Zombie Anthology (23 page)

    
The Captain awoke as the sun rose over the jungle. John helped him set his broken leg and showed him the damaged radio equipment looted from the wreckage of the crash. Gary sat by the cave's entrance laughing as tears ran down his cheeks. John hoped the kid would hold together, though the kid was beginning to try his nerves.

    
The cave was attacked twice more before nightfall. Each time Gary wondered why the enemy never returned fire, then he would remember the woman and shudder. The enemy didn't need guns.

    
As night fell, Gary still sat near the mouth of the cave, watching for movement in the shadows outside. “Hey, John,” He yelled, “Would you pass me a clip?"

    
John leaned against the cave wall several feet deeper inside, watching the Captain, Peter Stevens, work frantically on the squad's radio. He felt the tension of the past twenty-four hours weighing on him heavily. “Get it yourself, asshole,” he grunted at Gary.

    
Peter looked up from his work, annoyed by the pair's bickering. He tossed Gary a clip from his own belt. “Here,” he said flatly.

    
"Thanks,” Gary laughed popping the clip into his M-16. “It's good to know someone cares about us making it out of here alive."

    
John gritted his teeth and picked up his own rifle. As he started to join Gary at the cave's mouth, Peter grabbed his leg. John looked down at the weary officer.

    
"Gary feels it too,” Peter assured him, “He just has a different way of coping than we do. Try not to kill each other, okay?” John nodded and continued on. He walked over to Gary and took a seat by the younger solider. “Look...” He started to say, but outside a demonic howl went up into the night.

    
"Shit!” Gary screamed as the first creature came charging out of the jungle. It wore the tattered uniform of a Charlie infantryman. White foam bubbled from its mouth and its yellow eyes glowed in the pale starlight.

    
Gary opened up, putting a dozen rounds into its chest. The inhuman thing spun with the impact and landed, unmoving, with its face in the dirt. Several other creatures came bounding towards the cave. Some wore the rags of Vietnamese civilians, others wore US army fatigues, and some wore nothing at all.

    
"Jesus,” John heard himself plead. Gary opened fire again at the mass of men, women, and children on full auto.

    
"What are you waitin’ for, Pops? Shoot the damn things!"

    
John braced his rifle against his shoulder and took aim at a middle-aged male who wore the bloodied and soiled tunic of a farmer. He pulled the trigger and placed a round in the middle of the thing's forehead. The others were closer to the cave now, so close, John could smell their putrid breath. They ran with loping strides like animals.

    
Gary popped his spent clip. It clattered on the cave floor as he slapped another home. No time to aim, John swept the clearing in front the cave with hot lead as Gary followed suit.

    
The most disturbing part of the experience was the way the things howled and cried out in pain until they were mortally wounded. Then they would fall silent with an almost serene look on their features as they met death.

    
It was over as quickly as it began. Eleven fresh bodies lay atop the already cold and decaying pile of corpses outside and it was only a matter of time until still more would come.

    
"That was too fucking close,” Gary babbled, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Way too close."

    
Peter limped over, fighting with his broken leg, and fell against the wall near the pair. They both eyed him intently. He shook his head in silence. The radio was beyond repair.

    
John found himself wishing they'd all died in the crash, maybe they would've been luckier that way. To go down behind enemy lines was bad, but it was nothing compared to the horrors of a contamination zone, he was finding out. He cursed the big boys back home for ever sinking to bio-chemical warfare.

    
"Shit, man. Are you sure you can't fix it?” Gary snapped at Peter.

    
"Even if I'd been able to, do you really think they'd let us out of here. Hell, we're probably already carrying the virus in our systems,” Peter answered grimly.

    
Gary looked as if wanted to gun down Peter right then and there, but instead he slammed his fist into the jagged rock of the cave wall. Traces of blood glittered on the rock where his hand had struck.

    
"What do we do now?” John asked to no one in particular. “We can't stay here. Eventually, we're going to run out of ammo.” Peter's bloodshot eyes met John's and in that instant, John could tell the man was already dead inside. Hopelessness can do that to a man, even the best man.

    
"We can't go out there,” Gary said gesturing towards the jungle. “Those things are too fast ... And there are so many of them."

    
"I don't think we have a choice,” John sighed, already taking command.

    
"Sure,” Peter nodded, only half listening to the pair talk. His gaze turned back to the broken radio and lingered there. “You guys go on. I'll catch up.” Peter handed John the last of his M-16 ammo. “You'll need all the firepower you can get,” he said pressing the belt of clips into John's hand. John took the ammo and got to his feet.

    
"C'mon, Gary. Let's get moving before the next wave comes."

    
The younger man looked at Peter then at John, and got to his feet. He wasn't as stupid as he sometimes acted.

    
"Let's get movin’ then,” he said and sprinted into the night. John followed. Minutes later, they heard the bark of a 9mm sidearm echoing behind them in the distant cave. John felt tears well up in his eyes, but said nothing. Gary pretended not to notice as they made their way through the trees.

    
"Big shots back home don't have a fuckin’ clue what they're doin'. If this shit gets out of one of the zones, the whole world's done for, man. The worst part is they don't care,” John answered, “The president's determined not to lose face. We're the freakin’ USA! He ain't about to let some little red third world nation kick our ass, no matter what it costs. So what does he do? He has the lab boys cook up this damn virus. It's spread through bodily fluids, sweat, blood, saliva, whatever; if even so much as a drop of it gets into your system, you're fucked. It messes with your nerves causing a state of constant pain until you go insane and lash out at anyone who happens to be near you, hoping that they'll kill you in self-defense before you kill them. It's nasty some shit, man."

    
"How the hell does a grunt like you know about it?” Gary asked.

    
"Peter told me about it. He had clearance and knew we would be passing over a zone on this trip.” John answered, “A lot of good knowing did us, eh?"

    
Something moved in the jungle up ahead. Both John and Gary took cover, blending into to their surroundings. A dog staggered down the trail towards them. It quite obviously carried the virus. Red liquid leaked from its eyes and nose, as it snorted in pain. It made it a few more steps towards them then fell over on its side whimpering.

    
"Oh, God,” Gary cried, then threw up in the dirt.

    
John walked over to the animal and pressed the barrel of his rifle to its head. The dog's head splattered from the quick burst spraying John with fur and bone.

    
"Oh, God. John, I can't do this,” Gary wailed.

    
"It's okay, Gary, you don't have to,” John said turning the rifle on the younger man and mowed him down where he stood. “You can thank me in the next life,” John whispered.

    
The jungle erupted to life with the howls of the cursed. They'd heard the gunfire and found John's trail. He crossed himself, then set off at a run towards US lines. His throat felt dry and a trickle of foam emerged from the edges of his mouth. He smiled and ran on, his rifle in hands, as he howled.

THE END

6 - Unnatural Endings

    
The jungle night was hot and muggy. Normally, Jack would never have risked his life by lighting up while on watch in the field but a lot of things had changed recently. His lighter flared leaving the orange glow of his cigarette as he inhaled in its wake. He couldn't taste the smoke anymore and it took a lot of effort to breath but old habits die hard. He looked down at the tattered and bloodstained uniform covering the bullet holes in his chest. It seemed a lot of things died hard these days.

    
Before it had happened to himself and Nick, Jack thought the rumors were just a load of bullshit like every soldier hears in the field. Crap made up to frighten the “newbies", but here he was: the walking dead.

    
Nick lay in the foxhole with him, outstretched and sprawled on his back. Nick's gray skin glistened in the moonlight and smelled like rotten meat. At least Jack imagined that it did. His face was a mess from where shrapnel from the mine that had killed him had struck him in the mouth. His cheeks were puffed out masses of jagged flesh and his lips and teeth were almost completely gone leaving only a gaping hole. Insects buzzed about him, laying their eggs in the wounds. Nick opened his eyes and set up. He grunted an unintelligible sound trying to speak which caused black, putrid pus to spray the hole in face. It dangled like drool from his chin as Jack met his reproachful gaze.

    
"Oh, shut up. The smoking can't kill me now,” Jack laughed.

    
Nick shrugged, admitting defeat on this point and laid back down to look up at the stars. Another muffled gargling noise erupted from his hole.

    
Jack shook his head. “No, I don't have any new ideas. I think it may be the only way man."

    
Jack and Nick knew they couldn't go back to base camp. If the rumors about the walking dead were true of which they were un-living proof, then the stories about the cover up would be true too. If they marched into base camp, they wouldn't be offered an honorable discharge and shipped off on the next chopper home. No, the special ops would descend on them like flies and most likely turn them into a nice gasoline covered bonfire. The army wasn't taking any chances. If word got back home that the new regenerative nano-viruses now standard issue for all front line field troops were causing to American soldiers to become walking nightmares straight out of
Night of the Living Dead
, the American public would go ape and the big boys of the army would be in hot water to say the least. No, Jack and Nick were stuck out here behind enemy lines. Their only options were to find a way to die or stay on the run fighting the enemy until either their bodies were shot to pieces or they finally rotted too much to move. Jack wondered if even then they would continue to think and live, if you could call it that, like they were now.

    
Jack tossed aside the butt of his smoke and lit up another. “Nick, it's the only way man."

    
Nick sat up again, a wheezing sound gargling in his throat and looked at Jack. Jack nodded. “Let's do it then man and get it over with."

    
Jack opened up their packs and dug around in them until he found the C-4 they carried for knocking out bridges. He reached down and pulled his knife from his boot and went to work on Nick first. Nick moaned and squirmed as Jack sliced open his chest and cracked open Nick's ribs. Nick's organs slid out slightly as Jack worked but Jack pushed them back inside as he crammed in the explosives. When he was done, Nick did the same for him. They set the detonators to go off simultaneously. Ten minutes on each. Time enough for goodbyes, prayers, and a last smoke. Jack lit what he hoped would indeed be his last smoke. Together they watched the timers tick down as Jack smoked. Just before the timers clicked zero, Nick looked into Jack's eyes as bubbles foamed in his hole of a mouth and a string of pus flew out.

    
"I hope it works too buddy,” Jack whispered before the foxhole was filled with a searing heat and white light. The jungle shook with thunder to be replaced by silence. The only sound the buzzing of insects in the dawn. Nothing moved in the foxhole as the sun began to climb above the surrounding mountains.

THE END

V- Zombies II - Inhuman

1 - Evolution Like Lightning

    
Michael blinked and looked around. They were gone. The pack of dead creatures which had nearly managed to surround him intent on making him their next meal was nowhere to be seen. His heart was thundering in his chest and he reached up to touch the fresh sweat dripping from his hair as it began to sink in. The dead weren't the only thing that was missing. Everything around him had changed.

    
He'd been standing on his front porch trying desperately to get back inside his own barricaded house with the supplies he'd looted from what remained of the local grocery store. The dead had followed him home and had been closing in. All he could remember was thinking he'd never get the locks undone in time and that he needed to just drop everything and run. Now he stood in the middle of a city street as barren and dead as the ones in his hometown with skyscrapers looming above him.