“Head shot,” Travis muttered and smiled. “That fucker is staying down.”
He walked out of the field, shouldering his weapon as he went.
This was the part of his job he hated the most. Now that the thing was dead again, he had to drag its body out of sight so that any other corpses which strayed by wouldn’t see it and come to investigate in hopes that the body was still fresh enough to feed on.
The man was Travis’s third kill of the afternoon. The things were showing up more and more with each passing day. If their numbers didn’t level out soon, Travis would have to start walking out to the fields because Morgan would convince the town that it was the noise of the patrol cars in an otherwise silent word which was attracting the dead.
Travis admitted that Morgan might be on to something with that theory but sooner or later, a good portion of the dead from Asheville and the other close cities would wander their way into Jackson regardless. It was just cold and simple logic that the creatures would spread out in search of food and there were so many of them that it was a statistical certainty that enough of them would eventually make it to the town to wipe it off the face of the Earth.
Travis reached body of the man and stood over it. He thought he recognized him in spite of the maggots which swam over the man’s flesh and the gaping hole in his skull. Yep, it was Billy Clayton all right. There was no doubting it. When the shit first hit the fan, Billy’s unit had been called up by the governor to help contain the outbreak of dead in the cities. Travis remembered driving out to Billy’s house with Morgan the day before Billy had left. Morgan had done all he could to convince Billy not to leave the town but Billy was young and stubborn. He bet Billy wished he’d listened to Morgan now.
Travis squatted down, pulled Billy’s military issue sidearm from its holster, and inspected it. He popped the clip and checked the firing mechanism before he slid the gun into his own belt. A good weapon and ammo were not things you left to go to waste no matter who their owner had been. Travis picked up Billy’s body with his hands under Billy’s arms and started to haul his remains over to the ditch beside the road. The sound of someone moaning caused Travis to jerk his head up. Billy’s body thumped to the road as Travis let go of it.
“Oh, holy. ..” Travis breathed. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Hundreds of bodies were heading down the interstate’s exit ramp towards him, pouring onto the road like ants from a hill, only they weren’t just coming from the interstate. They were coming out of the damned trees all around the field too.
Travis raced back to his car. The creatures were already dangerously close as he slid into the vehicle’s driver seat and grabbed up the radio. “Morgan! Answer me damn it! They’re coming! Hundreds of them!” The radio crackled but remained silent otherwise.
No response came.
Travis fished around in his pocket for the keys. He had to stand up and get out of the car before he could dig them out keeping his eyes locked onto the approaching horde of decaying bastards. In his hurry, he dropped the keys as he yanked them out. He whirled around to pick them up from where they’d landed behind him to come face to face with Morgan himself, only it wasn’t Morgan.
Dull, glazed over eyes stared into his own above the blood stained uniform Morgan wore. They told the tale of the town’s fate. The dead must be pouring in from everywhere, Travis thought. He screamed as Morgan’s cold hands grabbed his shoulders and held him in place as the sheriff’s teeth sank into his throat.
Travis’s scream became a sickening gargling noise as his blood welled up inside him and leaked out from his mouth as Morgan chewed. He fell to the ground with Morgan on top of him still tearing into his flesh. A few of the dead stopped to join Morgan in his feast but the rest walked on towards the town of Jackson to see if anyone else was left alive.
With the End in Sight
“Hurricanes came and went doing untold amounts of damage to the eastern coasts of the U.S. Earthquakes ravaged the mountains of the Appalachians and tsunamis brought the ocean to the streets of California. The summers grew cold and the winters became a rain-drenched spring. Electromagnetic lightening danced in the skies.
“Humanity was helpless, powerless to change the course of nature. As our world crumpled around us did we reach out for one another, to try to salvage what remained? I’m afraid you won’t like the answer. We turned upon ourselves like dogs driven mad with fear and frustration.
“Nuclear fire scorched the land and bio-weapons of the darkest origins filled the air. People bled from their eyes. Stomachs swelled not with life but with mutated abominations. They ripped out of our shells from men, women, and children alike to walk the land. In the end, the monsters were called “Demons.” They were not alive but they were hungry…”
Ben stopped as the door to his quarters slid open. “End oral history log seventeen,” he said to the shelter’s A.I. and spun around in his chair to face Marcus who stood in the open doorway.
Marcus looked at him with something that stunk of pity. “Why do you do it, Ben?” he asked. “There’s not going to be anyone left to play back your logs and learn from what you’re recording.”
Ben didn’t answer instead he asked, “How bad is it today?”
The younger man laughed. “Hell is still at our door.”
Ben got up from his seat. “Then let’s go have a look at it.”
The pair made their way to the shelter’s highest point where its communication spire actually protruded from the cracked earth. The dome was the only part of the shelter that was above ground.
“Clear,” Marcus ordered to the force barriers which served as both the dome’s walls and windows. The whole top of the spire became transparent and the two men looked out into a sea of demons and demon-seed . Most of the things surrounding them were the traditional lot, dead men and women with glowing yellow eyes devoid of anything that could be called a soul with a monster growing inside their reanimated corpses but among their ranks, the number of true demons had grown.
Some were beasts, covered in blood and fur, which stood on two legs and clawed at the force barrier with a frenzy that was beyond their seed who’s mindless pounding continued on without ever stopping. Ben watched as a demon with a pig’s face slammed its head repeatedly into the barrier leaving a smear of saliva and yellow liquid. He felt sorry for the maggots which crawled loose from inside the thing’s skull just in time to be smashed as its head made contact again.
Marcus started to order the barrier opaque, but Ben stopped him.
“How much longer Marcus? How much longer must we endure this until the shield fails?”
Marcus smiled. “That’s what I came to tell you. The shelter’s power levels are almost depleted. We have a few hours left on the high side.”
“Good,” Ben nodded. “Then at last we’ll have done our duty and held back the night as long as we could.”
“If you say so sir.”
Ben tore his eyes from the scene outside. “I need to go finish my logs before the power fails. How are you going to spend humanity’s last hours on Earth?”
Marcus held up a small cylinder. Ben recognized its symbol as that of a powerful neurotoxin. “I’m going to get drunker than hell, sir, and shoot myself up with this as the shield collapses. By the time those things find me, I’ll be long gone.”
“It’s a fitting end to our time here,” Ben shook his head. “Why shouldn’t you meet death happily?”
“I suppose so,” Marcus agreed.
“Goodbye Marcus,” Ben said and left the spire heading back to his quarters. He stopped only long enough to collect an automatic shotgun from the shelter’s armory for he too would need a way out when his work was done and the horde came spilling in.
Author’s Biography
