The Life After ATLAS

Hell

I try calling Dawn again. Same old answering machine. "You've reached the Olsteen's, but sadly, we aren't here. We'll call you back soon."
Damn. "Dawn, baby, it's John. I hope you get these soon. I'm worried about you. I'm sure you're worried about me too, but I'm fine. Gideon isn't. I promise I'll be home soon." I end the call. The Warbird is silent, except for the whirling of the engines. I can't seem to do anything now. I pace around a few times, but I still have the image of Gideon, the leader of the new ATLAS, being pulled out of the Warbird by something that was human. I felt useless, propped up against the cold metal wall, only able to stick out a hand that Gideon didn't see, nor was able to reach. I pick up the Pytaek, but that doesn't keep my mind off Dawn, her beautiful image still in my head. After about half an hour of doing nothing, I decide the best thing to do is to close my eyes. Just as I'm about to fall asleep, the sound of breaking glass catches my attention. Pytaek in hand, I open the cockpit door. There, I see my pilot being mutilated by one of those things.
It looks at me, it's gaze unforgiving, and lunges at me. I pull the trigger, and ten bullets rattle into it's skull. I drop the Pytaek, and roll the dead pilot out of the seat. Trying to pilot a Warbird is harder than it looks. I try pulling it up to prevent it from going down nose-first. There's all these flashing lights that make no sense to me, so I frantically click every one of them. When I hit the one that I think says auto-pilot, the Warbird lurches upwards, and I almost tumble out of my seat. Luckily, the cockpit door closed before, so I didn't become food for whatever-the-fuck those thing are. Once I'm steadily in the air, I lean back on the seat and close my eyes, wind somehow not tearing my face off, but rather a cool breeze. The emergency glass must be up. I close my eyes, only thinking of Dawn, her perfectly toned skin reflecting the beautiful California sun. Her shoulder length black hair flowing behind her. Her eyes shining like the brightest stars. Her smile, sweet and her arms extended welcomingly. I'm almost home, baby, I think as I rest my hands on my lap. I'm almost home.
"Anyone read?" a voice wakes me up. "Is there anyone else out there?"
Annoyed and angry at whoever disturbed me, I put on the headset. "This is Major John Olsteen, over."
"Major?" the voice sounds surprised. "What the hell are you doing flying a Warbird? I thought you were gr-"
"My men died and my pilot is eaten," I stare at the bloody arm of my pilot lying on the floor. I'm expecting it to move, since I am seeing so much crazy shit today, I even expect the Warbird to somehow start dancing.
"Oh," the is the voice's reply. "Are you bit, sir?"
"No," I say. "Who are you?"
"Corporal Detrict, ATLAS. The New ATLAS, that is," he says.
"Well, Corporal," I don't want to sound cold, "permission to land this goddamn thing?"
Laughing, the Corporal says my wish is granted. Once I reach solid ground, Detrict greets me. His head is nearly shaved, but small blonde hairs show he still does have some hair. He's as skinny as a twig, even with his exo on.
"Nice to see you, Major," he holds out his hand. I firmly shake it.
"Nice to see someone that isn't a-"
Detrict cuts me off. "A zombie," he says. I glare at him, and I feel him shrink back. "Those things aren't alive," he continues. "They used to be human. But they're dead, and somehow walking." We walk inside the hangar, which is just about filled with early 21st century aircraft.
"We sleep in the 767," he points to a plane that has American Airlines written on the side. "We eat on the floor, and hang around everywhere else." He pauses.
"You alright?" I ask out of friendliness, knowing the kid must've seen some pretty crazy shit.
He nods, and says, "We used to, before I was the only one." I put my hand on the Corporal's shoulder.
"It's fine," I say, a bit relaxed in saying so. "I'm trying to get home to my wife, who is-"
"She's dead," he yells. "The whole fucking ATLAS HQ got whipped! No survivors. No sister." I see his hand on the grip of his ATLAS 45. "I'm the last one if my family, Major," he trembles. "I hate this." He draws his pistol.
"It's not over yet, son," I try to cox him into putting his pistol back. "You are still breathing, still health." Detrict's pistol hand is trembling. "We are survivors."
Nearly crying, the Corporal drops his pistol and runs back outside. I run after him, and tackle him to the ground.
"You aren't leaving," I order him.
"Sorry sir," he says like a small child. "I... I sometimes do weird things. I kinda have a bit of depression." I laugh a little, get off him, and offer him a hand. He willingly accepts it.
"Now, Detrict," I say. "What's the fastest way to get to ATLAS HQ?"
"Well," Corporal Detrict ponders on the question. "At sunrise, take the way less traveled. You won't encounter much of the undead. Never take a Warbird," he points to my ride. "Unless you want your wife to see you as one of them." I laugh at his joke.
"Alright," I clap his shoulder. "What do I need?"
"I'll give you food, water, amm-"
A bullet passes through the young man's skull, leaving blood, pieces of brain and flesh on the pavement while a perfect hole is left in Detrict's head. The air is soon a concert for machine gun fire, my vision a stage for the numerous bullets that fly past. I strafe into the hangar, and quickly lock the door, and put whatever I could find in front of it. Soon, the gunfire stops, and the distant sound of exoboosts along with a bloodcurdling scream and an unforgettable shriek is what is replaced. I grab Detrict's ATLAS 45 that was laying near a B-17, and aim it at a boarded off window, hoping nothing would come in. Suddenly, everything goes quiet. No screaming. No shrieks. No nothing. Gripping the ATLAS 45 tightly, I lose track of time, and eventually find a plane to prop up on and go to sleep.
I dreamt of nothing at first, then, the glowing, unforgiving yellow eyes of the zombies filled my vision, along with the disgusting image of the remaining flesh of the freshly turned, and Dawn's scream.
I shoot my eyes open, and grab my pistol from the floor. I raise it, aiming it around just in case a so called "zombie" is in the hangar with me. After a tensed three minutes of moving my eyes around the room, I decide it's safe to get up. I look for anything to scavenge; food, medicine, a new gun, ammo, even a little something for a big someone when I see her again. My spirits are brightened when I see a half empty bottle of whiskey, a few bottles of water, granola and protein bars, and 5x5.45mm NATO rounds, along with a battle worn KF5 with a Variable and foregrip. However, it doesn't last too long when I start to feel something pounding at my head. My happiness is soon turned to sadness and grief, and I just look at the sub machine gun. What would it be like to have that pointed at myself? I question. If I just reach for it...
With no control over my own body, I feel my arm reach for the grip. STOP! I yell at myself, and I suddenly snap out of whatever I was in. I blink a few times to get my bearings back, and realize what I was about to do. I was about to kill myself.
*
An hour later, in the brightness of noon, I break down the door that is more towards the forest. Detrict said that the forest is safer, and I wouldn't encounter many zombies. KF5 in one hand, my bag of supplies in the other, I set off into hell. Luckily, my wristpad still works, so I program it to direct me back to its recharge station which is fairly close to ATLAS, but most importantly, it's close to Dawn. I constantly look down, to make sure I'm going the right way. One wrong turn could mean I don't see Dawn when she's human. Sighing, I turn my exo off, in order to conserve battery. According to the directions, I'm about 35, 000 meters from HQ. I drop my bag down by a tree, and lean my back against it, keeping my KF5 close. I unzip the bag, pull out the bottle of whiskey, hold it up as if I were taking a drink with all my squad, and tilt the bottle back, the syrupy liquid touching my lips, flowing down my throat. It feels refreshing, and I almost never drink whiskey unless we just came back from a week hunt.
I close the bottle, and pull out one of the few bottles of water, open it, and chug half the thing in one go. I lay my head on the trunk, and just let my mind wander. However, it doesn't go the way I want it to. Thoughts of depression, loneliness, and just the thought of Dawn not being there when I get back easily overpower all the thoughts I want to think; Dawn and I kissing, our marriage, her laugh and beautiful smile. I quickly snap back into reality, and I hear a stick crunch a little ways away. I go prone, KF5 at the ready. A few yards away, a group of KVA Mercenaries walk along, suppressed AK12's in hand. They don't seem to notice me, so I stay down. I watch them walk by, their exos glinting in the afternoon sun. When they exit my field of view, I stand up, grab my bag and head left, whichever way I feel safe. I hope to find somewhere where I can rest the night. I see something shine in the distance, and I instinctively drop to the ground. When I get up on one knee, I see that it's only the roof of a small house, probably one floor. I see the reflection of sun is actually a Civilian Hoverbike, model H-5310, lowest class. I check to make sure the coast is clear, and I start towards the house when I hear someone yell, "There's one in the open! It's human! He has supplies!" and the sound of suppressed AK12 fire is all at my 11, 12 and 1, bullets hitting the ground in front or beside me, or the place I'll call "home" for the night. I raise my KF5, and start firing at the nearest man. My gunshots are louder, and I expect some-thing- to jump out at me any second and make me one of the undead. The cocking slide locks in the receiving position, marking my very unfortunate time of a new mag. I run behind the house, hearing bullets hit the ground where I'd have to look out of sooner or later. Once I finally get a fresh magazine in, I try not to look ahead, but I do. I see around ten of the undead, sprinting at me, three of them constantly jumping, the boost on their exos working non-stop. Haven't the batteries run out yet? I think as I peg one of the undead that are civilians. He falls down dead, tripping over his own feet as they allow him to roll over too of them. I knock out a few more, and that's when one of the KVA appear beside me. I take the stock of my KF5 and hit him in the head. I grab his AK12 and start using that against the zombies with the exos. It's just like shooting skeets, except skeets don't come at you wanting to eat every inch of your flesh. I hit one directly in the eye, and his body goes lip midair, and his exo's battery breaks as he lands.
One down, two to go, I think as try to make the auto gun go semi-auto. It's working pretty well, since I kill the second Soldier, who decided to run at me. The third is a bit harder. He is somehow dodging my bullets, and in no time, is twenty yards away Fuck it, I think as I hold down the trigger. It took me the rest of the clip to finally get a headshot, but, he falls limp. I grab for my KF5 again and finish off the rest of them, and the job is seemingly easy since they aren't jumping everywhere. Once I finish off the last one, I turn the corner to once again be inside the showdown, but I don't see them standing. They're all on the dirt road, their chests all ripped open, all their organs missing. I run over to them, and I hear one still alive. I quickly rush over to him and take his mask off. When I see him, I'm shocked. The KVA Mercenary is no older than 15. A hole where his intestines are- or should I say were -gushed out blood. On his black uniform, it didn't stain, but once it met the ground, the bright red blood of the young man pooled underneath him.
"Please..." he murmurs. "Let... me... live. I have a-" and with that, he breathed his last breath, and relaxed. I check for a pulse. There is none.
"I'm sorry," I whisper to him as I take out my ATLAS 45 and point it at his head. The silenced-sounding gunshot sounded, as it did four more times.
I'm not going to make it out alive, I think as I walk into the house.
***
What will John think when he gets back? I think as I pace around our room. What will be say?
"First Lieutenant Dawn," someone knocks at the door.
"Speaking?" I call.
"Lieutenant Dacker," the voice says, almost sounding with grief. It's just me.
"Come in," I command Jack Dacker as I quickly sit myself down on the couch I got my evil uncle for Christmas a few years back. The door opens, and my good friend strides in. He closes the door, and stands in place. He's one of those Soldiers that actually respects his superiors, and doesn't do whatever he wants when he isn't on the field.
"Come sit, Jack," I motion to a black leather chair John and I decided to get when we first moved in. I miss John, his arms wrapped around me, kissing my cheek once in a while, that is if I don't turn around and meet his lips.
John, I think as I block out whatever the Lieutenant was saying, and just thinking of my wonderful husband. Please, for the love of god, please be safe.
"And that's why an evacuation should be considered, ma'am," Jack finishes what I didn't bother to hear.
"That's preposterous," I say against him, really having no idea what I was talking about.
"Ma'am," Jack says, clearly wanting to get his point across. "Where should we keep all the infected, then, if we won't evacuate?" His eyes bore into mine, and I get a bit of a shiver. Jack's always been able to do that to me, I just don't know why. Shit, now we will get it. Whatever the hell "it" is, I think as I act as if I'm pondering on a decision. If John doesn't come back soon, I might be dead, along with h-
My thought is cut short when I realize I have to say something. "Right," I say, doing everything I can to make it seem like I wasn't thinking about John. "We can go to the lowest level, and keep them there."
With a questioning look on his face, Lieutenant Dacker begins another question. "Sub-level six?" He says.
"Yes. The best place to contain them."
"Don't you know what goes on at sub-level five? If the undead were to break-"
"Wait, undead?" I nearly shriek. Panicking, I look around the room to prevent myself from passing out. "Is that what's out there?" I point at the window, mainly towards the forested area.
"Yes," the Lieutenant says grimly. "Your husband has been fighting zombies." I nearly laugh.
"They're fake," I chuckle. "They are only in children's books."
"No. All the Manticores are filled with stuff that-"
"First Lieutenant Olsteen," someone calls through the in-wall comm.
"Jack, you're dismissed. We'll have to talk about this another time."
"Yes ma'am," he takes his command, and leaves. At the door, a Scout stands at the doorway, Lynx in hand.
"And?" I ask him.
He looks down at the floor. "There were KVA all by where his last known location was. They're all dead. But, there were some others there as well." He sighs. "I know your husband like my sister, but, I'm sorry to say, there's no way he would've made it out alive."
I start to tear up. "Thank you," I manage to squeak out before I walk back to the couch. Once the door closes, I start to cry.
Evan, I think as I look down at my stomach. Daddy isn't coming home.
***
The early birds chirping, the sun shining, I swear I'm in a dream. A dream where there is no hell, no worries, no nothing. But this dream is missing one thing. Dawn. It's missing her. I walk around the house. No Dawn. I step outside, and walk around the perimeter. No Dawn. I just feel so... lonely.
Zombies aren't real, I remind myself. This is just a training sim. It's nothing.
I reboot my exo, and once again, follow directions to get back home.
*
"Halfway home," I mutter to myself, exhausted. I already finished off all my bottles of water, and the whiskey is nearly empty. The food is almost gone, with three bars left. Regardless, I keep walking. I miss my wife, that I swear I'm going insane. I painfully trudge up a hill that feels like a mountain, and once I reach the top, I see a metal tower with spotlights. I quickly drop to the ground, hoping not to be seen. I look over the edge. The company. It's ATLAS! I begin to stand up until I get a glimpse of an exo. It's an A-2D9, an older exo.
It's Old ATLAS equipment!
I turn and run, making sure to get a good distance, but I'm caught.
"Over the hill!" I hear an A.M screech to life. An alarm sounds, and stoplights are on me. I hear a Titan roar to life, it's "feet" shaking the ground underneath. I run as fast as I can, but my exo seems to weigh me down. I hear a shriek, and I see leaves move. C'mon John, I encourage myself. Get home to Dawn.
Something tackles me. A brute force, I'm thrown to the ground, my exo's battery saving my head. I thrust my arms to whatever was on top of me. I look at a zombie, face to face, it's yellow eyes burning into mine. I don't get scared easily, not after the death of Calem, but now, I'm scared shitless. I push the zombie off of me with all my might, and almost immediately, he gets right back up, starting to take a run at me. I reach for my ATLAS 45, but as soon as I can think about taking it out, it runs into me, it's breath smelling like rotten flesh mixed with the iron scent of blood. I fall down, and kick it back before I have to wrestle it again. This buys me enough time to draw my pistol, but the distance is closed too fast, and I manage to hit it's shoulder. Shit, I think as I crawl back, and aim again, trying to get a shot at it's head. Eventually, I give up, and before it gets atop of me, I just pull the trigger until the clip runs out. I forget exactly how many bullets I shot, but one killed it, the yellow glow dying out. I lay there, still, empty gun still pointed.
I'm awaken from my trace when a shell of the Titan lands seven meters away. Surprised, I get up and start to run, until I hit something hard. I look up in terror as I gaze upon a Goliath, fully operated. Before the world goes out, I think one last thought.
Dawn, I'm not making it back anytime soon. I love you.