Suicidal Creatures Littering Times Square

With hesitation, the other zombies knelt down to devour the fallen New York defenders. They gorged, Green and Angela among them, the irony, salty tasting of blood sliding down their throats like butter, the weariness melting away. They claimed the weapons that the militia had dropped and stripped the bones naked.

"We must protect ourselves from individuals such as these," Tobey stated. "Everyone, pick up a gun."

But we'll run out of people. "There are a lot of people to feed," Angela said.

"No." "Almost questioning myself," Tobey said. "Humans are still alive, but not in New York, but in New Jersey, specifically. However, we must remain united. We require flesh and blood, and people despise us. We must be unified.

A zombie joyfully said, "124th Street militia!" as it lifted a deceased person's heart and squeezed a stream of blood out of it.

"Keep shooting!" Gordy yelled above the din of reverberating gunfire.

With his finger hesitantly touching the trigger of the M-16, Pressley responded, "But they're so human."

"Aid us!"

A fireteam of GIs guarding the MusicTV headquarters was in danger of being overrun by a huge wave of zombies. They used battle knives and rifle butts to fight after their ammunition ran out. In addition to the mounds of suicidal monsters that were already strewn throughout Times Square, Pressley and Gordy sighted down their sights and let loose a barrage of gunfire, taking down zombies in large numbers. The soldiers had discovered that, with the exception of Variant As, who seldom bled at all, zombies oozed a dark brown substance when shot.

The Square was enveloped in an unsettling quiet. From the Army Recruiting Center under the tall wall of corporate advertisements to the southern end where Broadway turned west and 7th Avenue extended east, Bravo Company, numbering 120, was dispersed throughout the region. Under the eaves of the biggest Toys 'R' Us in the world, squads and fire teams crouched.

"Is everyone alright?" It was Captain Farrington who called. "Come in, platoon leaders!"

“Two of my guys are dying, four wounded,” Lieutenant Vargas retorted from the studio where David Letterman used to record his shows.

As he defended the southern side of Times Square, Corporal Gordy looked at the bloody body of his CO, Lieutenant Davison, who had been killed by a well-armed Variant C. Two other members of his unit were incapacitated by zombie bites and laid on their backs.

Gordy said, "Lieutenant Davison is killed." "And two of our men are infected after being bitten."

Five American troops lay dead, ripped apart by a swarm of zombies, from the MusicTV headquarters, which was once a hot spot for TRL fans fighting for camera attention. The last lieutenant declared, "Five dead, eight—no, nine—nine hurt."

"All right." With a hint of discomfort in his voice, Farrington spoke. "We're retreating to West 106th and Broadway. Take the dead and injured, but leave them where they are if they are infected.

"Grateful," Pressley whispered.

The two infected troops, Stevenson and Danielson, were propped up and stared blankly while Gordy knelt next to them. Despite surviving the bites, they had changed.

"Stevenson? Danielson? Gordy gave a call. Their half-closed eyes were focused on nothing, and they didn't raise their heads. They had never woken up; they had been claimed by Variant A.

At the recruitment office in northern Times Square, the remaining soldiers retreated to Captain Farrington. Midtown's towers rose magnificently in the sparkle of the setting sun, and New York's streets like enormous man-made canyons.

But those structures were deserted. Once home to a million and a half people, Manhattan was in ruins. Prior to the lockdown, half a million people had escaped; in Manhattan alone, 400,000 people were infected, with Brooklyn and Queens having an equivalent amount. Even worse, more than two hundred thousand people had died in Manhattan.

The four hundred thousand survivors gathered in Greenwich Village, the Upper West Side, and uptown, which were uninfected strongholds where zombies were repelled by civilian militias armed with pikes and shotguns. Once home to Broadway productions, Times Square, the Empire State Building, and Grand Central Terminal, Midtown was a desolate cemetery of lifeless bodies and soulless shells.

The city was deserted by actors and actresses. Variant Bs lurched around Grand Central, the Empire State Building stood stark and dusty in the hush, and Times Square was a massacre. Even more frightening were the expanding Variant C militias, which were well-armed, ravenous for flesh, and patrolling the metropolis.

Tobey Colins organized zombies under his leadership close to the edge of Central Park, armed them through raids on shuttered shops and armories in preparation for an attack into the uptown area. With burned-out cars and strewn dead all about, Bravo Company of the Teaneck Brigade, 51st NJ Infantry Brigade, passed the roundabout at Columbus Circle.

Katrina had claimed the lives of 1200 Americans. This was far worse. The disease, which originated in Africa, had devastated American soldiers in Iraq and quickly spread throughout the occupation. Democratic President Jack Derring of Maryland had sent additional troops in defiance of his party, but they were destroyed by the virus. There was no more fighting in Iraq; neither side could engage in combat.

Jenna Gray and other civilians were seated in front of a big military-owned plasma TV that was set to CNN at the Teaneck Armory. The nation heard Vice President Ross Effing, a former Brigadier General and hardline, rather conservative senator from Ohio, read from a script with trembling jowls.

He stated, "President Derring and I have had extensive discussions on these issues." The governors of New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut issued orders yesterday, September 17, to evacuate or quarantine the areas closest to New York City. To be honest, the city is in terrible shape. Severe action is required to—

"What is his expectation?" Beside Jenna, a man snapped and poked a finger at the screen. "After the disease, that jackass Derring sent two divisions to Iraq, so we have no soldiers left—"

Another man cut in, "Hey, stop talking, I can't hear you." The critic calmed down, and Effing continued.

The preservation of history cannot come at the expense of American lives. The Brooklyn Bridge and Spuyten Duyvil will be the targets of airstrikes, while the Lincoln and Holland Tunnels have been destroyed. If it means destroying Times Square, blowing up the George Washington Bridge, or crashing a jet into the Empire State Building, then so be it. What I—the President and I—will do to this city if necessary is nothing like what happened on September 11th.

With a grunt, Effing's detractor got up from his folding chair and strode away.

Effing went on. Here in New York City, this virus and this terrible illness come to an end. More troops are being sent in, and all entry and exit points are being blocked. Both the complete annihilation of New York and chemical weapons are being considered. This is serious, but President Derring might firebomb the city. We must use force sparingly while defending America. The issue may be resolved with an atomic bomb dropped on New York, but at what price? There will be more fatalities, but don't worry—America will overcome this obstacle.