Maxwell Jackson knelt beside the overturned dumpster looking across the trash strewn street. He held up his Sterling SMG 9mm and checked the chamber to make sure he was loaded. He looked again across the street then back behind him from where he had come. He saw no zombies hiding in the shadows. He figured they were waiting out the worst of the New Mexico heat that was always prevalent around this time of year. He wiped away the sweat from his forehead. For eighteen months, since the beginning of the viral outbreak, he had managed to elude the undead beings, moving from one place to another always one step ahead of the damned things. Usually, he would be in hiding at this time of the day but a strong sense to scrounge some business buildings for some booze had bought him here.

Strip clubs around Albuquerque like The Peppermint Lioness, had been known to have a large stock of booze and for some reason he had a need to find a good stiff drink. It didn’t matter what kind just as long as it was a good hard liquor in a sealed bottle. He ran across the street at a half crouch and hid low behind a burned Ford Pick up and looked into the dark entrance way of the former strip club. He scanned around him once and then ran quickly into the dark open maw of the building. Inside was a dark clutter of destruction. Tables and chairs had been overturned and the once plush red carpet was a rotted mess from exposure from the rains and snows from seasons past from the collapsed sections of ceiling. Sheetrock walls and ceilings had been busted through and the stage at the end of the large open hall was shattered and covered with glass mirror debris. Nothing left but old ghosts from a dead era he mused. He slung the Sterling over his shoulder then stuffed in earphones and pressed the play button on the MP3 player he had in his back pocket. The sounds of a lost era began pumping through.

Disco.

Now what was the reasons why people hated Disco he mused? Damn fine shit even if he was just a five year old wet nosed kid living in a dilapidated house with no heat and his father had to work two full time jobs to make ends meet while his mother was off spending some of it on dope and shit. His mind drifted back to those days when being black and poor was common place. His brother and him listened to the radio every Saturday night listening to the new Disco sounds drifting from the speakers. The sounds of Motown were great but the beats of Disco had always enthralled him. He had Disco now but he wanted some booze to go with it. He had searched through most of Albuquerque’s industrial area liquor stores and found that they had already been picked clean to the walls or the buildings burned down. He stepped further into the ruins that had once housed some of the states best class of strippers and searched the bar first and found only broken or empty bottles.

He moved through the open hall to a doorway and began rummaging through the back room and found nothing but empty boxes filled with rotted foods of some kind.  He tossed the boxes and swept them away with the edge of his foot and saw a pack of cigarettes fall from the rotting cardboard. Holy Mother Fucker! He thought. He knelt down and picked up his new found treasure and made sure it was still sealed in it’s package. Well no booze but a smoke and some Disco sounded good enough. He placed his new found treasure within his back pack and had no sooner placed the pack strap over his shoulder, when several zombies appeared in the doorway.

He cursed, un-slung the Sterling sub gun and fired off a long burst in rapid succession. Three of zombies flew back from head shots, splashing the door jam with brains and gristle. Two fell twitching to the floor and the other one, with half it’s head blown off but amazingly, it staggered back to it’s feet. Jackson slammed the metal butt against the side of its shattered cranium forcing it to drop like a puppet with it’s strings cut. He stumbled over the trio of dead zombies and saw the room coming to life with undead beings. He made a mad dash through the small throng of zombies that had quickly materialized seemingly out of nowhere. Slamming against an overturned table, he picked it up and threw it at the large zombie blocking his escape out of the building, forcing the undead being to fall over on it’s back. He cursed his own stupidity for not following his rules which he had placed on himself: Always look around before entering a building and always clear the building before beginning any scavenging actions. The past is dead and there was no point in dwelling on it.

He burst through the broken doors and went on a mad run and saw more zombies appearing out of the nearby alleyway and began chasing after him. He looked back and saw the small throng erupt from the former strip club and saw women in various stripper garb running after him. He fired off the last two rounds from the Sterling, hitting one square in the chest but it had little effect. Having no time to reload, Jackson turned and ran.

Jackson ran cursing his luck and the heavy pack strapped to his back but he knew to shed it would be the last thing he could do. His MP3 player blared a KC and the Sunshine Band song ’Boogie Man’ through his earphones and thought of the irony of that. If he didn’t find a place to hole up or make a stand, he was looking at being dinner within the next few minutes. He held the Sterling at waist level cursing that it was empty. The small throng of zombies chased after him down the street snarling and snapping. He should’ve stayed out of the strip club to begin with. There was no luck for a black man even in the post-apocalyptic world dominated by zombies just as his luck had been threadbare before the viral outbreak.

The zombie strippers chased after him gathering a few other zombies who must’ve been patrons, employees or others who just happened to be in the area. The zombies were like that. At first you couldn’t see them then out of no where they would appear. One of the stripper zombies had sprinted ahead of the tightly packed group and was quickly gaining on him. Her long greasy blonde hair trailed out behind her and she quickly bared her teeth and clawed at the empty air between them. She was topless and her heavy breasts must have been things of beauty at one time but now they were rotted bags of dead flesh that bounced with each running step. He poured it on and managed to widen the distance from her but knew he could not keep the pace forever. He rounded another corner and ran uphill into another part of the industrial area.

He looked quickly left then right and found a stack of crates piled against a twelve foot cinder block wall. If he could climb up to the top of the wall he might be able to get away. Making a mad run, he clambered up the stack of loose crates, he had just grabbed the top ledge of the wall, then crates fell out from under him. He managed with every once of strength to pull himself up and on top of the wall, being careful not to just jump completely over into the compound on the other side of the wall. One never knew if there were more zombies waiting on the other side. The zombie stripper smashed into the clutter of crates and then the wall. She snarled and clawed at the wall with her long fingers and he then noticed the silicone bag used in breast implants, poking through the torn and rotted flesh on her breast. He thought about blowing her head off but it would be a waste of a valuable cartridge. Instead, he reached into his pocket and found a battered one dollar bill and tossed it down to her. “That’s at least for the show bitch, be happy with that.”

Standing on the wall, he noted it was a good twelve feet high and surrounded a compound that had a single two story brick walled building and an outbuilding with a armored truck sticking half in and half out through the garage door. He walked along the wall top, carefully surveying if there were any zombies down inside and saw none. The large group of zombies had by now gathered at the foot of the wall and were clawing up at him. He saw no reason not to go and investigate the compound and hope for the best. He squatted, took hold of the walls edge and jumped down to the asphalt parking lot below.

An old armored car vault building. The bright business sign above it said it had belonged to the Bangor Armored Division. The building was a two story brick wall structure with no windows. Parked up against the rear wall of the compound were a half dozen red and black painted armored trucks covered in a thin layer of dust from the elements of time. He saw only a couple of heavy steel plated doorways and a single garage door and for a moment thought perhaps somebody was barricaded inside. He walked around the building, tried the plated doors and they were locked shut. Moving around back though, he saw another garage door that was partially open enough that a person could slide under it. No one would leave a place like this unguarded. He approached it with apprehension then knelt down and removed his backpack. Rummaging through it until he found the box of 9mm shells. He was down to his last twelve rounds and he hoped there was no zombies inside.

If he didn’t find another gun, preferably a shotgun, he was going to have to resort to some kind of hand held weapon like an axe or a shovel with sharpened edges. That meant also he was facing close contact fighting with zombies which he dreaded. He took his MP3 player and saw the screen flashing indicating the batteries were low. He had found an old generator a few days before and had managed to recharge it that way but who knew how long before he could listen to the disco beats again. Prior to that it had been several months. Mumbling, he wrapped up the ear phone cords and stuffed it in the back pack. It was just as well. If he had been paying attention at the strip club, he would have heard the zombies coming. He loaded the final rounds, slapped it into the Sterling then looked under the door, watching to see if there was any movement. He could see the large wheels from a couple of armored trucks parked inside then he slid under the garage door then quickly gathered his feet under him, holding the Sterling at the ready.

“Hello?” His voice echoed in the large garage and he waited for a moment waiting for any kind of human response. Nothing answered back. He slowly slid the safety switch forward on the Sterling. If there was no human response then he had to assume the worst. There would have to be zombies here but there again, with just him calling out, any zombies in the building would have come running by now. Small beads of sweat formed on his forehead which he wiped away with the shoulder part of his shirt. The buildings interior was like an oven. The heat was almost intolerable and he had second thoughts about looking around for anything. Pausing, he flipped on the mini mag light mounted to the Sterling and the light poked a bright hole into the darkness. Within the large loading garage, were two armored trucks with the rear doors open. Off to his left were several rooms with sliding doors standing open and empty. Cautiously, he went through one of the small rooms and climbed over a counter then searched the various open vaults. The main vault contained a large table and some racks where large stacks of currency and boxed coins were stored. He shrugged his shoulders. There would be no use for any of it these days.

The smell of old decay caught his attention and he lifted the barrel of the Sterling. There was an enclosed office, off to the right, sealed off with the exception of a single door. There was also a large window pane and he peered in. There inside was a corpse sitting in a chair facing away from him. He moved around to the door and tested the handle and found it already ajar. With his boot tip he nudged it open and poked the barrel of the sub gun inside.

The stench made his stomach boil and he struggled to control his gag reflex. There sitting in the chair, was the rotting remains of a corpse in a uniform. Jackson took his shirt tail and covered his mouth and stepped forward slowly to see if the corpse was actually dead. There had been more than a few times in which a corpse he had thought was dead, had leapt up from it’s slumber and attacked. In this case though it appeared the corpse was a dead old man with a large hole in the side of his head. Taking the tip of his boot he turned the corpse to face him A 9mm handgun clattered to the floor. The old guard had probably died by his own hand at the very onset of the viral outbreak. He picked up the pistol, tucked it in the waistband of his trousers then continued on with his search and found nothing living, or dead, wandering around or hiding in the darker spaces of the building. He had lucked out so far. He could hole up here for awhile until he decided on his next move.

He returned to the corpse. He chose not to take any chances and found a large bundle of plastic sheets in a janitors closet in one of the adjoining rooms and tipped the chair containing the corpse over onto it. He then dragged the plastic outside near the wall. He hated the idea of it but there was nothing else he could do for the old guard. The entire compound grounds were paved in asphalt. That left only one option. He climbed on top of one armored truck parked near the wall, dragging the corpse with him, then rolled it over the top to where it fell with a heavy thump on the other side. He promised when the epidemic was over he would see to it the old man’s body would be buried properly. He then said a prayer that the man’s soul would rest easy now that he had passed away the horrors of the new world and that God would take him in regardless of the man’s beliefs. Afterwards, he looked around the outside of the vault building and decided to investigate the mechanics shop in the corner of the lot.

In the adjoining outbuilding he found that it was an old garage that had one armored car parked inside with the hood open. A mechanics tool box sat nearby with several drawers sitting open indicating the former owner must have left in a hurry. In the old days before the epidemic, he had gone to school to learn the trade of being a diesel mechanic. He had worked at a couple of truck stop shops and applied that trade on the various types of tractor and trailers that hauled freight from one end of the country to the other. He hated the work for the most part but it had put food on the table. He would be able to get the trucks running and make some material gathering excursions beyond the realm of the industrial area. Next to the shop was a single stand alone fuel dispensing station. He found the gauge that read the amount of fuel in the in ground tank and it read nearly full. This was not unusual in that in the final days of humanity, most business’ purchased large quantities of fuel to keep their operations running. In the end though, the zombies won the main part of the war and everyone abandoned everything and left the stores of fuel. In the far corner of the room he saw a large industrial Cummins generator motor perched in a steel cradle bolted to the concrete floor. He quickly examined the generator set, saw the fuel tank was at three quarters full and his jaw dropped open. A generator! For months he had suffered from an inability to take a hot shower, eat cooked food or just to have the security of having a light on in the middle of the night. If it started then he could at least have some light and cook for a change. He found the control panel, flipped the switch over to ‘on’ and engaged the starter button. The generator turned over, slow at first because of the low charge in the battery then quickly fired over after several revolutions. His eyes widened in disbelief as the garage lights flickered to life. It was the first time in a long time he had felt this jubilant about anything.

He spent the following hours, in the fully lit, air conditioned office vault building searching out the rooms. With the generator running, he was able to flip a light switch on in each room and search more cautiously with his Sterling SMG. On the second floor was where the main office area was located and he found some food in the adjoining kitchenette. He found a case of potato chips and a vending machine that had a few packages of burritos and a coke machine but there was not enough to sustain for a prolonged siege. There was also a restroom with a small shower stall and the bonus to this was that the compound had it’s own water well. For the first time in a long time he was looking forward to taking a hot shower. It was a oasis within a dead city. In another room he found it stockpiled with uniforms, bullet proof vests and a vault that had been left ajar. Inspecting that further he found that it held a stockpile of automatic pistols and shotguns, several hundred boxes of 9mm and shotgun ammunition. He whistled through his teeth and realized life was going to get better even if there was a large pack of zombies wandering around outside the walled compound. He retrieved his backpack and fumbled through it for the cigarettes he had found earlier and opened it. Placing one of the cigarettes between his smiling lips, he lit up and inhaled deep of the smoke then thought on what needed to be done. He was going to have to venture out and get food, water and some entertainment. Having nothing to do or eat would, after some time, wear thin and he would retreat further into himself. For the night though, he would feast on the packaged burritos, sodas and potato chips. He took up his backpack and went straight for the shower room, stripped and for the first time in eighteen months, felt the luxury of a hot shower.

The next morning saw a blazing bright sun rise over the Sandia Mountains in the East. Jackson stepped outside, stretched and yawned before placing a cigarette between his lips. He lit up then sucked deep of the acrid smoke and contemplated the day ahead. After he refilled the generator tanks, he would take an armored truck and venture to outside the industrial area. If he was fortunate, he would find food, bottled water and things that would help pass the time until the zombie epidemic past. He saw the armored trucks parked inside the bay loading area and the idea came to him. He slid behind the steering wheel and found the keys dangling from the ignition. The truck started up after a few slow cranks then he backed out of the loading garage after opening the door. He then spent a few moments driving around outside to get the feel of how the armored truck would handle before opening the main gate. It had been sometime since he had driven anything and was amazed at how his driving skills had deteriorated. Mounted on the dash were a couple of switches for opening the compound gates to the outside world and also to open and close the garage doors to the main building. He opened the main gate then pulled the armored truck out onto the street then checked to make sure the gates automatically closed behind him. A small crowd of zombies appeared at the end of the street aroused to life at the sound of the International diesel motor. He mashed the accelerator pedal to the floor. The diesel engine roared and the heavy armored truck lunged forward. The group also charged forward but the armored truck’s heavy steel brush guard caught several of the undead while others in the group fell and were ground under the wheels. The wind shield exploded in a blinding mist of dark blood and chunks of brain and flesh. He remedied the problem by turning on the windshield washers and wipers.

Life had finally dealt him a fair hand and he intended to keep it that way.

He rarely had to venture out from the compound. It had taken several weeks to gather up materials due to most of the supermarkets and other stores having already been looted or burned. Although his quest had taken him from one end of town to the other and he loaded the armored truck up as much as he could with each excursion. He had everything he would ever need. When he did venture out it was for some trivial matter or chasing some thought of a thing that had entered his mind. During these moments he would venture out with an armored truck and go searching for survivors or other things that might have use for him to survive. He had used the armored trucks as a portable siege weapon and had ran over countless zombies through out the city. The armored trucks had numerous gun ports so it was easy enough to poke a gun out and blast a zombie or two.

On one excursion into the City of Rio Rancho, adjacent to Albuquerque, he was driving through a side road and spotted something that looked unnatural to the new world of the dead. He jammed on the brakes, threw the armored truck into reverse and slammed on the brakes again to looked down one of the neighbor hood streets. There were two men, walking down the street towards him but had rifles slung on their shoulders. They saw the armored truck backing up and ran for cover. Jackson could not believe that he was seeing two living human beings. He jumped out and ran around the front of the truck. “Hey!”

The two men could be seen moving away from him across a lawn with trash blowing across it. He called again but the two men kept running.

He held his hands up. “Hey! You ever seen a zombie driving an armored truck?”

One of the men looked back then hid behind a tree. “Go on!”

He shook his head. “What? We’re on the same team! We‘re the living!”

“Fuck if we are. Now get to going before the dead come on back around here. You’re yelling like a bitch will bring ’em all here fuck head!”

He still could not believe that these two men wanted nothing to do with him. He took a step forward and the men took off running further down the street. He thought about chasing them down with the truck but the street was too cluttered with downed trees and cars. What would be the point anyway? “It’s because I’m black right?” He yelled. “You got to be kidding me! You dumb mother fuckers! Go on and get eaten then bitches!” He stormed back to the armored truck, slid behind the wheel and drove off. He had hoped for a better ending. He had wanted to find someone to talk with but in this new world old prejudices seemed to die hard.

The following week he had drove to some upscale neighborhood in Albuquerque, scouting and looking for any possible survivors when he saw an American flag blowing in the breeze in front of one house. There was nothing uncommon with that. In the final days of humanity, everyone flew the American flag but here he felt something was here he might be able to use. The street was a tangled mess of barricades, dried, crusty bodies and burned houses. He surmised that the neighborhood had banded together for a last stand against a horde of zombies and had failed. He hopped over the barricades, carefully holding his Sterling at the ready in case there were zombies still in the area. He came closer to the house and stopped at the end of the driveway and saw an old German World War Two era MG-42 that had been set up in a garage on a tripod pointing downward. He knew exactly what it was as he had always watched cable in the evenings and preferred the History or Military channels. There were countless documentaries dealing with the Germans using this gun to great effect against allied forces during World War Two. A few dozen dead zombies had found out this fact first hand and were laying outside in the driveway and front lawn. Spent shell casings by the hundreds surrounded the old machine gun and told a story of the frantic outcome of the battle. Old dried blood was smeared on the concrete garage floors leading away from the residence and he knew that the guns former owner had been overwhelmed.  He looked around further and also found an old World War Two German Mauser sniper bolt action rifle that had also seen its share of the battle. This he could use to some advantage. The zombies that occasionally swarmed the outside walls of his compound were becoming a nuisance and this rifle could very well be utilized to cut the number of zombies down. Looking cautiously deeper inside the home, he found the family or at least what was left of them. Again, like so many other times before, there would be no survivors. He loaded up the MG-42 and also the few thousand rounds of 8mm Mauser ammunition still packed in ammo cans and loaded them up in the armored truck.

He had gone to some of the book stores and libraries around Albuquerque and pilfered enough reading and video material to keep him busy. He carefully steered away from the porn stores. Not only were these too close to the downtown area, some were too heavily packed with zombies. Also there was no point in watching those films anyway and having to deal with a raging hard-on and no female to help in matters. He had, before the viral outbreak, been into watching action films that were top heavy in guns and testosterone; but now he had had a belly full of that stuff since having to live daily with more guns, guts and zombie action than he cared to admit. The musicals though had caught his attention. Titles like Joseph and the Techni-colored Dream Coat, Miss Saigon or the Sound of Music took him far and away from his current troubles. There were other times though he would target practice from the roof top of the vault building and considered it much needed exercise in survival. If he let down his gun skills completely, there would come a day that he would come to regret that so he made the effort to practice on the zombies that milled around outside the walled complex.

“Aw…” He took another pull from the bottle of Crown Royal before settling back behind the scope of the sniper rifle. “…there you are.” He settled the cross hairs on his zombie victim, one which he had been searching for some time. He had found several cases of Crown Royal and some wine and had decided it had been awhile since he had tied one on. He also decided to practice a little with the Mauser sniper rifle even if he was a little drunk. A large CD stereo player he had bought up to the rooftop with him, played a disco beat from the speakers and he settled into his groove. The Hensoldt scope mounted on the Mauser bought her head into sharp focus and he studied her. Her face was thin, gaunt and he pictured what she must’ve looked like before. The crosshairs moved up and down in rhythm with his breathing. She had been the zombie stripper that had chased him here and it looked like one of her breast implants had fallen out finally. Perhaps he should be grateful and spare the bullet but then again how many people or animals had she killed and ate?

He took up the trigger slack and exhaled. Then again perhaps not. There could not be any possible way the bitch would spare him if the tables were reversed. No zombie would for that matter. The rifle bucked and the gunshot echoed within the compound. The bullet hit the stripper in the forehead, sending a geyser of dark clotted blood, brains and gristle out the back of her head. Her lifeless eyes blinked once, the milky orbs darkening as they filed with blood before she collapsed into a twitching heap. Laughing, he stood up. “Got you bitch!”

The speakers began thumping “Born to be Alive” and he felt the sudden urge to just kill a few more zombies. Life was good and the alcoholic fumes clouded his mind. He picked up the MG-42 and feed a belt of a couple hundred rounds into the chambers, stood up on the ledge and aiming from the hip, let off a long burst. The MG-42 bucked and shook, the reports echoed throughout the compound and the surrounding buildings and spent brass spilled over the ledge. He felt like Rambo kicking ass and fucking bitches. The zombies milled around even though the bullets were ripping and slamming into them. Shot after shot flew into the small horde outside the wall and an occasional burst of red mist exploded through the air indicating head shots. When the belt ran empty, he laughed, held the MG up with one arm above his head. He had eradicated quite a few within a matter of seconds. Yes indeed he was born to be alive.

The morning came as it always did. Jackson rolled over and drew the blanket closer to his face. He moaned and rolled over again and stared at the clock on the wall. Noon. He had slept in until noon. With a throbbing head, he swung his legs over the cot’s edge and sank his face into his hands. He craved a smoke and leaned over and grabbed the pack from the crate of toilet paper he used as bedside table and lit one up. So far he had stayed king of the compound for several months now and felt some twinge of anxiety in not having seen or heard from another human being. When the virus had taken hold of the majority of the population, he had been one of those who chose to stay behind and take his chances in the hopes that the government would come through at the last minute. Military and police officials urged the population to leave the city under escort to the northern city of Santa Fe then on towards Colorado Springs where an even large military presence had a hold. He had joined a small band of other men and women but slowly over the passed year and a half they had fell of to venture out on their own or had died as a result of the zombie virus or to be food for them. He eventually found himself alone finally and had not seen another human being in the last eight months so far. Exhaling sharply, he stood up, mashed the cigarette butt into an ashtray and went for a bottle of water. The MG-42 sat on the table across the room and he cursed softly. It was a waste of ammunition to just blast away so indiscriminately. He had burned through two hundred rounds of the precious ammunition and that was ammo that couldn’t be easily replaced. It was going to be bad enough to have to clean the damned gun also.

He stood up and walked outside to piss. Once outside he heard the snapping moans of the zombies outside the cinder block walls and was thankful to be here. He plugged off one nose nostril and blew a chunk of snot to the ground. He then banged on the wall and yelled out. “Hey, shut the fuck up over there. Can’t a guy piss in peace? Keep that shit down!” All this did was aggravate the zombies on the other side of the wall. The small throng clawed and hammered on the wall from the other side. While pissing into the far corner he looked up and saw the large antenna mounted to the top of the building waving in the breeze. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. He had seen the radio set in the office where he had found the dead guard and thought on it. He had been wanting to get on the radio set for sometime but it had always fell to the back burner of things to do. Most of the time he worked on the armored trucks or the gen-set and the fuel station area making sure everything was in top order. Today though he would lay off the booze, drink some water and maybe sit down and scan through the channels. It was possible that the military might be close by. He finished, went back inside the garage and rummaged through some boxes and found a bottle of water before going to the control room.

There were rumors some nine months ago about the military regaining cities lost to the zombie hordes when the virus first took hold. If there were any truth to the rumors he had hear then perhaps maybe the forces were close by. It was also possible he might hear from other survivors.  Walking into the control room, he reached over and turned on the radio set and listened for a few minutes working the dial as he went. The smell of decay from the old guard had dissipated somewhat and was at least tolerable. He took another pull from the water bottle and continued listening to the sound of static.

Being unfamiliar with the radio made it frustrating. There were switches for different meters and bands and it took some time to get use to where he was at frequency wise. After an hour of constant twisting, he was about to give up then the sound of distant voice’s suddenly blared from the speaker. He had to turn the dial back to the opposite direction. Voices! My god human voices! He stood up suddenly and stepped back, tilting his head before calming himself. He sat back down and placed a heavy hand across his mouth, leaning forward to fine tune the dial.

Military. It had to be a military operation of some kind.

A woman’s voice echoed through the static. “Jake? Is it clear up there?”

“It‘s clear so far. I ain’t got nothing. Got zombies lined up the ass on the north side though.”

The woman’s voice came back. “Don’t stay up there wasting ammo. Where‘s Bernie?”

“Umm, don’t see him or the team Jane.”

Another man had keyed his mike. The sound of his voice sounded desperate and out of breath. “South side’s falling apart. Zombies breaking through! The doors did not close fast enough and some have wedged the door open!” The sound of machine gun fire ripped through the airwaves before the mike keyed off.

Another woman keyed up. “We’re on our way Tac! Continue to hold!”

The words were spoken quickly and full automatic gunfire etched the back ground. “We’ve fallen back to the escalators! Tell Doc to fire up that mini gun!”

Jackson was assuming that this Doc guy was somewhere close by. The woman Jane was perhaps instructing him on what to do and after a long pause keyed her mike. “Tac! Get to the top of the escalators and head to B wing. Doc will be there but move fast! Yolanda head to B-wing and cover.”

“Already there and set. Get those damn secondary doors closed! We got like fifty of them bastards inside the perimeter!”

“Working on it!”

Another voice erupted through the airwaves. The man sounded like he was running outside and firing his weapon at the same time. “Abort break out! I say again! Abort!”

Jane came back over the airwaves. “Bernie! Where are you!”

“Headed back to the front doors! Ran into a wall of zombies like two hundred strong or better! No way through and the mother fuckers are chomping our ass‘ hard!”

Outside? It sounded like these people were attempting a break out and it was falling apart quickly. Jackson leaned back and lit a smoke. Even if he was to load up an armored truck with firepower and drive to the scene, the mini battle would be long over with. At this point there would be no point in even trying. It would be best to play it safe and stay off the roads.

“Jake! Can you lay down some suppressing fire with the M203? If we can blow a path free of those bastards we might be able to get the team back here inside!”

“I can but it’s going to be tough! Bernie! Get to running when I start popping!”

“Get to it! We’re down to just me and Mac!”

The airwaves stayed silent for a moment. The man known as Tac came back sounding breathless. “Got the doors closed and beginning clean up of the zombies.”

“Yolanda?”

No answer then Tac came back. “She and Nelson set up a perimeter but it got over ran. They’re gone.”

The man named Jake came back on the air. “Jane…Bernie didn’t make it either. A fucking wall of zombies got to ‘em just as I was lobbing in the explosives.”

“So that’s…four of us left?”

No one answered.

Jackson took another swallow of water. Should he even say anything? All his life he had played it straight and stayed low to avoid trouble but these were different times. These days even the most solitude of people had to rely on total strangers. He keyed the mike. “…Umm hello?” He winced. Just what the hell was he doing? Why should he bother? There was nothing he could do and to leave the safety of the armored vault was almost unthinkable. He tossed the mike on the table like it had scalded him.

The radio cackled and the woman’s voice came over the speakers. Jackson paused mid-step unsure he was doing the right thing. “Hello? Anyone else out there on this frequency…come back?”

He leaned over to the radio set and slowly picked up the mike. Should he even answer the call? If he was smart, he would just shut the thing off right now. He had a standing rule to help no one, not even if they were in trouble. To risk his neck was unthinkable but the time alone had taken a toll on his mental health.

He keyed the microphone. “Hello?” He answered back through gritted teeth.

The woman’s voice came back to him sounding as surprised as he was. “Hello? My God a voice..!”

He didn’t respond then after several minutes her voice came back over the speakers and he wondered what she would look like. “Hello? My name is Jane Masters…” He wondered just what in hell was he going to do. “…we are trapped in the down town area of Albuquerque and we need help.”

Oh hell no! Downtown? He knew the downtown area was packed with zombies. In the opening days on the viral outbreak the military had tried to regain control of the downtown area and had come up on the losing end of that engagement. He had done his best to avoid the area. There were hundreds, if not thousands of zombies wandering the streets and open buildings. “Where at? I got my own problems here.” He was careful not to mention his exact location. If somehow the people on the other end were to actually do a break out and succeed, they would come to where he was at and possibly kick him out of the vault.

“At the Lovelace hospital in the downtown area.”

He knew where they were at. The hospital was a fairly large complex some eight stories tall with smaller winged buildings attached. As long as they had taken precautions they might survive but they would have to do a breakout and then their chances of survival out in the open downtown area were slim at best. “How many of you there? I heard the military was coming in. You guys military?”

“No, we’re not but have several guys…“ another long pause. “…well…had. We got a couple left who were. We got nothing here but zombies. We tried a break out but…” The words fell off into silence and for a moment Jackson thought Jane had un-keyed her mike. “…lost six guys in the process and got pushed back here again. We’ve been here for several weeks now. Water and food from the cafeteria being rationed out. Can you help?”

He remained silent for a long moment. He lit a cigarette to help calm his nerves. To help would be suicide and there was the possibility this was a trap of some kind. “No, I’m stuck where I’m at.” Best to play it safe.

“You don’t sound to convincing. We are in need of help and need to get out of here. We can hold out for several more days and then that’s it. We are barely holding them off from breaking through the first floor.”

He took another long drag on the cigarette and leaned over the table. “Sorry to hear that but like I said, I got my own set of problems here.”

“Your problems? We got thousands of problems.”

“Look, let me think on it. What the fuck you doing down there anyway?”

“We were looking for weapons. We heard the military had tried to retake this area and left behind tons of equipment.” Another pause then she continued this time with a sense of urgency in her voice. “While you’re thinking, remember there are four people…four living human beings who need your help.”

“Tomorrow. I’ll have an answer tomorrow. Same time here on the radio dial.” Thinking on it would do no good for them, he thought. Who in their right mind go downtown? What the fuck were they thinking? That this zombie epidemic was some chance for a vacation sight seeing tour?

“Tomorrow is not good enough. We need the answer now. This is just as hard for us to trust you as it is for you to trust us. You don’t know us from Adam but we are people in need of help like right now. Tomorrow we could all be dead.”

He was breaking his own rule but she did have a valid point. What if this was the last time he would ever hear from another human being? What if he never spoke to another woman ever again? What if the tables were turned? What if he was the one trapped and needed help? Too many questions and never enough answers. The final thought was it was just the right thing to do or at least that’s what he kept telling himself.  “Okay…I can try and punch through somehow.”

“How do you plan on accomplishing that?”

“I got an armored truck I’ll be in with some firepower.”

“Armored? Like a military vehicle?”

“No armored truck as in ‘delivering the money’ kind of truck.”

The airwaves were silent for a long moment and Jackson was beginning to doubt he should even try. “It will work but that’s a top heavy vehicle.”

“Short and low though. I can make it in and out. I’ve been in tighter situations.” But nothing like being downtown. He told himself.

“Doc says you’re right but you need to come around to the west side of the complex to the loading docks. We can get you in and shut the doors quickly. We will give fire support from there while you get inside.”

He thought on that. It was bad enough to have to drive directly to the hospital and into the dock area but what other options were there? If he parked at a safe distance and had the five people run to meet him then that was a suicide run for them and also unthinkable. Even if he was laying down suppressing fire that plan would just cost five people’s lives. No it would be better to go to the loading dock, go in and load up the people then shag ass back to the main road. It was the only plan that came to mind. “All right…it sounds like a reasonable plan. Can’t have you crackers running out of the hospital in broad daylight with a horde of zombies on your ass’. I’ll go to the west end and you guys better be ready. Once this game starts we ain’t playing Forrest Gump with this shit.”

“We’ll be ready just you be there. I’m thinking noon as most of the zombies seem to retreat further into downtown for some reason but once the commotion starts it’ll be like a tsunami wave of zombies hitting us.”

That was reassuring. The very idea that he might not make it began to cloud over in his mind. “Okay…noon…high noon then.”

“Another thing Jackson…” her voice dropped off again. “…you’re a saint and I mean that.”

He just hoped and prayed that this was not going to end with him losing everything including his life. He would take the larger armored truck in and take along the MG-42 and the Sterling as a just in case. “I’ll contact you around noon…be ready.” He leaned over, switched the radio set off then lit another cigarette lost in his thoughts wondering what he had gotten himself into and what the next day would bring.

*                                 *                                 *

Jackson stood on the freeway overpass, looking through his binoculars at the scene surrounding the old hospital. There were hundreds of zombies milling around the vast parking lot and a thicker crowd had gathered at the base of the building. Going in was going to be rough but there was another entrance Jane had pointed out on the west end of the complex which he couldn’t see from this angle. He took the walkie talkie from his belt and called out for Jane several times.

After a few minutes her voice drifted across the airways. “Jane here.”

“About damn time, I was contemplating leaving.”

“Making preparations and getting the stuff lined up to take with us. Also we’re in position but I warn you once the fireworks start it’ll be a bloody mess.”

“Yeah no shit. You ready then?”

“As much as we’ll ever be.”

“I’m on my way.” He hooked the mike back on the duty belt, readjusted the bullet proof vest to feel some what more comfortable then slid behind the wheel of the armored truck. He saw his MP3 player sitting in the cup holder and grabbed it then tucked it in one of the vest pockets. There was no point in leaving it behind if he had to bail out.

Jackson placed the truck in gear and rolled forward down the off ramp. The bottom of the ramp was a clutter of cars, long abandoned from since the first outbreak. He placed the truck in low gear and pushed through the mass of a dozen cars before making a right turn onto the main street that was void of cars but plentiful with an ocean of zombies.

Jackson inhaled sharply when the horde of zombies saw him. He quickly floored the accelerator pedal and rammed into the throng of zombies. Soft bodies flew back or were caught under the wheels. The snarling zombies clawed the truck on the drivers door and he jammed the barrel of the Sterling through the gun port and let loose a long burst. Heads exploded in a mist and bullets ripped into their rotted torsos. He kept his foot on the pedal and saw the truck was having trouble trying to push its way through the massive horde of zombies that had gathered in front of him.

He slammed it into reverse and drove backwards for several hundred yards then slammed back into first gear and floored the peddle. He had gained enough speed and momentum to blast through the zombies. He looked in his rear view mirror just as the rear of the truck lifted up and saw the rear tandems roll over the head of a zombie. It’s head exploded outward like a mini volcano and the rear bounced back to the asphalt. Up ahead to his right was the driveway to the west end of the complex and he grabbed a gear and shot down it with zombies running after him. Up ahead a chain link gate appeared around the short bend.

The gate opened and several men appeared. One large over muscular black man knelt down and let loose a long volley from an M249 while an Oriental man tossed a grenade off to the far right. The explosion ripped through the horde sending a geyser of limbs, heads and headless torsos flying through the air. The white man in the group rolled up a contraption on a platform with a multi-barreled weapon mounted on it and cut loose. Jackson rolled forward and opened the door and leaned out to yell out to the black man. “Where the hell’s the dock?”

“About fucking time! Get on down the ramp and inside! We’ll cover you!”

He slammed the door shut and moved off towards the dock. In his mirrors he could see that the men were having trouble trying to close the gate. Zombies by the hundreds pressed against each other and the gate. He saw the black man yell and start to run with the white dude following close behind. The Oriental guy was running in reverse, firing his M4 as he went. The gates opened and the flood poured in just as he tripped and fell then was up and limping. He had made it inside the parking garage just as the white dude and the soul brother had ran inside behind him. The Oriental was hobbled and saw his life being torn away from him.

“Oh shit!” He had not made it this far to lose any one if it could be avoided.

The white dude pointed out to the man known as Jake. “Jake, get down with some covering fire. We can’t lose Tac!”

Jackson jumped out of the armored truck. “Hold that fucking door!” Then dashed outside holding his Sterling at the ready. Tac was running as best as he could, limping and hopping but the zombie horde was quickly catching up to him. High up to his right on top of a small grassy knoll with sparse shrubs, hundreds more zombies slammed against a chain link fence. It was only a matter of time before the whole fence line was trampled down and they invaded the loading dock.

Tac tripped and fell then rolled over just as a zombie reached for him. Jackson ran forward with the Sterling blazing blowing the zombie backward to land flat on it‘s back. The gun emptied the magazine and he quickly changed it out for a fresh one. Tac sprang up, rolling to his feet and ran past him. Jackson leveled the Sterling and downed several more just as the gun ran empty again. He paused to reload just as a burly zombie in a tattered business suit rushed through a gap in the chain link fence above and jumped down to the pavement.

The zombie had the looks of having been a successful business man or some political leader. He ran across the driveway and caught Jackson by surprise when it swiped out at him. He felt a deep burn across his shoulder and arm. “You mother fucker!” He unloaded the Sterling into the zombie allowing the weapon to start low catching the undead being first in the groin then upwards across the torso. The hollow point bullets blew chunks of raw and rotten meat out into the air and the final rounds blew apart it’s head in a mist of pulpy gore.

Tac grabbed hold of Jackson’s shirt sleeve and pulled hard. The zombies had broken through the fence on the embankment above and were cascading down across the thin patch of grass and shrubs to fall the ten feet or so to the concrete dock work. It reminded Jackson of a waterfall that had been turned on but in this case it was zombies flowing like water through a broken dike. The other horde at the end of the driveway pushed the gates wide open and were rushing in.

Jake and Doc were just inside the doorway and let loose another volley from their rifles. A woman with long blonde hair, whom Jackson assumed was Jane, appeared and held out an A12 shotgun and cut loose with a burst of buckshot. The horde rippled under the effects, faltered then came surging forward just as Tac and Jackson ran under the closing door.

The sound of the zombies slamming into the metal door echoed throughout the loading dock area and Jackson knelt over and grabbed his knees, breathing hard. Again he had managed to evade certain death. He looked over at Tac who sat down on a wooden crate. He nodded. “Hey thanks. I thought I was going to be the main course there for a moment.”

“Main course? More like an hors-d’oevres. You ain’t got that much meat to you.”

Jane walked up and placed a hand on his shoulder  “You’re…” She let her voice trail off.

“Black? Used to get that a lot in the old days.”

She pointed to his arm. “No, your arm, you’re bleeding.”

He looked at the cut. After all the precautions he had taken to not get cut or hurt, all the survival skills he had honed to a fine edge and now he had finally succumbed to his worst fears. He stood dumbfounded and the others backed away slowly.

Doc pushed his glass’ up the bridge of his nose, grabbed Jackson’s arm and looked. “Infected!” he whispered then stepped back.

“Bullshit!…after all that shit…” Jackson wobbled on his feet then fell to his knees. He knew he had been cut by the zombie but thought it was superficial but with the adrenaline flowing at the time, he had no real idea on how bad it actually was. “How…?”

“How long before the conversion?” Doc finished the question then pulled the Beretta 9mm from his holster. “It depends. I’ve seen as little as two hours to as long as forty-eight hours. From the infection field surrounding the cut area, I would venture a guess of eight hours.”

Eight hours! The thought slammed into him. The idea that he would become one of the living dead was beyond belief. He felt fine other than the itchy feeling from where the zombie had clawed him but inside the infection was growing rapidly and in its beginning stages of destroying the immunity system then the white blood cells. He shook his head. I should’ve played it better, done it different and not even been here to begin with.

“Is there anything we can do?” Jane yelled at Doc.

Doc sighed. “If the cut was on his forearm, I’d say amputate but this is higher up in the shoulder region. I’m afraid there is nothing we can do.”

Jackson pulled his canteen and drank deep of the water thinking this was going to be some of the last things he would have a chance to enjoy. He laughed to himself then pulled a cigarette between trembling fingers, lit it and allowed the smoke bit deep inside his lungs. Yes he should have said no to all of this. The others in the group had clustered together, discussing their options and what needed to be done.

“What we gonna do about him?” Jake pointed a thick finger at Jackson.

Jackson looked up. All eyes were upon him. “What the fuck about me?”

“We sure as hell ain’t takin him along.”

Jane looked at Jake. “We can’t just leave him here either. He risked his life to get here.”

“How ’bout we just bust a cap in his ass and be done with sentiments?”

Jackson lifted up the Sterling and flipped the safety off. “Hey fuck you asshole. If you want a piece of this you just come right the fuck on.” The barrel wavered at the small group like a third eye. “I’ll blow the shit outa all you and we all go down Hell‘s Highway together.”

“Now hold on there…” Doc held up his hand.

“No you hold on! I risked my ass getting here to help you guys out and look what the hell it got me! Now you want to kill me like it’s a mercy thing?”

“You know what will happen then if you come along. We take you then you turn into one of those zombies out there then you turn on us.” Jake turned to the others. “You see that right?”

Jane looked down. “I’m sure we all do but this is insane. We can’t just leave him here or shoot him. What would that make us? Better people?”

“I’ll make it easy then, I’ll stay. I’m infected anyway but I‘m doing this my way.” Jackson could feel something was wrong within him and he was coming to terms with his final demise. He didn’t know if it was the thought of the virus coursing through his veins that was making him sick or the fact he had left his sanctuary to help these people and he would never be able to return to it.

“What’s the point of that? We can end it for you now?”

“None of your god damn business. It’s my way or you’re not getting the location of the vault or the codes to get in.”

Doc pushed his glass’ further up his nose with a long finger. “Well I think he is right. I say let him have it his way. There is no point in taking him with us and having to deal with this later.”

Jake waved a hand in front of him. “What the hell you going to do?”

Jackson exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke. “Take as many to hell as I can before checking out myself.”

Tac shrugged his shoulders. “I say let him have his way. I’d want it that way.” He looked over at Jake and nodded. “I know as sure as hell you would too.”

Jackson and Jake locked eyes. “What you say man?”

Jake snorted. “I guess, if that’s the way you want it. It ain‘t no sweat off my balls.”

Doc stepped forward. “I wish circumstances were different. All I can say is thank you.” He nodded to the others. “Let’s get loaded up.” The men began stacking crates of weapons and ammunition by the rear doors.

Jane stepped forward and removing a necklace, she reached up behind his head and clipped it in place. “It’s something for you. I know it’s no consolation but you have given up so much to help us.” She leaned over and hugged him and Jackson closed his eyes breathing deep of her faint aroma of perfume.

“When you get back to the vault, down off Industrial Avenue, just hit the switch mounted on the dash. It’ll open the gate. Hit the other blue button and it’ll open the garage door.” Then as an after thought. “Inside is a case of some high dollar perfume I took from one of my excursions. Hell if I know what use I had for it but I think you can use it more than I can. The rest of the things you guys can figure out.”

Tac opened the rear doors to the armored truck and saw the MG-42 and whistled. “That’s an old gun there!”

Jackson leaned over. “Leave that here.  I’m going to need that and the ammo belts too.”

Jane looked at Tac and nodded. Tac then took hold of the MG-42, admired it for a second then handed it up to Jackson. Jackson took the long gun, opened the top and feed in a fresh belt of ammo, then slapped the top down and pulled back on the charging handle. “You best get going.” He stood up on the loading dock edge. A slight fever was coming over him, the effects of the virus as it began to take over his body. He had no plans to become a zombie but in the meantime he had his plan worked out in his mind. He would have a war with the zombies. Running back deeper into the hospital killing as he retreated. Then with his final bullet…he shook off the thought but knew what he was going to do. Jane and the others loaded up what weapons they had and then themselves. She gave a thin smile as the rear doors closed. The gun ports opened and barrels of M4’s and M249s poked through readying for the onslaught.

Jackson smiled as the armored truck backed up and he waved a final farewell. The garage door clicked open and began it’s trek upwards and he could see the feet of zombies packed against it. He checked the Sterling, making sure it was loaded and ready then slung it over his shoulder. He stuffed the ear phones into his ears and held up his MP3 player and cycled through the menu and found a song he liked. Michael Jackson’s voice streamed out ’Don’t Stop till You Get Enough’. He smiled wondering just where that Disco era went. At least Michael held on to the disco beat throughout most of his career and the dude could dance too even if he was a bit odd there later in life. The armored truck sped through the bunched mass of zombies, some clawed at the side panels, others fell to be crushed under it’s wheels and with a quick turn had disappeared from view up the curved driveway. He wished them well. The zombie horde saw the lone figure standing on the loading dock and the wave of undead flesh surged forward. He exhaled sharply, lifted the MG-42 up to waist height and pulled back on the trigger.

fin

—–

John L. Thompson currently lives in New Mexico. When he is not working the daily grind, he is found writing short stories, poetry and reworking novel scripts. His work can be found in publications such as Shotgun Honey, Yellow Mama and Rune Wright’s Best Served Cold Anthology to name a few.