Drowns in Their Blood

With his rudimentary helmet damaged from knife blows, he wielded a sword and chain while armored in massive plates covering his legs, arms, torso, and chest. Private Garcias struck Kessler's stomach with a bayonet and rifle. Garcias flinched, his blade nicked as metal clanged. Garcia was killed when Kessler's mace struck his skull.

"Hold on, I'll be right over!"

With a yell, Hamm moved ahead of Kesslers, his sword up. At Kessler's feet, Delany, Garcias, and four other people were dead, but Hamm remained unflinching.

With his sword ready, he snarled, "You disgusting bastard, show me what you have."

Kesslers snarled, "Fool." Do you think I'm not as strong as forty men? I'll kill you and eat your flesh if you face me. Now run—your time is up.

Hamm spat, "Then I'll fight to the death." With his dazzling blade, he lunged and struck Kesslers' armor. Kesslers grunted and parried, pushing him back. Kesslers sidestepped, mace prepared, as Hamm slashed at his plated feet and stomach.

"Allow me to assist you!" Gordy yelled as he fought against the zombies. He shot, piercing the armor of Variant C.

As Kesslers' mace crushed Hamm's hip, he let out a cry. He faltered and fell. As he chuckled, Kesslers stabbed down, but Hamm kicked him quickly in the exposed groin.

Kesslers let out a yell. Hamm clambered up and reached for his sword. Kesslers struck out in rage with a chain and sword; Hamm's forehead was lightly injured. With a yell of delight, Hamm grabbed the blade and tangled it in the chain, straining at it.

As he drove his blade into Hamm's abdomen, Kessler's face contorted in rage.

"Major!" Gordy shouted as he fought against zombies. With dizzy eyes and blood blooming at his stomach, Hamm dropped slowly.

"I have never... never have I." Kesslers clutched his groin and moaned. "Human, I'll drain you dry."

"You poor thing, try your hardest." Words faltering, Hamm rasped.

"You ought to have run," Kesslers mocked. "You ought to have fled."

Hamm growled, "An American soldier never runs."

Kesslers raised his sword over Hamm's heart and remarked, "Good to know." Gordy attacked from behind as it was falling, driving a blade into Kesslers' chest.

Kesslers gasped and thrashed in Gordy's grasp, babbling as he was taken by convulsions. His blood pooled in the mud as he fell to his knees.

"Major!" Gordy sobbed.

"Go... protect those within. Hamm clutched his wound and moaned. "That is an order."

“Get out!” a voice in the distance yelled. As they hurried to the armory doors, survivors left their dead behind. Gordy gave Hamm one last look and then crossed the damaged lawn to join the airplane. They would make their final stand there.

"Jenna… Jenna…," he mumbled as he threw open the doors of the gym. Inside, hundreds of migrants huddled, praying to an inattentive God, family by family. Gunfire and distant screams were the only sounds to break the silence. Gordy's heart sank as despair hung heavy.

"Jenna! "Where are you?" He called as he paced the aisles in search of her location. Everybody looked at him.

"Jenna?"

One voice grabbed his shoulder and said, "John." "Brant DiCamillo," he turned.

"Brant! Are Mike and Jenna—?

"John, they're gone. departed this morning. They are secure.

"Thank God." Gordy exhaled, feeling a peculiar sense of relaxation. Jenna wouldn't turn into a zombie or die here. She would survive even if he fell.

"How are things outside?" Brant inquired.

"Unfortunately," Gordy muttered. "They will soon breach the gates."

"Come with me out!" Brant pushed. Instead of cowering here, let's fight to the end. Even if it's pointless, we'll fight to the end.

Gordy took Brant's hand in his. Approaching the entrance, their last boundary, they strode past the destined crowd. It closed behind them as they stepped out.

McDouglas and Weirton were two of the remaining soldiers. The battle was now hand-to-hand as zombies surged in from all sides. Brant and Gordy grabbed abandoned swords.

"We'll roll," Brant sighed.

They swung into the battle, cutting through undead with armor. McDouglas' head rolled beneath a Variant C blade, and Weirton went unconscious and was carried away for infection. They battled until maybe fifty American soldiers were left, which was a small portion of their initial number.

"Take those two," a chilly voice said, "they're strong." A sallow, long-haired young man, little older than Gordy, stood next to a middle-aged black-collared priest with a bayoneted weapon in hand.

"Us?" With his blade raised defensively, Gordy answered. "If we can avoid it, no."

"We'll see." Take the white one, Father Robson. The young man declared, "I'll kill the Black."

"Yes," Robson replied, "Tobey."

Blades locked inches from the priest's face as Gordy and Robson collided. Tobey and Brant met, steel ringing.

"Stupid, are you unaware of who I am?" Parrying Brant's assault, Tobey taunted. "Zombies from Manhattan to Teaneck report to me; I am the leader of this attack."

Robson dodged Gordy's blows, leaving no mark with his bayonet. Robson's shoulder was cut by Gordy's sword, leaving his black shirt scarlet. In a fit of rage, Robson crashed into Gordy, who stumbled back and avoided a knife.

"That might be, but I can—" With a quivering voice, Brant started. Tobey's blade splintered bone as it cracked through his shin. Brant let out a cry and fell, breaking his fall with his shoulder.

Gordy stabbed the priest in the ankle with his sword as Robson lunged forward. Robson stumbled, gritting his teeth. Gordy cut him again and fell him.

Tobey lifted his sword above Brant and snarled, "You lose, human." Gordy's sword whirred through the air, cutting Tobey's hand and weapon as Brant looked up at death. Stunned, Tobey gazed into Gordy's frightened eyes before ripping his razor-sharp nails into Gordy's stomach and twisting them savagely. Gordy's ripped insides poured blood.

With his boot on Brant's skull, Tobey spat, "You haven't stopped anything." "Robson, are you okay?"

As he tied Tobey's stump with his shirt, the priest said, "Should ask you that." "Should we bring the armory?"

Unconcerned by his loss, Tobey remarked, "All resistance drowns in their blood." "Infect the others and kill half for the sustenance of my army." I'll take care of my hand.

"Into the armory!" The undead were rallied by Robson. Gordy's ears were ringing from the cries of the refugees as the Variant Cs barged in and the carnage began.

Gordy felt the life drain from him as he sprawled in the blood-soaked mud. The sky was softened by pink clouds as dawn approached. The Variant Cs decimated the armory's populace in less than an hour.

At least Jenna was safe, he believed. He welcomed the new frontier that was death. He closed his eyes, slipped into the embrace of the earth, and fell asleep. Variant Cs would clean his bones in a matter of hours.

Gordy slept, at last at peace.