The zombie game

Chapter 28

“Stop this,” said the first soldier. His name tag read sergeant Jake.

“What the hell are you doing here?” demanded Dave.

“We were driving around and we heard gunshots. What the hell do you think your doing Dave?”

“I am trying to kill these prisoners—they just don't seem to die,” said Dave.

“Don't,” Jake said. “I want them to come with us.”

“Where?!” asked Dave, startled.

“The CDC,” said Jake.

“Where?” asked Joe.

“The Centers for Disease Control. We want you to come—it is a safe environment where you don't have to worry about dying. It is one of our safe houses,” explained Jake. “So come on. You don't have to be scared.”

“How are we supposed to trust you?” Joe asked, still panting. His heart was pounding like a bongo drum, still afraid of what had just happened.

“We are soldiers—you can trust us,” Jake said. The other soldiers remained silent.

“I don't know,” said Tom.

“You know what? It's not an option,” said Jake. He moved forward with his machine gun raised and smashed the butt of the gun into Joe's head. Tom raced to try to safe him, but he was hit in the face, blood exploding from his nose. He slumped to the ground, blood smearing his face and streaming down his arm.

“Your coming too Dave,” said a soldier.

“Indeed I am,” Dave replied, smiling, putting away his pistol. “It was actually my idea to stop the fight. My apologies I had forgotten—the thing I need to show you is at the CDC...or perhaps the person.”

“Monster,” muttered Ken. He was grabbed from behind by a soldier, the barrel of the machine gun digging into his back. He was pushed out the door. Outside, the smell of rotting flesh and blood was even more present in the air, and Ken risked a turn of his head, seeing a couple of the zombies roaring around, looking at him hungrily as he was walking, probably wishing it could jump over the fence and devour him.

Joe was being lifted on a guys shoulders and was carried out to the deuce truck and loaded inside of it, along with Tom. Linda was pushed into the passenger seat of the truck.

“Come on, we're pullin out,” said Jake. Dave walked toward the driver side of a truck and climbed it, putting the keys into the ignition, and drove away.

*****

Ron had been sleeping when he heard screams and the sounds of gunfire. He jolted awake and jumped up from his bed, grabbing his rifle from the table and pinning himself to the wall, peering around the open door, opening there was nobody down this hallway. He heard Dave grunt and another figure pounding on him, as well as an explosion and a chatter of gunfire that erupted through the silence that had once been his sleep. A few minutes later the gunfire had ceased and renewed voices took its place. More voices and then silence.

Ron opened his door all the way and moved into the room with his rifle raised. He saw a scene of horror before him; five or six bodies of guards were lying across the floor, smeared in blood, riddled with bullet holes. He walked to the opened doorway and saw two departing military trucks and a couple of soldiers dressed in black standing right behind the trucks.

He knew what was happening. Last night, while at the party, Ron had talked to Dave about the soldiers entering the warehouse, about the fight—he knew what Joe was gonna do—and that they were going to be shipped to the CDC. Ron had tried to object, but for one, he was drunk off his ass, and for two, Dave had threatened him, saying that he would kill him when given the chance if he did try to stop them. So Dave had bothered with this when Ron was asleep. There was something that Dave needed to show them at the CDC.

Ron turned around and raced out of the back door. He knew what Dave wanted to show them—knew what was going to happen at the CDC; it was something so horrible that Ron couldn't even comprehend it. He had to stop it. Because the zombies were going to come. He ran through the yard and into a separate room, trying to find that machine, that zombie machine, and he saw that it was gone. Shit. It would be happening.

He went to his truck and stepped into it, turning it on, and sneaking around the corner. He was gonna follow them and stop this.

Dave had gone too far and Ron wanted no more part in it.

******

The trucks drove through the desolate landscapes, weaving between dilapidated cars and buildings, as well as the rotting bodies that were lying spreadeagled on the ground, and the occasional zombie stumbling around, the moans lifting on the thin currents of wind. As the wind blue, dead trees sang haunting notes of a world that was long forgotten, and small, scrabbling footsteps of rats scurrying close to the ground, looking for food that they could eat, most of the rodents settling upon the dead carcasses of humans and animals. The clouds were dark and bunched together like pillows, shrouding the entire sky, blotting out the sun and the blue hue of a summers day, essentially making everything cooler—colder even.

Lightning singed the sky, thunder rolling through the clouds, like Tsunami washing over all the inhabitants of this world. The trucks were slowly moving through the cracked street, eventually moving away from the city and entering a country scape, dead trees dotting burned out farmhouses, and long rows of dead, useless and brown corn just lying there, withered like the wrinkles on an old person. Dave was sitting behind the wheel of the truck, thumping on the wheel, silently smiling, pleased with himself at what was about to happen.

It was, after all, the first stage of the Red Ring. This had been his master plan for so long he couldn't even remember—and he was pleased that it was finally coming together. He wiped his hand along his nose and watched as the blood dribbled down his knuckles like ketchup. He had his own little plans for those little bastards; he had his own plan.

And either way they were going to die.