Sweet Elixir

The gruesome scene was the worst thing she had ever seen, and she gaped. Brant lowered the lady, her wounds apparent, and a wave of nausea swept through him. Grimly, Jenna recognized that he had stood on the toilet to pour her blood into it, leaving the rim smeared with a gruesome ring.

"Please, Jenna." Brant pleaded, his face marred by blood and filled with remorse.

She forced composure into her stride as she turned and left. Despite her need to run, she took her time and left him to his destruction.

"Jenna!" When she came back, her face shocked and bewildered, Mike called. "Is Brant...?"

As she drifted back to their location by the wall, she muttered, "He killed her, Mike." "In the restroom..."

"Gosh... I ought to have known. No, not another one. Mike sighed, bloodshot eyes framing his pale face. His lips turned blue and his fingers twitched. "Jenna... I have something to tell you.

She braced herself, then recognized his deathly, haggard face.

"Not you as well?"

He wheezed, "Jenna, I'm dying." "I have never killed or consumed blood. I am unable to I won't be around for long.

However, how? Why?

"Like Brant, I need blood to survive. He has already killed someone and will do it again.

Jenna offered her arm without hesitation, rolling up her left sleeve. "Take it here. I won't allow you to die.

"Jenna, I Mike stumbled, his eyes glimmering with hunger. "Let's sit so nobody can see."

Protected by their bodies, they slumped onto the cot. In desperate need, Mike knelt down on her arm. As his teeth dug into her flesh and extracted the delicious elixir of her blood, Jenna held her breath.

"Mike, don't push yourself too far," she said.

Her blood trickling down his mouth made the act feel strangely personal. Dizziness set in; she had never lost so much in her life.

"Mike."

He retreated, getting up. Her arm was gushing blood; she wished she had planned. Mike dressed her wound and got a first aid kit.

He said, "Thank you, Jenna." "We must depart."

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Join me as we flee the armory before the siege lines close tonight.

From the restrooms came a scream. "They have located Brant!" Mike let out a grunt.

"Or he intended to be located."

He said, "Jenna, if we stay, we're both dead." "Come with me, even though I'm a zombie! We can make it—I can live on your blood! We must leave before we become stranded.

She answered resolutely, "I will." "I'll accompany you."

The American trenches became muddy quagmires as rain poured down in torrents. The only sound as Gordy and Pressley huddled in their flooded holes was the clatter of drips hitting their helmets. To the north, flat ground extended past the fog, followed by the invisible zombie lines.

"This is crazy!" Pressley cried out. "In this, we cannot fight!"

Retaining his weapon, Gordy answered, "We can here—they fought in worse at Passchendaele and Hürtgenwald."

"Men," said Major Lucas Hamm, "we're scouting the upper streets." "Get ready, Patterson, Delany, and Ignatio."

"No, we are unable to leave." Pressley went white. Hamm, Pressley, Gordy, Pattison, Delany, Ignatio, and four troops were among the ten that rallied for the mission. The unknown loomed beyond the trenches.

"No fuss, up and over," Hamm murmured. He looked at Gordy—fear was like theirs.

The 10 clambered over the muddy lip of the trench and crept into the fog-filled no-man's-land, covered by the battalion's machine guns.

"Do you see anything?" With a heavy curtain of mist, Pressley inquired.

"Be cautious and stay low," Hamm advised. A trooper turned around and edged forward.

He remarked, "There's something up there."

"Jacks, what?" Hamm pushed.

A bullet ripped through Jack's shoulder, ripped his heart, and exploded from his arm as his jaws opened. When he crumpled, Hamm said, "Fall back! Back off!

Gunfire crackled at their feet, and ominous howls of bloodlust broke forth. Two troopers trembled under a barrage of shots and arrows as Ignatio gripped his neck and was struck. “Leave!” shouted Hamm.

"Pressley! Return! Gordy yelled and scurried to safety, ducking. Bold and brazen, Pressley grabbed a grenade from his belt and threw it at the flashes on the muzzle.

Gunfire was momentarily silenced as the detonation tore through the atmosphere. Pressley ran back with Hamm and Gordy, who watched in wonder and pride.

The firing started up again. Gordy was shot in the ear, while Pressley was shot in the back.

"Pressley!" Gordy sobbed as his pal went down, leaving a trail of blood on the pavement. He knelt, lifted Pressley's slender body, held him across his chest, and stumbled in the direction of the lines.

"Gordy! Get away from him! Hamm yelled.

"Hold on!" Gordy took a sharp breath. Nearby, Milo Pattison lay with an arrow in his throat; he was still alive but rapidly deteriorating due to seizures and blood loss.

Gordy landed gently in the mud after toppling into the ditch. Pressley's exit wound was so large that his intestines spilled out. Unharmed, Hamm leaned closer.

"Well done, soldier," he said.

"John," muttered Pressley. "Don't let me pass away here. I do not wish to die.

Gordy choked, "Don't worry, Danny, just stay with me." Pressley's legs were limp and his spine was severed when the medics pushed his innards back.

"I want to see my girlfriend, my family, etc."

"Remain here, Danny—keep your eyes open."

As the medics worked, Pressley's wide eyes were focused on the overcast sky. Gordy relieved his pain by clasping his hand.

"John... Someday, I'll see you again," Pressley muttered.

"I'll see you soon, Dan," Gordy murmured, holding on tighter and choking back tears.

With a little smile, Pressley winked and added, "Thanks for everything." Daniel Pressley made peace with God at the age of twenty-one and vanished into the bloody muck of a trench.

Early on September 25, shortly before zombies sealed off all escapes, Mike and Jenna left the armory. Train tracks cut through thick forest to the Hackensack River, their sanctuary, southeast of suburban areas.

There was little mention of their departure. The army's exits were blocked at first, but now, a week later, they are losing weight as zombies encroach and launch early attacks.

"Apprehensive?" Mike inquired as he crept through empty neighborhoods carrying just a knife, a revolver, and enough food for a few days.

"Yes," Jenna said.

He said, "We can scavenge food from these empty houses."

Jenna felt the silence. This used to be a bustling area where families lived, loved, walked dogs, sent their children to school, and shared kisses under the stars. It seemed abandoned now, windows staring blankly. There were no strays or looters. Katrina looked pallid next to this ruin.

She merely paused on a sidewalk once alive and murmured, "It's sad." They were shrouded in darkness—Night ruled.

"Come on, Jenna," Mike said. They continued hand in hand, two spirits against an unfriendly world.