David Bernstein: Machines of the Dead

Placing his M4 against the wall, he pulled out two flashbangs. Pulling the pin of one, he tossed it into the room. Gunfire pinged off the doorframe. He heard the grenade explode, hoping he had judged the distance correctly. He waved his arm in the doorway again, but there was no return fire this time. Pulling the pin on the other flashbang, he tossed it at his target, watching it sail through the air. A pair of legs was showing from the side of the desk. The man was down. Maybe hurt. The second flashbang landed right near the guy’s feet. Jack ducked back inside just before the explosion, then yelled to the others that it was time to go.

He stepped into the room, scanning the area for other gunman, then kept his sights trained on the overturned desk, seeing the man’s legs moving.

He heard the couch slide across the floor, its wooden legs screeching as if scared to death. The sound of shuffling shoes echoed from within the room, sounding like a herd of buffalo. Maria and Zaun appeared at his side, telling him they needed to move.

With no time to shut the door, Jack pointed to where the downed man was and the group moved forward, guns trained on the area.

Jack approached the area from the right side, Maria from straight ahead, and Zaun from the left.

The man’s legs disappeared as he pulled his feet in. Shit, Jack thought. The guy was getting his senses back.

As the group approached the desk, the guard popped up from behind it. He looked disoriented, his eyes rapidly blinking. He started firing wildly. The others returned fire, unleashing a stream of bullets that chewed up the man’s face, dropping him cold.

Turning, Jack saw the undead had entered the warehouse and were spreading out like anxious Black Friday shoppers told not to run.

Jack and the others sprinted to the end of the room where the other security door was located. They made it with a small amount of time to spare, the slow undead still working their way around desks and chairs.

Jack slid the card through the card reader and entered the code. The red light went out and the green one came to life. He punched in the code and heard the door’s familiar click. Grabbing the handle, he pushed open the door only to be met with a gun to his face.

Guard Ryan Kellogg couldn’t believe it. The traitors were alive. And more than that, they looked okay, which was more than he could say for himself. Life just wasn’t fair, but then who said it would be? He laughed when Reynolds had told him and Jacobs to stay behind. Secure the warehouse, just in case. In case of what? In case those traitors tried coming back. He’d seen the zombies swarm on the apartment building shortly after the team went in. Not returning, he assumed they had all been killed. Guess he was wrong.

With all the zombies up the street, the guy bored out of his mind, Ryan had gone outside, wanting fresh air. He had been cooped up underground for way too long. He and the others were always worried about being overwhelmed by a horde whenever they left the bunker, but not from a bite. No. Bites were curable. One blast from the EMP or a T aser and all was well. It was being ripped apart and devoured that frightened them.

While patrolling the building’s perimeter, delighted to be breathing in fresh air, even if it was tainted with rot and a tinge of smoke from a nearby burning building, he was caught off guard when a zombie came from behind a dumpster and bit him. He’d killed the thing easily enough, sinking his knife into its head.

When he came back inside, he had Jacobs Taser him, and didn’t have another thought about the bite until he started feeling weak later that night. Convincing himself he was just coming down with a cold, maybe the flu, he went to bed, but waking up in the morning had been difficult. All he wanted to do was sleep. His body ached and his head pounded something fierce. For some reason the tasering hadn’t taken. The bots were still alive. He’d had Jacobs zap him again and was then left in the room at the bottom of the stairs to rest. Two shots with the Taser should have done it. Mentally, he’d felt better.

Unable to sleep, he got up and was barely able to make it to top of the stairs. If he had the flu, he had never had it this bad. He was burning up. Not caring how he looked, he’d taken off his shirt and pants, leaving only his shoes and underwear on. He was about to open the door and ask Jacobs to Taser him again when he heard the door unlock.

He pulled his sidearm, always keeping it on him, and was glad he did when he saw Jack Warren and his band of scum. He’d used the last of his strength to draw the weapon however, feeling weaker than ever now. Holding the gun on Jack, his arm was trembling. If he could do one good, righteous thing before he died, it would be to pull the trigger and end this troublemaker’s life, but he didn’t think he even had the strength to do that.

“You don’t look so good,” Jack said.

He saw Zaun and the bitch traitor, Lopez, both with their weapons pointed down. He saw the undead filling up the operations center, coming his way. Then everything but Jack’s face went out of focus, the background scene nothing more than a nightmarish blend of moving gore.

“You’re infected,” Jack went on. “We can help.”

“Ryan,” Lopez said, “at least let us in or we’re all going to die.”

A drop of sweat fell into his eyes. He blinked, trying hard not to waver. A blanket of exhaustion fell over him. Too weak to remain standing, his arm went limp. The gun slipped from his grasp, clacking to the floor. He stumbled backwards a few steps and fell.

Opening his eyes, Ryan saw Jack kneeling beside him on his right, Maria on his left. They must have gotten the door closed in time. No death for the traitors, at least not at this moment. Maria was speaking to him, her words sounding as if he was underwater. He was so hot. He’d love to be in a pool of cold water. For sure his death was fast approaching. Someone would put a bullet into his skull, but hopefully before that he’d come back and get to bite one of them. No, that wasn’t right. He was a soldier. He needed to do what was right by his country. True, he was getting a nice chunk of change, or rather was getting a nice chunk of change from Reynolds, but he still loved his country. He didn’t want to see it crumble. So many dead already. He had to tell these people what had happened to him. How the taser hadn’t worked. They had to know so when Reynolds captured them, they would tell him. They were the last chance to stop the epidemic. Maybe it was already too late. The damn thing had spread so fast and was mutating. The little fuckers were smart it seemed, or as Reynolds put it: “programmed to adapt.”

Grabbing Maria’s arm, he tried to speak, but his mouth wasn’t working properly. He could feel the slowness of his jaw, the slug-like movement of his tongue. His mouth felt like it was filled with sand. Pain exploded in his head, filling his vision with white. Death couldn’t come quick enough for Ryan Kellogg. Let the bots have his body, for when he was dead he’d no longer care.

“He’s trying to tell us something,” Maria said.

“Tell… Raaayy… nnoo… ldsss. B… bots… stron… ger.”

“What?” Zaun asked.

“I think he said to tell Reynolds something,” Maria answered.

Jack felt his heart sink. “The bots are stronger. He wants us to tell Reynolds the bots are stronger.”

“What’s he talking about?” Zaun asked.

Jack saw the man’s body stiffen for a moment, then go slack. Maria felt for a pulse.

“He’s gone,” she said, then closed his eyes.

“One less asshole to worry about,” Zaun spat.

“What are those?” Maria asked, pointing at two small marks on the dead man’s chest.