Overrun

One survivors struggle with himself and his own humanity, a he watches mankind fade into extinction.

What’s it really matter; to end one more life? This is the question has been gnawing at me for months. In the whole spectrum of things it’s silly that I even ponder it. I have always used violence as a means to an end and thus far it’s served me well, yet still I can’t help but question myself. It undoubtedly comes from the fact that when there were billions of humans when I thinned the herd a bit, who would really care? In the grand scheme of things I mean. But now that mankind has seemingly lost its final battle I feel pity for the former rulers of the planet and what I am about to do to them.  It’s just that this has always been how I handled things, perhaps not the best way, but a means to an end just the same.

I can hear the dragging of their feet, I haven’t seen it yet but from the sloppy gait I know with certainty just what is hunting me.

            Footsteps crunch on broken glass at the front end of the store, that won’t slow them down a bit.

            Its times like these for some reason I cannot stop thinking about that damned child’s tail; the tortoise and the hare. As a youngster I thought it was a great, the slow but steady pace winning over the fast and agile, now it scares the hell out of me. I know the reason it comes to mind, and I keep trying to convince myself that it’s not going to happen to me. Deep inside I am sure it’s the same damned lie that the other seven billion people on earth likely told themselves a little over two years ago.

Screw them, I am different always have been, I sure hope I’m right. The footsteps grow louder, here they come.

            The dead amble clumsily giving away their position, a low moan emanates from them. It’s a disturbing sound a prolonged call that despite its overall quiet decibel level can be heard on clear nights for miles.

            It means they are near, they seem to converse on some primal level as it attracts others, soon it’s a demented social gathering of risen corpses, all with the same one track mind, living flesh. That’s all they want, there is no appeasing them, no reasoning, once I managed to lock one inside a house where the staircase had been knocked out. From the safety of the second floor I spend a few hours a day for nearly a week trying to talk to it. Trying to play simple games, bouncing a ball, clapping in rhythm, playing different types of music, nothing had an effect. It just stared upward gnashing its broken teeth, and reaching futilely in my direction. Eventually I became disgusted, and put the son of a b***h out of its misery.         

Like I said that’s how I have always solved problems. As a child if another youngster bothered me I would hit them fast, overwhelm them, they learned quick not to disagree with me. That trait I carried through youth and eventually to the Army, where they honed it to lethal perfection. Violence may not be the best option, but it always an option. So I learned to kill, and long story short it’s landed me here, where everything kills everything else. It’s an ironic taste of my own bitter medicine; if I do say so myself.

            I am of two thoughts the human part of me wants to keep hope alive and believe that somehow we will get through this. On the other hand logic tells me we have already played our last card and lost big.  Even if I somehow pull through, and were to miraculously cleanse the earth of every last walker would that really be a win for mankind? I’m not even sure I am technically classified as human; top grade government issued cyberware is nice, and serves my purposes well but what can I do to pull us from extinction? Not a lot, it’s not like I could breed even if I wanted to. I am cursed, but my survival instincts are too perfectly honed to allow them to take me, so I will fight the good fight to the bitter end, for like it or not I am a soldier to the last breath. I’m literally hardwired to be incapable of failure, even if I wanted to, she would never allow it.

            Onward to the matter at hand, I reach the back of the darkened Seven Eleven store, and pass through the walk-in cooler. It reeks of rotten milk and foods decayed ages ago. I press the bar on the exit door and it opens into a back alley where, more Flesh-puppets, Walkers, Zombies, living dead, or as she calls them reanimated organic lifeforms are ambling around aimlessly. ‘Organic reanimated lifeforms.’ That still derives a sick bit of humor to me, as the first time we saw one, she was flabbergasted, if that’s possible. Never before had she seemed anything less than certain of herself, but for that brief moment, she struggled to classify them, almost like she was saying in her own inhuman way, ‘What the f**k are they?’ That didn’t last long, she derived her technical term and is sticking with it and will no doubt keep it until the end. That was before the world turned s**t when her and I did everything together. Now I can’t afford to wake her. And although a couple of years ago I wouldn’t have believed it possible I miss her interactions, hell I miss any interaction. This is strangely reassuring somehow it reminds me that despite everything I am still human, sort of.

            The walkers are a relentless and lethal foe with a nasty arsenal derived from attrition, but their best weapon in my opinion is their ability to isolate you and let the loneliness and despair break you down.

Outside I count seven, their heads turn simultaneously in my direction long dead eyes attempt to focus.

            One stumbles in what I have come to know is their version of a lunge; its hand is a mess of exposed muscle, and dried tendons that despite all that is logical manages to function, if only at a limited capacity.  

            I slip out of reach and another thrusts its head forward, jaw snapping shut as it attempts to bite into my face. I push it back, and my fingers dig deep penetrating through the long decomposed skin becoming briefly immersed in its chest cavity, the broken walker, loses its balance tumbling away. On my hand the black inky blood stinks of death.

            There are a dozen ways to eliminate this sorry group, though the most efficient would require waking her, and that means using energy that I cannot afford. So despite all my modifications, smart weapons, and bio boosted reflexes and firearms civilians have only dreamt of, I reach for machete. It’s old, heavy, inexpensive and nearly perfect for this job.

            I swing as I always do severing their heads and effectively killing the dead one final time.           

            What may have been a female police officer is the first to go I slash hard as she clumsily closes in, the slice is perfect I get some extra points for style as it takes a moment for the head to realize its been separated from the body. The pitiful creature walks another step then collapse in a pile, the skull bounces off the pavement jaw chattering stupidly before it finally ceases.

            The remaining six are easy, all walkers slow and likely some of the first to have died judging by the decomposition, one attempts a moan, total failure, its vocal cords unable to hold a pitch. Instead it’s frozen in the moment leathery mouth agape revealing broken teeth and the remains of a tongue a slight hiss emanates from its throat. I cut it down easily.

            The first one, which I had knocked down is struggling to its feet, with a clean downward arc I put an end to its endeavor. The rest fall in a similar manner, no real challenge here these aren’t much more than slow moving targets.

            After I finish up outside I venture back into the store and manage to find a few needed provisions, powdered protein mix and multivitamins. Cybernetics regulate my metabolism as well as dampen hunger and eliminate food cravings. In short I don’t eat a lot, just the amount required to sustain the organics that I have left. I don’t get hungry, have cravings or actually enjoy food, I eat simply to survive, very little waste.

            I slip as many jugs of protein powder and bottles of vitamins into my oversized backpack as possible and make my way back towards the exit. A hand mirror out the door confirms the alley is still empty, except for the corpses I laid to rest earlier. It is somewhat frustrating using the small mirror that I took from a dilapidated dentist’s office as my scouting device. I have over thirty million credits worth of military grade hardware installed and can’t afford to power up anything but the essentials. It’s like having a space shuttle with out a drop of fuel, its fun to say you have one but what good is it really?

            Okay, I’m just venting now I have been alone too long and need to find a power source. Although the techs mentioned nothing about it; when the batteries go below half charge it definitely affects my mood. It’s so bad I am really looking forward to talking to Samantha, despite knowing that I am going to have to listen to her guilt trip about it being too long since the last time we spoke, women. What can be done? It’s nearly dark and I need to get home.

            Traveling is tricky, I need to stay out of site or the fleshbags will start calling their friends and soon the parties out of control and I need to start decapitating the b******s. So I stick to suburban streets and avoid big cities whenever possible the urban hubs tend to still be densely populated. Gone are the high paid lawyers and suits sipping lattes, yapping on cell phones, in their place the undead out to leach off the living. It may simply be a case of the names change but the game stays the same. I’m not saying its better but at least now I can shoot them without repercussion.

            This street looks empty, nobody ambling about, it was clear earlier so I figure taking the same route back is a good call. Now the old soldier in me is screaming about what a bad idea that is that I should vary my route be unpredictable. It’s a good point, in the field two years ago, but the enemy is different now, I don’t have to worry about a sniper laying in wait, booby traps, or satellites tracking me, the rules have all changed, and gotten simpler in many ways. It’s a demented game of tag they and they are ‘it’. 

 

            I’m fast and although working with only minimal cyberware active I can still keep a pace that would be the envy of most professional athletes.  So I jog down a forgotten sidewalk, past the overgrown lawns and the rows of starter homes in what was a middle class community. I have traveled this road before and know it well, the buildings and cars locked in my memory, nothing changes anymore. It’s been months since I last encountered a survivor, gone are the hum of aircraft that had been so common years ago. It used to be just part of life to hear the distant din of cars on the expressway; it was hard to escape really. Being a solider I spent a lot of time in the isolation of the deep forest and I always enjoyed the true quiet that came with the isolation. Now that quiet has crept back overtaking its land, the formally bustling cities and streets are now eerily void of sounds and that seems unnatural in itself.

            The birds and animals have returned, reclaiming what we had borrowed from them, and the still of the night is once again broken by the howl of wolves and coyotes that roam the land. But their call is not the only sound to echo throughout the forgotten cities, now the still is all too often shattered by the Walkers low moan. Yes, the wolf and other hunters have made resurgence but they are still once removed from the top of the food chain. There is a new apex predator which knows no natural enemies and is beyond relentless in its pursuit.           

            I hop over a low chain link fence into an overgrown backyard, the foliage is waist high and I instinctually want to drop and belly crawl to avoid silhouetting myself for snipers. I resist, war has new players; new rules apply.

            Despite it all I still take a slightly different path home then I did getting here, I may have in an odd bit of irony become predictably unpredictable.

 

2. Power

 

            For some reason I have always felt at home in the urban jungle, a lifetime ago the playground of exhaust fans and billboards offered concealment as I traveled the narrow gaps between rooftops while on assignment. Sentries don’t tend to look upwards and nobody is quite as diligent about securing helipad doors as they are the ground floor. It’s understandable and like any predatory animal I capitalize on the vulnerabilities and opportunities given.

            At this stage in the game, the method of travel still makes sense the Walker’s crowd the streets but I have never found one wandering around a building top. I am fairly certain that they wander off the ledge as soon as something stimulates their hunting instinct, but this is just my own theory and I have yet to witness it happen. Perhaps one day I will actually get bored enough to try a little experiment but not today, for now my priority is to get a recharge.

            I am nearly home its been a long trip by most accounts, I left yesterday at what would have been 5am, if there was anyone left to keep track of time. As the unfamiliar landscape begins to form the broken ruins I am akin to I scan the horizon for the tall building that I am calling home.

            It’s not the highest building, not by a long shot, but its distinctive enough to me, from the edge of a valley I look upon the ruins of what was once Seattle. In the distance on one side of my residence I can see the parking garage for a nearby mall. The mall despite what Hollywood zombie movies made you believe is not a place you want to go, unless you’re interested in the Christmas shoppers from two years ago. Yes most of them are still there, and although I did see signs that survivors had been on the rooftop at one point, they must have bought it well before I ever put roots down here. The mall is a hub for the dead, what a nightmare it was when this whole mess got started. It was pandemonium before we knew what the hell was happening, someone would be infected but despite that they were sick they would show up to work or attend the big game. It didn’t take to long; they turn and then start biting people. It all happened too fast.          

Author's Note

You can fix grammar but I would prefer a review on the content, and the story, if the grammar or structure of a sentence is making it difficult to understand then bring it to my attention, no punctuation Nazis please.

Reviews

[Calvin]

This is really good, a disturbing read. I think you can really can really build on an opening like this. To me, nothing's better than a story that rocks your world, and taps into your imagination. Keep up the good work.