S. Davis - 900 Miles

I’ll be seeing you soon. Last words one certainly wouldn’t ever have heard before the dead started to rise. I wasn’t sure if he was screaming it out to us, or Gordon’s men. One by one, each of the Stripes dropped to the ground. One by one, Gordon’s men pulled them into an empty wooden crate before nailing it shut from behind, sealing the creatures in. Seconds passed before the box came to life, shaking violently as the armored Zs stood, ready to wreak havoc on whatever they could get their deadly grips on.

Kyle whispered under his breath, “They’re weaponizing the Zs.”

Just as the final nail was driven into the crate, a distant sound started to grow from behind the tree line. Louder and louder, it quickly became clear what it was. At least two helicopter engines were roaring to life, causing the grass to wave wildly in anticipation of the fight.

The man in the black rubber suit walked up to the box full of armored Zs, lifted the butt of his flamethrower and pulled the trigger. A burst of angry red flames shot out and lit the wooden crate on fire. Even over the roar of the helo engines, I could hear the moans as I saw two spotlights from the helicopters rising into the air.

“ Holy shit! ” I heard Kyle scream. “Everybody find cover! Now! ”

He had realized it before I did. Kyle knew what this was.

Revealed by the glow of the flames, a wire lifted up between the box and one of the helicopters just before the crate rose from the ground and floated up high into the sky. Far enough from the downdraft caused by the helicopter’s rotors to stay lit, but close enough to burn wildly, the flames from the sealed cage of Zs illuminated the sky with flickers of blood red.

The peering clouds slowly floated by, almost in slow motion as the fire-lit box reached its peak. There was a moment where it seemed to stop in mid-air. It was almost a beautiful sight, before it reached just above our position.

A few gunshots rang out in the air as Richards shouted out orders to take it down. We might have destroyed that Chinook chopper if it wasn’t for the second one that followed. In a hail of raining death, the same gunship from the tree fortress swooped in, letting out a terrifying series of cracks as it spit up the mud and earth inside the Yard with gunfire.

Looking up, Kyle and I couldn’t do a thing to stop the fireball of Z-mail that was getting ready to drop. With a squelch and a snap, the rope came loose, shooting down below the box itself, like a rubber band being snipped, driving the flaming crate downward right toward us.

I watched in horror as it landed smack dab in the middle of the Yard, the box itself crashing on top of that same broken-down car. It burst into ash as glass and metal screamed into the darkness. For a moment, nothing moved aside from the taunting flames.

Until the armored dead started to rise.

Still burning, and many simply broken, the creatures burst out of the wreckage and started in on our forces. I watched as Mr. Trash, who was hiding behind a metal garbage dump right by the landing site, tried to escape. One of the creatures caught his leg and pulled its burning body over him. I could hear his cries for help, but it was already too late. The creature jammed its flaming razor teeth directly into his perfectly conditioned hair, slicing right through his skull. Even from my vantage point, I could see brain matter shoot out of the gash as the creature lifted to reposition itself before diving back in to finish the job.

Just as the gunship turned to head after the Chinook, I heard a distant cry.

“Look out !” That floating behemoth of weaponry let out a final barrage directly toward one of the walls, pumping large caliber bullets through the concrete crenellations, as well as the two men perched near them.

As the men dropped into the Yard, and slowly started to rise as the dead, I found myself understanding what this was.

They didn’t want to break down the walls. These maniacs didn’t need or want the people inside. They wanted to kill us from the inside out.

We were being exterminated.

A simple bluff. Sometimes they paid off big. Sometimes you get called, and lose everything.

Leaping from the top of the cinderblock, Kyle’s feet landed on the ground before he rolled forward to help break his fall. Spitting mud into the air as he spun, Kyle pulled his body upright only to find himself standing nearly eye-to-eye with one of the armored Zs, its orange-striped shirt blowing in the wind from the helicopter gunship as it soared away.

With its razor teeth fully extended, the creature dove in toward Kyle as he sidestepped, swinging the butt of his gun in one swift motion. He thrust the weapon into the soft part behind the creature’s knee, and the Z plummeted to the ground with a thud that I could hear from above. As it started to push itself up from the mud, the fire illuminated the stream of blackish-red bile that poured from its open chest wound, creating a beautifully lit fountain of gore.

Roaring to full speed, the creature flipped up to its feet and turned back to its adversary. As Kyle stood there, the Z let loose with a primordial scream as it charged forward. Without hesitation, Kyle pulled his gun into his muddy shoulder, leveled the sight on the creature’s head, and pulled the trigger.

I could see the bullet pass out the rear side of the Z’s helmet with a burst of black mist, taking a few of the razors with it. The creature flew backward, slamming into its own puddle of gore, splashing a mix of bile and water against the fire from the box that was blazing just feet away. Only this time, the Z didn’t get back up.

Hearing the helicopter’s rotors twist back to life again, I glanced over my shoulder only to see some of Gordon’s men running another metal line through hoops on the last four of the Z-filled wooden crates across the field. They were getting ready to throw the kitchen sink at us. Another burst of fire from the flamethrower engulfed the boxes just before the chopper lifted up into the sky.

Still pulling the trigger as the crates lifted into the air, the bastard wielding the flamethrower created just enough light for his form to be silhouetted. Just enough of a chance for God to wield his judgment.

The bullet didn’t hit Mr. Flamethrower exactly. Rather, it passed directly by him and into the corner of the fuel tank attached like a backpack to his rear. Through my scope, all I could see was a spark as the bullet chipped into the metal before a small stream of fire poured from the canister to the grass below.

Mr. Flamethrower raced around, pulling at his straps before screaming and running toward the camp, trying to get help. Each of Gordon’s men backed away from the bastard as he came close.

They all knew how this was going to end.

Even from that distance, and over the noise from the helicopters flying toward us, I swear I could hear the final scream from Mr. Flamethrower as the canister exploded in a brilliant burst of light that showered flames across the base camp.

God had passed judgment. He’d hit his mark.

Just moments later, all the lights went dark in the camp. Even through the sight on my weapon, I couldn’t see a thing. Suddenly, a line of ten or fifteen truck headlights all turned on at the same time and started inching forward. They had made the decision to move in on Avalon.

A bloodcurdling scream pulled my attention back to the Yard. Looking down, I could see a fire-engulfed creature, fully covered with that death armor, running maniacally through the mud, taking a swipe at anything it came near.

Clearly blinded, probably from its eyes melting out of its sockets, the monster’s accidental course spun it running toward the garage where we held our trucks, and the fuel that ran them. A number of people took shots at the moving target, but it didn’t seem to affect it as the bullets simply passed through every part of its mangled body—except its head.