The Second Brotherhood

Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

I woke the next day, and the sounds of wildlife were absent. Now, I may not have been an expert on undead hunting habits, but this had happened to me before, where I'd been attacked while there were no sounds of wildlife. This meant Zeds.  

I groped for my M24, hand finding its grip. I reached for my bandolier of .300 Winchester Magnum cartridges, and swiftly loaded four of my large amount of ammo. I then slung the long rifle, and drew my enormous broadsword, it's weight never bothering me.  

I moved like a ghost down the stairs. No Zeds were there, but Hanna was sleeping on the couch. But she woke at the sound of my rifle bouncing on my back.  

"Tom? What is it?"  

"The Zeds! They're here!" I whisper-shouted.  

"Okay. Let me get my stuff."  

"Da. I'll watch your back." I responded.  

Half an hour later, we were standing at the front door, ready to leave. The shattering of glass behind us gave us more incentive. "Go!" I whispered, as I opened the door, and rushed into the daylight.  

Outside, Zeds numbering about a dozen wandered about like blind men. I raised the carbine, finger seeking trigger. The suppressor muffled the shot greatly, and before the first Zed had fallen, I had worked the bolt, and I was lightly squeezing the trigger, putting down a second. I repeated this action twice more, and I then I ran out of ammunition. I wouldn't be able to reload in time. Hanna's Glock 21 had put down the other eight.  

"We need a map of this Tacoma and surrounding areas," I panted.  

"I know a gas station near here where you might find one!" Hanna replied.  

After 10 minutes of sprinting, we came across the gas station. It looked derelict, like a Old West bar. The door had a cowbell on it, and it clanged as I opened the door. There was a series of moans from the aisles. I pulled out my Crusader arming sword, made of the finest Damascus steel, forged into a three-foot blade, and told Hanna, "Search of a map. I'll cover you." I drew my Glock 17, which held 17 rounds of 9 millimeter Parabellum in it's magazine. Surely enough, they began stumbling out of the aisles, and I calmly shot each one in the forehead. And the 18th Zed stumbled out.  

I holstered my pistol, and pulled out my trench knife, delivering a brass-knuckle punch to the Zed's face that probably would've killed a normal man. It sent the Zed backward, landing on it's back in the aisle. I then rushed, stabbing through the eye socket. The Zed went limp.  

Hanna turned back from her searching, holding a map. "This what you were looking for?" she asked.  

"Yes," I replied, as I snatched it from her hand. I unfolded it.  

"Military base. That's where we're going. But we have to leave before this plague reaches apocalyptic proportions."  

"Why?" Hanna asked.  

"Because, after the apocalypse, without orders, the military will kill, loot, and burn whatever they want, without discretion."  

"Wow. Good explanation."  

"Sorry. My training affects my speech."  

"What training?" Hanna asked, skeptical.  

"I'll tell you later. Once we're in a safe place."  

We left, and jogged along the road, hiding from the occasional Zed, and listening to the nothing that was this dying city.