Anton Jameson ran through the alley way, knocking over the lone trashcan in an effort to slow down the infected shuffling towards him. His M4 rifle, "borrowed" from the now defeated National Guard unit, the 115th Military Police Battalion, hung from the sling in front of him, the rifle bouncing off his body with every step. He drew the M9 Berretta pistol, the 9mm service pistol of the United States, turned, slowed his breathing down, and lined up the sights on the closet one to him, just a few yards away. He slowly pulled the trigger back and was startled when the hammer hit the firing pin, firing the round and watched as the round hit the infected woman dead center in the head. She crumbled to the ground, her skull hitting the pavement with a wet smack.
It's like being back in Iraq without the Taliban trying to eat you, Jameson thought, spinning on his heel to run back towards the intersection. Jameson was a Sergeant in the United States Marine Corps before he got out. He served two tours in Iraq and was regarded as a superb leader in his unit, 1st Battalion, 9th Marines, also known as the Walking Dead. He trained his new Marines to think before they acted, a skill that saved many of their lives.
Jameson rounded the corner and found himself on the sidewalk surrounded by infected. He holstered the M9 in the thigh holster he took and hefted the M4. He had taken nine thirty round magazines for the rifle that in a chest rig that he found in the back of an abandoned truck. The chest rig fit perfect and he welcomed the familiar weight. Just like home, he had thought then. Now he was getting worried. He aimed the rifle at the nearest infected, a obese man whose stomach had burst from gorging on the living, and fired welcoming the sound of the impact and the smell of gun powder. He walked as he fired, slow steps, careful not to step on anything that would trip him and make him an easy target. He picked his shots, those closet to him in arms reach were a lot more dangerous than the ones on the other side of the road; plus his ammo was limited.
-BANG-, click. The rifle was empty. He switched out magazines, hours upon hours of training in Iraq came back to him. He switched mags and continued shooting. If this was his last stand he was prepared to take a few out with him.
-BANG, BANG- -BANG, BANG- Carter heard the high pitched rifle shots and started to scan around him. Casey brought the car to a halt in the middle of the lane. They both opened their respective windows and tried to listen to the shots to maybe tell where they came from.
-BANG, BANG- "Hammer pair. Sounds like its coming from Washington Avenue." Casey said still trying to pin point where the firing was coming from.
"I agree, let's go check it out and I hope that wasn't someone's last stand." Carter grabbed the shotgun and made sure it was loaded, hoping that they weren't too late. Casey put the car back in drive, turned the sirens on and sped off.
Jesus, just how many are there? Jameson thought as he reloaded his rifle. He had made it into the intersection still firing as more and more showed up, arms outstretched, waiting to rip him apart. Off in the distance he heard sirens. Glad I'm not the only one out here, Jameson thought as he searched around to see if maybe the vehicle was responding to his shots. Sure enough here came a police cruiser barreling down the road, sirens blasting. He could barely make out two figures in the front and hope they would bring reinforcements. He continued to shoot the remaining infected around him before waving to the police cruiser. The cruiser braked, the tires squealing, the man driving shouted for him to get in. Jameson yanked the back door open and flung himself inside. He had barely sat down when the cops were talking.
"Go, Casey!" Carter shouted as infected swarmed over the vehicle. Casey stomped on the pedal, accelerating right through them. The windshield cracked from the head of one of the infected flying into it. Casey continued down the intersection before turning off and heading safely away.
"You got a name there partner?" Carter asked the new man in the back holding a still smoking M4. At least he knows how to use it. Jameson opened his mouth to answer but shut it after looking through the windshield.
Carter turned around, feeling their luck draining.
"Aww, shit." Carter kept a tighter grip on his shotgun. They were surrounded.
YOU ARE READING
Seeds Of Hunger
Science FictionWith the discovery of a new plant, the scientific community believes they may have the resources it needs to cure Alzheimer's for good. But once inhaled by humans, the spores hatch into parasites that drive the hosts to feast on the living.
