Arc 2 - Chapter 21: Taking Back The Military Complex I

(Quintiles 29, 59 / 8:35PM)

“Where are the agents when you need them!? What about that platoon that was on the south side of the city?”

“They’re busy dealing with survivors. We’re the frontline of defense! Just keep firing!”

A monsoon of bullets rattled the air, leaving the lead to ripple into the bodies of the damned. Flying at fastening speeds, many of the burning metal lodged deep into the undead’s bodies, while the recoil shook their bodies repeatedly.

Their legs on the verge of buckling, the amount of pouncers they were faced with were enough to widen their eyes and quake their boots. The leader, looking to be a man in his late 30s, held the line with four other men.

“Sergeant! We should retreat!”

“Just keep shooting! We can’t let them go any further!”

A small group of pouncers blasted through the middle, as their bare feet scraped against the endless debris of sharp concrete. Seeing the undead’s strategic move, it sent the Sergeant to point his rifle at them, while calling out the rest of his men.

“Stop them or else they’ll surround us!”

And being in the center of the four men, two men were at his left, while two others were at his right. The small opening being centered toward the men at the right, it left the two soldiers to turn their weapons at the horde. Reloading, the sound of death loomed closer and closer.

“They’re coming towards you!”

“Oh shit!”

One of the soldiers, who was the farthest to the right, wielded a heavy weight machine gun. Once he heard the shrill of many zompires in back of him, he quickly turned around to see—

“Save Us!”

His face began to run cold sweat, causing the soldier to tighten his hand on the grip of the gun.

Feeling the burden of the recoil, every bone within his body rippled and shook the more he shot. With zompires being in back of him, as well as opposite of him, he couldn’t fight two fronts single handedly. Blind firing from the hip, he felt like his chest might explode, as the streaks of tar got closer and closer…

“You’re not taking me!”

One by one, each pouncer that was riddled with lead collapsed like broken dolls. Thinning out the group slowly, it wasn’t enough to get him out of the hole, as his knees buckled the more his feet pressed firm on the ground.

“Save Us!”

‘Why can’t I …’

Another zompire group closed in on him. Barreling its way toward him like a rabid chicken, it bared its fangs once he quickly turned around.

He saw a glitter of death fragment his vision, making his breathing go haggard. Feeling his heart pound his chest, he felt his body go numb. One of the soldiers, who was the nearest to him, turned toward the heavy soldier.

“Ramirez!”

Having a heavy pumped shotgun, he pointed it at the zompires that closed in on him. Rapid firing the shotgun, the shells dispersed into the thin night air, all the while the Sergeant turned around to see the commotion.

His vocals parched, his throat trembling, he saw the soldiers’ attempts to save his comrade.

“Timber!”

Wielding a casual AR-17, the Sergeant dumped all of his ammo at the incoming swarm of zompires to the right flank. His palm squeezing the metal of the grip, the metal began to creak relentlessly under the immense strain.

Flinging his trigger like crazy, most of the zompires faltered under the cataclysm of bullets. Once their ashes began to dissipate into the dark asphalt, the Sergeant felt his forehead riddle with hot sweat—

—One of the zompires got on top of Timber.—

“TIMBER!!”

He fell in slow motion, like how a tree would collapse after it's cut.

Baring its fangs, the zompire leaped its head straight toward Timber’s neck, as tar dripped from its rotting teeth. His gun dropped to the floor, he felt his soul rack with complete betrayal … as his lift began to flash before him.

‘Ah…’

He heard the crushing of glass. Glass that pierced the innards of his feet. He smelt the unholiest of beer. Whiskey, beer, vodka; everything in the realm of alcohol was intertwined. He felt slashes across his back and chest. Remembering the unbuckling of buckles, as skin met leather, every whip was a testament to an untold scar. Words not even the devil would say, he heard a collection of them; all summoned and spoken to…

‘I’ve lived in a world … full of shit …’

Just as its fangs reached the helm of his throat, the only thing he pushed out…

Was a smile.

Spreading out his arms, his legs, not a single twitch laid bare against his body, as he felt his breathing calm his mendicant ears.

“NO!!”

Unbuckling his knees, Ramirez lunged to his left, leaving him to kick off cement that spread in all directions. Splattering small bits of rock, he managed to avoid both main zompire groups, as he became one with the wind.

Wielding his gun like it was his wife, he charged to Timber who closed his eyes; and quenched his breath.

‘I feel content.’

—Its fangs sunk deep into his throat, allowing no breath to be drawn from his lips.—

Without verbalizing his words, Ramirez opened his mouth, and allowed his vocals to be shredded by a mighty roar. Having the butt of his gun on his right hand, he placed his left on the center, and carried the gun like a baseball bat.

His scleras strained red, his pupils dilated to that of a pin-tack; his entire body was rage incarnate.

“I’m taking you all down!”

He swung his gun. His eyes bloodshot red, more and more zompires charged at him as he heard crackles and plumps. His joints free, he didn’t bother to shoot the gun. Swishing the air with metal, his fingers trenched deep into the black material, leaving dents to fracture the chamber.

But he heard another group.

Tilting his head upward, a pack of them jumped toward him, leaving their teeth to showcase its rigid edges. But Ramirez didn’t falter. Completely on top of him, he felt the weight of the undead bearing their gravity, leaving him to feel…

He was gutted. Eaten. Feeling fangs scrape against his rough skin, it clawed its way to the many organs he kept trapped. Moving his arms in a frenzy, he tried to punch as many as he could, but he soon felt his stomach convulse horridly.

“Give me all you got!”

Drool spat out from his mouth. Having already abandoned his gun, he used his knuckles, which tore apart slowly with every knuckle he made contact with. He felt hot, he felt cold—no, he could barely feel anything. As he was gutted, eaten, he couldn’t feel the wither of his blood drip down to the floor.

All the while his muscles and arteries showed. Soon, even his intestines flowed out from his abdomen like a flooded river. Pink matter fluttering their mouths, the undead took pleasure upon Ramirez’s body.

‘Why is this happening…’

Two of his soldiers being eaten alive, one filled with happiness and the other with anger, the three of them turned their heads toward every angle. Unfortunately, they watched their friend’s deaths for far too long … once the rest of the zompires all charged toward them head on.

“This is the end…”

“S-Shit…”

Sprinting at them head on, they couldn’t pull their triggers even if they tried. Looking death straight in the eyes, they felt their breath grow cold—

—They stopped.—

As if time had frozen for them, all the zompires that sprinted ceased their sprinting.

Stuck frozen in time, the animation that they had, was the last thing that was showcased for the completely stopped zompires. Instead of releasing a heavy sigh, they all huddled together, and saw the frozen mannequins with wide eyes.

‘What the…’

“Kim. Panchal. Stay alert.”

Their guns still pointed at the unmoving zompires, they glanced at all directions for anything suspicious. Along with their foreheads drenched in cold sweat, their feet lodged tight against the ground.

“I think they’re here!”

They heard footsteps prancing the debris from up top.

Moving the barrels toward the top of the hill, they steadied their breaths, as they placed a heap of pressure onto their guns. Their palms sticky and drenched, the footsteps drew near, leaving them no choice but to move their fingers towards their triggers.

And out of the dense heap of smoke…

“Don’t shoot! We’re friendly!”

Three young men walked out of the fog of smoke, while raising their hands up high as they watched the soldiers below. One had silver hair, another was short and chubby, and the last one had circular glasses.

“We’re friendly okay. We’ll help you out.”

Letting out sighs of relief, the three soldiers finally lowered their barrels, as the weight of their situation shackled itselves dry.

________________________________________________________________________

“You three don’t look like soldiers.”

“We’re more or less reserves rather than soldiers, but we’re here to help in any way we can.”

Six men huddled together in front of the museum’s gate. Around them, debris consisting of rock and stone littered the area, followed by ash surrounding both the ground and air. Little fires sprouting on parts of the asphalt, the sky was also burnt to a crispy orange.

Body odor and ethanol roamed the night wind, as screams and shouting blared in back of them. Continuing to sit in a circle, they didn’t bother to look at the fighting, as the Sergeant looked toward the silver-haired young man with a miner hat.

“Are you an inventor?”

“That I am. So do these two right next to me.”

“And what weapon did you use to disable those zompires? I’ve seen that type of power used in movies or whatnot.”

Having his backpack in front of him, Fred looked through inside as his hands scoured the many objects within. His knuckles feeling a familiar object, he pulled it out with a sweaty hand, and showcased the unfamiliar object.

Suddenly, the Sergeant and his two men softened their eyes at the invention.

“Here.”

The object itself was a glass bottle, and the inside of it was an all-cubed mirror. With an EMP device situated near the mirror, a copper wire was attached to both ends of the glass. And on the ends, were two black cubes, which were enacted as connectors to the EMP device.

Everyone looked at the little invention with neutral faces, or furrowed brows. The Sergeant, who was the most focused out of all of them, placed his hand underneath his chin.

“What is it?”

“It’s an EMP blaster … or a replica of it. I trap the sun’s rays with the two black cubes that are connected with wires. By pushing this top button, the wire sucks all the energy from the black cubes, and with these mirrors, they deflect the energy back, but multiplying the energy tenfold.”

The two soldiers tilted their heads to the left, as Fred held the bottle in front of them. As both scratched their cheeks, the Sergeant nodded at his explanation, and let go of his chin. Dropping his hand down, he cusped it together with his other, and let his eyes analyze the device intently evermore.

“And how does it affect zompires?”

“Well uh … two years ago … I got a sample of zompire tar, in the case that one of my friends could study it. The tar has a lot of iron and metal inside, so an EMP could react to it.”

Fred pushed his eyes to the floor, and let them stare into the little fire sparkling in front of them all. His knees tucked into his chest, he had them wrapped tightly against his arms.

The Sergeant and his two men stood up from the ground, and occupied their hands with their guns. Their hands gently shaking the metal, the two of his men looked toward the direction of the gunshots screaming, while he looked down at Fred.

And extended his hand.

“If you wanna prove your brains over your brawn, then show us how we can take back this complex.”

His hands trembled upon his knees, and gulped loudly with a raspy throat. Widening his eyes, a bead of sweat rolled down his nose, as he felt his fingers twitch jumping.

“We’re not done yet. Come on soldier.”

Fred reached outward to grab his hand, and felt the roughness of his palm contrast to his smooth one. Standing up slowly, Fred took a big breath, once he directed his head to the screams and shouts. Following his example, Gary and Diego got up slowly as well, their feet trembling the more they pushed their body weights on their heels.

With everyone turning their heads to the sounds of gunfire, the air thickened with smoke, leaving Fred to narrow his eyes.

‘We’re not letting them die … I ain’t.’

Meanwhile, The Sergeant turned his gaze toward the two dead soldiers, toward the right side of the area. Looking like they were half-eaten, with blood pouring from their open stomachs and chests, his hearing began to thin like oxygen inside a water tank. His stare was so noticeable, that Fred turned his head toward the Sergeant, who still had on his narrowed eyes.

“Sir? Anything wrong?”

Returning to reality, the Sergeant flinched up and turned his head toward Fred. Noticing that Fred had slimmed his eyes at him, it made the Sergeant wipe his forehead with his sleeve, and turned his stare at the complex. Clenching the grip on the rifle with his right hand, he nodded at Fred.

“I’m fine soldier. Let’s just take back the complex.”

Leading the group of five, the Sergeant walked along the many wooden and glass shards stalling on the black pavement. Kicking a jumble of rocks from his path, he reached the main entrance of the museum, and inhaled and exhaled slowly by the push of his throat.

And one last time, he turned to look at the soldiers in back of him, who wielded either guns or gadgets.

“We’re going in!”

He kicked down the wooden door with utmost strength, allowing them to slam against the walls that held them together. Leading the group, all of them gripped firm their weapons as they charged forth.

‘Even if I survive, what will be of my soldiers?’

And as they did this, the two corpses continued to sulk in the barren cold cement. For a split second, one of the corpse’s fingers soon felt a slight tinge of—

It flinched.