying his last magazine. He had no more ammunition for his AK-47 assault rifle in magazines. Once he had a couple minutes of safety, he would have to reload a couple of magazines. Luckily, Dr. Mark Grant had killed all the zombies in the immediate area. If he could close the big metallic bay doors fast enough, he would be in the clear. He ran to the control panel and ripped out the key in the slot. Dr. Mark Grant sprinted back through the big metallic bay doors. They had opened wide enough for him to get through without climbing or diving. He slipped on the cement floor ever so slightly due to the moisture on his shoes. His toes were still frozen. Dr. Mark Grant thought he had to remove them and his socks once he had a moment. They would last better barefoot than in a soaked sock and a soaked shoe.

Dr. Mark Grant had the ring of keys ready to test them once he approached the control panel for his second attempt at closing the big metallic bay doors. Dr. Mark Grant accidentally dropped the keys, causing him to lose the key that fit correctly in the slots of the control panels. He stooped over quickly and picked them up. After several tries with several keys, he finally found the right key that fit into the slot. It was a green tipped key. Dr. Mark Grant turned the key and flipped the switch that would close the doors. Dr. Mark Grant watched as the doors reversed their direction and started to close. They moved at the exact same slow speed as they had been moving when they were opening.

Dr. Mark Grant thought that this would  be a good time to load the shotgun in case he had any visitors while the big metallic bay doors were closing. Dr. Mark Grant grabbed a handful of shotgun shells from his pocket and loaded them into the Remington 870 shotgun. A few zombies emerged from the misty fog and sprinted towards the big metallic bay doors behind which Dr. Mark Grant stood while they closed. He shot all of them with only two shots due to the spread of the shot. Dr. Mark Grant watched as the decapitated zombies collapsed in pools of their own blood mingled with rain. Blood spurted out of the zombies necks where their heads were now a smashed pulp due to the force of the shotgun blasts. Blood came out in torrents and caused a fairly large pool to develop consisting of blood and rain. The other zombies that Dr. Mark Grant had killed previously also contributed to the massive pool of bodily fluids and rain.

Dr. Mark Grant watched as a few more zombies approached before the big metallic bay doors closed in front of him. He took this moment to remove his socks and shoes. He would allow his feet to air out. He grabbed a couple of AK-47 assault rifle magazines and started to load them by hand with the ammunition left in his pocket. He was able to fill two of the four he had. This took him about half an hour because his hands were frozen from the rain. He placed one of the magazines in the assault rifle. Dr. Mark Grant also reloaded the Remington 870 shotgun while he was at it. He sat in a small puddle as the water in his wet clothes dripped to the floor. He just laid back against the wall and closed his eyes.

This short rest made Dr. Mark Grant relax for the first time in several hours. He leaned up against the wall and rested his eyes for about fifteen minutes before getting up again. His clothes had dried sufficiently for him not to be as cold anymore. He left his shoes and socks where they were. Nothing would save them from their fate. Dr. Mark Grant walked through the garage in the mountain dwelling into which he entered via the big metallic bay doors.

Now that he had a few minutes of rest, Dr. Mark Grant was ready to power through the rest of the night. He would complete his objective. His quest was quite clear. He would find a way to stop and kill the zombie scourge that plagued the entirety of the planet Earth's surface. He would be the savior that everyone required. He would be the one to destroy the zombies. He would be the answer to the zombie apocalypse that plagued the Earth.

Dr. Mark Grant, with a feeling of euphoria after his mental pep talk, sprinted through the building. He had no idea where he was going, but he would find his way to destroy the zombies. He cruised through several rooms. Some of them had various instruments. This seemed to be a key part of the military base. Dr. Mark Grant wondered if this building was more than just a housing for the tanks that he saw in the garage. If he couldn't find anything more powerful than tanks, he would just have to use them in his quest against the zombies.

Dr. Mark Grant entered a room and switched on its light. To his great shock, five zombies were a few feet away from him. They were cuddling together for what appeared to be warmth. One seemed to be a small child. It would have been kind of cute if it wasn't for the blood all over its body, pale skin, and lifeless eyes. The sudden burst of light, however, caused them to turn to Dr. Mark Grant. They roared in unison. Dr. Mark Grant backpedaled as fast as he could. Within seconds, he crashed into the wall opposite the room he had entered. Their sudden appearance had shocked him. He didn't expect to find any zombies in here. How did they get in? Dr. Mark Grant's fear increased as he realized that if these two zombies were in here, there were bound to be more. He was lucky that none of them had encountered him when he had let his guard down in the garage after closing the big metallic bay doors.

Dr. Mark Grant realized that he still had weapons on his person. He would be able to take down this pair of zombies no problem. Dr. Mark Grant raised the AK-47 assault rifle at them. They got to their feet and started to run towards Dr. Mark Grant. He pulled the trigger. The gun didn't do anything.

"Damn!" Dr. Mark Grant said before he sprinted down the hall. Something had happened to his AK-47 assault rifle. The water from the rain must have messed up the firearm. Dr. Mark Grant still had the Remington 870 shotgun, but he would have to slow down in order to regain control of it. The AK-47 assault rifle and the Remington 870 shotgun both bounced off of his side and back as he sprinted with them on their slings attached to him. It would take him a few seconds to grab the Remington 870 shotgun from his back. He didn't have the luxury of having those few seconds it would take to remove the Remington 870 shotgun from his back to attack the zombies with.

Dr. Mark Grant sprinted back into the garage. He hid behide a tank. Dr. Mark Grant removed the Remington 870 shotgun from his back. He prayed that it would function properly so that he could slay the zombies that were chasing him. Sure enough, he popped out from behind the tank and the two zombies were there. He pulled the trigger on the Remington 870 shotgun. The Remington 870 shotgun blast hit both zombies. The larger zombie now had no chest and the small one had no head. The smaller one collapsed to the cement floor with its pulp for a head gushing blood. The larger zombie continued forward.

"It seems they only die if you destroy the head," Dr. Mark Grant said right before he pulled the trigger once more. The larger zombie collapsed on top of the smaller one with its head in the same state as the smaller zombie's head. Dr. Mark Grant switched to AK-47 assault rifle to examine it before he went back into the fortress where there could be zombies around every corner. He looked at the AK-47 assault rifle. Nothing appeared to be wrong with it until Dr. Mark Grant looked a bit closer. He slapped his own forehead. The safety had been on the entire time.

"What an idiot!" he said in a harsh whisper. He turned off the safety. Dr. Mark Grant was relieved that the safety was the only problem with the firearm. He would still have to test it out on some zombies to make sure, but for now, it was in perfect working order.

Dr. Mark Grant rushed back into the belly of the beast, as it were. When he finally approached the area he had been in before the zombies, he slowed down. He continued down the hallway with his eyes peeled for any zombies. The zombies would pop out of nowhere. Dr. Mark Grant had to stay sharp for the possible chance of a zombie coming out. If Dr. Mark Grant let his guard down again, he would surely pay the ultimate price. He continued through the building. He was amazed at the technology that these people had had during the mid twenty first century. How was it possible that they had this about sixty years ago? It amazed Dr. Mark Grant. There were advanced detection systems for intruders and any aerial attack. Dr. Mark Grant was sure that if it had been turned on, it would sound off a very loud alarm because of him and all the zombies in the building. He would have to avoid that switch in order to remain undetected from the zombies.

Dr. Mark Grant exited the room he had entered to admire their security system. He walked slowly back through the halls. The white walls and floors reminded Dr. Mark Grant of the hospital that he had worked at. It seemed to be such a long time since he was "let go", but in reality, it had only been a week. This apocalypse seemed to have started so long ago too. It was only a matter of about three or four days, however, since it had started. Dr. Mark Grant was exhausted from the last few days. He couldn't give up though. He had to make it through this building. Dr. Mark Grant was going to find away to stop the zombie scourge that plagued the entirety of the surface of planet Earth.

Dr. Mark Grant came across a huge room that had a control station for some device. Suddenly, an alarm sounded. He must have set off a trip wire or trip laser of some sort from the past. Dr. Mark Grant tried to find a way on the vast control statio to turn off the blaring alarm, but he didn't find anything until the room started flooding with zombies. They came in all sorts of numbers. Dr. Mark Grant fired the AK-47 assault rifle at the zombies. Luckily, the hallways seemed to funnel the zombies so that not so many of the zombies were able to enter the room at a time. Once Dr. Mark Grant was able to fend off the zombies long enough to have a few seconds, he grabbed two grenades off of his belt and pulled both of the grenades' pins out with his mouth. With the two live grenades in his hands, Dr. Mark Grant was forced to hurry. He threw one of the grenades down one hallway to greet the zombies that were coming down it to attack him, and Dr. Mark Grant threw the other one down another allway across from the hallway he had already thrown a grenade down. Both grenades went off nearly simultaneously as they both were live at about the same time. Several zombies had been killed. It had allowed Dr. Mark Grant to get a couple seconds to think. What was he going to do? There was no way out of this place. Dr. Mark Grant grabbed his last grenade off of his belt. He pulled its pin and through it down the hallway he had come in. He dropped the Remington 870 shotgun. It would probably have just slowed him down. The AK-47 and its one and a half magazines would be all that stood in between Dr. Mark Grant and death during his voyage through the building.

Dr. Mark Grant sprinted down the second hallway across from where he had thrown his last live grenade. He heard its explosion as he entered the white hall. Some zombies appeared in front of him. He quickly dispatched them with the AK-47 assault rifle in his arms. He continued down the hallway. He passed through several rooms with only encountering a few zombies at a time. Instead of randomly shooting at them and using the stream of bullets to aim, Dr. Mark Grant carefully aimed his AK-47 assault rifle to kill the zombies with the least ammount of AK-47 assault rifle bullets. Every AK-47 assault rifle bullet he had was a precious commodity. Without ammunition, Dr. Mark Grant would be forced to resort to his Glock handgun that he just remembered he had. It was less powerful, but if he really had to, he would use it to defend himself.

Dr. Mark Grant entered a strange room. It had a large round missle like device in the center. Another control station like the one in a previous room was surrounding it. He walked slowly up to the device. The control station had faded words on it that barely allowed Dr. Mark Grant to figure out what was in front of him. He was able to make out the words "Nuclear Warhead Detonation" above a red button that had a slot for a key under it.

"Oh man," Dr. Mark Grant muttered to himself. That thing in the middle of the room was a nuclear device and it had been sitting there for the better part of half a century. Who knew how stable it was? Dr. Mark Grant was about to leave, but zombies started to enter this room. He was trapped because the way he had come in was his only exit. Dr. Mark Grant fired off precise shots from his AK-47 assault rifle to try and slay the zombies that threatened his existence. Dr. Mark Grant emptied the current clip of ammunition in his AK-47 assault rifle. He only had one more magazine before he would have to resort to his Glock handgun. Unfortunately, the Glock handgun only had twelve rounds in it before it too would be useless to him.

Dr. Mark Grant hit the switch that released the current magazine in the AK-47 assault rifle. The empty magazine tumbled to the ground. Dr. Mark Grant didn't care about it anymore. He didn't have any ammunition to put in it anyways. Dr. Mark Grant grabbed the last full magazine from his belt and thrusted it in to the AK-47 assault rifle. He slipped initially and had to try once more. This time, Dr. Mark Grant was successful. Dr. Mark Grant hit the slide with his hand and caused the last magazine to load a round into the chamber of the AK-47 assault rifle. Dr. Mark Grant was prepared. He kneeled down for a more stable position and started taking shots at the zombies that approached him. He was precise in his technique. Every shot had to count. Dr. Mark Grant realized he could put the firearm in semi automatic. This would allow him to only fire one round at a time. It would conserve his ammunition.

Dr. Mark Grant aimed for the zombies' heads. Because so many zombies were attempting to enter the room, Dr. Mark Grant ran through the clip in the AK-47 assault rifle pretty fast. It was only able to handle a few dozen zombies. Dr. Mark Grant fired the last round in the AK-47 assault rifle. Dr. Mark Grant's shot from the AK-47 assault rifle entered a zombie's head perfectly. It was the best shot that Dr. Mark Grant had made all night. It was amazing that Dr. Mark Grant had retained his accuracy with how exhausted he was. Dr. Mark Grant watched the scene carry out as if in slow motion. The zombie's head dropped as the bullet exited the wound accompanied by a large mist of blood. Dr. Mark Grant had made such a well aimed shot, the bullet exited out of the zombie's head and entered the head of another. Dr. Mark Grant's marksmenship was stellar. He had killed two zombies with one shot. Dr. Mark Grant dropped the AK-47 assault rifle to the ground and continued to slay the zombies in front of him with the Glock handgun. He was only able to take out twelve before it too was empty.

Dr. Mark Grant didn't know what else to do. He realized he could set off the nuclear warhead in the room. He would sacrifice himself to be able to slay these zombies. Dr. Mark Grant found a key on the key ring that he had taken from the control panel outside of the big metallic bay doors outside. Dr. Mark Grant found the red tipped key, the color that the slot was, and inserted the key. Dr. Mark Grant flipped the glass cover that covered the button that would detonate the nuclear warhead. He turned the red tipped key and placed his hand on the red button.

"Rick, Jill, Elise," Dr. Mark Grant said. "I do this for you. And yes, even for you, Jim." Dr. Mark Grant pressed the button. The nuclear warhead started to hum. It then exploded in a grand flash of light.

"Arghhhhhhhh!" Dr. Mark Grant yelled before he was disintegrated in the nuclear blast. The blast wiped out the entire building in the mountain.

The nuclear blast had an adverse effect that Dr. Mark Grant hadn't thought of. Due to its close proximity to the Earth's mantle because it was inside of a mountain that was once a volcano, Dr. Mark Grant had inadvertently destroyed the entire Earth. The stability of the Earth's mantle was diminished rapidly due to this blast. The mantle melted completely in the outer core of the Earth. The inner core grew unstable and collapsed, exploding and outputting insane amounts of pressure. The pressure caused the Earth to explode as well. The Earth was no more. And thus ends the tale of Dr. Mark Grant and his successfully completed objective of destroying the zombie apocalypse that had started mere days before.

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"And that is why we should not pursue cybernetic technology," I stated with emphasis. The class just sat in their seats with their mouths open. Had my project affected them that much? Were they sitting there with their mouths agape because it was good or bad?

"Well, that was. . . interesting," my teacher said after a few seconds. "You do realize though that you went over your presentation time limit by an hour, right? I won't dock you too many points. You had a well thoughtout presentation. It was beyond anything I had expected out of you."

"Thank you, sir," I replied.

"You may now return to your seat," my teacher said. He turned to face the class and said, "Now, who would like to present their project next?"

No one volunteered. I think they might of gotten intimidated by my project. All well. Hopefully I got a good grade. I really could use the boost before this semester is over.