The Killing Fields

It’s been two years, two years since the dead first walked. I am all alone, one of the very few remaining in the city, maybe worse. I am far from home, if you could call it that. Wherever I go, all I see is death. Zombies walking the streets, devoured corpses as far as the eye can see. I am driven to the breaking point, willing to kill anyone if I need food, ammunition, or just to keep from putting a gun in my own mouth. I’ve found a place I can call safe, at least for the time being.

I don’t dare step out during the day, too easy to be seen by one of those things. I move about when necessary at night. Although it might be harder for them to see me, it’s also harder for me to see them. As I peer out the window of my little haven and look onto the deserted city street, I think about what was happening there the day before the shit hit the fan. I need a working vehicle, something that can get me out of here, to somewhere safe. If I can, I can get to my boat at the dock, and I can go to an island and live out whatever time I have left in peace.

“Seems empty tonight. Then again, it’s always like that until they swarm on you like angry hornets.” I pull out my silenced pistol, and check the clip. Seven shots, and five spare clips. I’m going to have to check out that gun shop downtown, hopefully there’s some stuff left, and I holster my gun. I feel like James Bond, sneaking around, avoiding detection. The only difference is, I can’t back out of this mission, and if I fail, I die. Or worse, I don’t die; I end up one of those things. “Better make a change,” as I remove a bullet from my gun, and stash it in my pocket, a last resort. The streets are quiet as I creep from car to car, my gun clutched in my hand, ready to fire at whatever moves in my direction. As I peer into an open store window, something inside moves, and I duck behind a dumpster. I mutter a prayer under my breath, not that it would do any good, and I poke my head up, to see a zombie moving towards the back of the store. I raise my pistol, and fire. A muffled whiz hits the air as the creature drops to the ground with a thud. “Damn I’m good. Should’ve went into the Army, could’ve done some good in these times.” I jump through the window, and search around the store, lighter in hand.

“Cabbage, wonderful,” and I stuff the can into my jacket pocket. “Anything I might actually like? Ah, here we are, corn and chicken soup, not bad.” I feel like a criminal, even now. Some things just never change. “Oh fuck,” as three more zombies appear in the store, and I immediately cover my mouth. ‘Oh fuck’ plays in my mind over and over, but shuffling footsteps bring me back to reality. ‘I guess the cabbage will come in handy after all,’ as I quickly move towards the front end of the store, and I throw the can of cabbage into the back of the store. A display topples over, and instinctively, the ghouls stumble towards the source of motion and noise. ‘Dumbasses,’ and I dash out the window into the street.

“That was too close,” as I lurch down the dark street. Suddenly, a small pack of zombies come lurching out of an alley. ‘Fuck me, how can this get any worse?’ The zombies seem to turn in his direction, and moan. “Good one God, I’m laughing on the inside,” and I run in the opposite direction, but the moaning does not subside. ‘Christ, so much for leaving this place.’ I turn and fire at the pack, which seems to be growing larger. “Oh shit!” I scream, and turn on my heels, bolting down the street. I see a fire escape, and jump up to grab the ladder. Just as I reach the roof, the mob of ghouls reach the ladder, and tear it from its hinges. “Great, now what?” I scan the rooftops, seeing they are almost totally vacant, “Guess they aren’t able to climb, perfect,” and I jump from rooftop to rooftop, pistol tightly clutched in my hand. As I stand on the roof of an abandoned furniture store, I see a sign, ‘Jericho’s Armory,’ and a smile breaks across my face, the first in years. “Shopping time,” and I jump the rooftops to the building. I shoot the lock on a hatch, and look inside. The racks are not as empty, and the door and windows are locked and covered with steel shutters, but it seems too clean. I pull the can of soup out of my pocket, and throw it into a display case, shattering the glass. “Who’s there?” a voice rings out. ‘Jesus, a survivor.’ “Don’t be alarmed, I’m not one of those things. I’m coming down, alright?” I take the safety off my pistol and stash it in my belt, and I climb down into the store. “Hello, where are you?” and a man comes stumbling through a door. I spin around and pull out my pistol, training it on an older man, a shotgun in his hands aimed right at my head. “Who are you?” he asks, the gun trembling in his hands. “Do names matter anymore?” The man shrugs his shoulders, “Guess not. How do I know you aren’t one of them?” My gun doesn’t move from its target, but my trigger finger loosens. “One, I can aim a gun. Two, I climbed down from the roof. Three, I can talk. That answer your question?” He lowers his gun and places it on a counter, and I lower mine. “So, who are you?” I release the hammer on my pistol, and holster it. “For the sake of argument, I’m Nick, you must be Jericho.” “Yeah, lucky me. I originally put these shutters in to keep thieves out at night and when I close up, as well as the barricades on the front and rear doors. Never thought I’d have to lock myself in here. Lucky for me I built this place like a fortress.” “Got that right. Got a cigarette?” He tosses me a pack of Luckies, and I pull two out, sticking the second behind my ear. “Thanks, haven’t had one in God knows how long,” and I light it, tossing the pack back to him. “So, you from what used to be here?” “No, I’m from the other side of the city. I’ve been around here for the past few weeks, and I’m about to lose my fucking mind.” He pulls a flask out of a drawer next to him, and takes a swig. “Here, takes the edge off a bit,” and he slides the flask down a counter. I take a drink, and the bitter whiskey courses down my throat. “Thanks, so Jericho, you got a plan to deal with this shit?” and I pass the flask back down.

“Not really, since I locked this place down when the shit hit the fan, nobody could get in here. I turned down all business, what’s the use of money if you’re dead? I’ve got all my stuff here, and since this place is built so well, I haven’t needed to use much ammunition.” “Nice. Listen, I had an idea. I was planning to grab a car that could get me to the docks. From there, I have a boat, used to belong to a buddy of mine, we can take to an island.”

“Not a bad idea. Listen, my pickup truck is near full, I filled the tank on my way to the shop for the last time. I want to get out of here as badly as you, cause being in here is driving me nuts. How about this, we pack up ammo and whatever food we can scavenge up, and get the fuck out of here!” I walk to the front desk that Jericho’s standing behind, and put out my hand. “Sounds like a plan to me,” and he slaps his hand into mine. “Sure does. Listen, it’s almost dawn. I say we get some sleep, I haven’t slept in weeks. From time to time, I hear those things banging on the walls, as if they kind of know I’m in here. It’s been quiet lately, just distant moaning here and there.” He picks up his shotgun, and points the way to the storage room. Once inside, Jericho barricades the door, keeping them safe, and they drift to sleep as the sun rises.

“Hey pal, wake up, it’s time to get out of here.” Jericho wakes me up by poking at me with his shotgun, and I roll over, looking at the floor. “Okay, let’s book,” and I strap on my belt holster. We step out into the front of the store, and start emptying the shelves. Jericho walks over to an American flag on a far wall, and yanks it down. Behind it is a sliding glass panel, revealing several illegal assault weapons. “Holy shit, you’re ready for Armageddon, huh?” He pulls down a full-auto AK-47, and loads the magazine. “Shit yeah. Guess us gun nuts really do hide behind the flag.” I laugh briefly, and go back to loading a .357 Magnum revolver. As I stuff boxfulls of spare ammo into a bag, Jericho shouts at me, and as I spin around, he tosses me the AK-47, along with several loaded doubled-up mags. “Sweetness,” and I walk over next to him, and remove an M-16 from the wall.

“So, Jericho, what are you leaving behind, besides this mini-fortress?” As I load the mag, and slap it into place, he begins to speak. “Well, besides this place, I’m leaving behind a wife, and a younger brother. Well, I would be if they were still alive,” as he loads his shotgun with .12 gauge slugs, and I sling the rifles over my shoulders. As he straps two Glocks into shoulder holsters, he tosses me a similar rig, “Here, this is mad to hold a pair of large caliber revolvers, like the Mag you got, so grab another.” I thank him, and strap the shoulder holster on, tossing my jacket aside. I load the second revolver and strap both in place, when he taps me on my shoulder.

“What about you?” I turn around, and ask him what he means. “Who you leavin’ behind?” I look down at my jacket, my eyes focused on the shoulder patch. “Some family,” and I notice him looking at the patch as well. “What’s it mean?” “I’m, well I used to be, a member of a Special Forces team, like S.T.A.R.S. in Raccoon City. This caught us by surprise. We were in the briefing room of our office in the police station, and they swarmed us. We were barely able to get to the armory before they attacked us. Most of the squad was slaughtered, I barely made it out myself. From there, I traveled in any vehicle I found, using any item possible to conserve what little ammo I could get before I left the station.” I close my eyes tightly, holding back tears, and looks back up at him. “I’ve been in this city long enough.” He nods his head in agreement, and he leads me to the garage.

“Listen, there’s a hitch. Although my truck is inside a garage, last time I went in it, I heard moaning and other noises outside the garage door.” I look at him, and he seems honestly worried. “What, so we get in the truck, and plow straight through the door,” but he shakes his head. “Can’t. I built the garage just as tough as the rest of the store, nothing short of a tank or R.P.G. could knock that door down.” Fucking perfect, now we have to find a way to get the door open without them swarming in and ripping us apart. I look at the door of the garage, and try to formulate a plan. ‘Wait, what if I hook up a pulley with that winch, and we use it to pull the door open from the rear window of the truck? I’m a genius,’ and he tosses the bags in the flatbed.

“Toss the stuff in the bed, put the rifles in the cab, and listen up. That winch you’ve got there, you use that to hoist the engine out of your truck right?” He nods his head, “With that, one man can lift out this truck’s engine by himself.” “Good. Grab the chains that open the garage door, and attach them to the winch. After that, we take the pull chain on the winch, and put it through the sunroof.” Jericho tosses the stuff in the truck, and hooks up the chains, stringing the winch chain over the roof. “Good. Once we’re in the car, you start the engine, and I open the door. Once the door is open enough for the truck to get under, you hit reverse, I’ll toss the chain out, and we fly out the door, and we’re gone.” He smiles at me, and puts his hand on my shoulder. “And to think, I was gonna stay here ‘till I lost my mind. Well, let’s go.” Jericho jumps into the cab, and I unlock the garage door.

“Keep that shotgun handy in case they happen to be waiting, and whatever you do, keep your head, no matter what you see. You panic, we both die.” He nods his head at me, I jump in the truck, and he puts the key in the ignition. “Hit it,” and he guns the engine. It roars to life, “Wow, the engine’s quieter than I thought, that’ll help,” and I yank the chain as hard as I can. The door opens a little slower than I expected, probably hasn’t been able to oil the bearings in a while, not that I blame him. As I pull the chain, I see that the path to the street is clear, not a single zombie in sight. Regardless, I take the safety off the AK, and pull until the door’s half up. “Okay, the chain’s gone punch it!” He jerks the shift into reverse, and slams on the pedal. We blast out of the garage, and as we reach the door, zombies begin to congregate in the alley. “Oh fuck!” and I see Jericho start to sweat. “Don’t panic, get us out of the garage, and I’ll clear a path!” As soon as we reach the door, I have the AK in my hands. We clear the door, and I pop out of the sunroof. “Suppertime!” I raise the gun, and squeeze the trigger, and the ghouls seem to fall apart like burnt paper. “Holy shit! Hey Jer, what’s in here?” “Dum dum rounds with acid-coated tips.” The sound of this impresses and terrifies me, what if these were used against us in a raid? “Christ man, that’s sick!” “I know, my own design!” As we reach the alley, more zombies seem to gather in the street, and I slide back down into the cab. “Jer, one-eighty!” He jerks the wheel, and shifts into first, sideswiping several zombies, knocking them into the road. “Gun it!” and he jams the pedal, hitting eighty, “Keep control, it’s farther to the docks than you think, especially on foot.” He slows down to sixty-seventy, and I pop back up top. ‘Jesus, more of them,” and I raise the AK again. As they start to pick up speed, I blow away the lead ghouls’ heads, and the others trip over the leaders’ bodies. “Nick, about face!” I spin around, and I see an undead roadblock of sorts. They seemed to have formed a line in the street, trying to stop us. I drop the AK in the cab, and I pick up the shotgun. “Slow down a bit!” He looks at me like I’m nuts, “Just trust me,” and he reduces speed. I pump the shotgun, and the slugs tear through the creatures’ bodies, tearing them in two, and the truck crushes them under its wheels. “Speed up and take a left at this intersection.” We pull into a smaller side street. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” “As long as I’m up top with a gun, we’re okay. As soon as you pull out of this road, make a right, then the next left.” “Where will that take us?” I drop down for a second, “It’ll take time off our trip, trust me,” and I stand back up.

I can’t believe I’m actually gonna be leaving here, maybe forever. Not like there’s much to leave behind. After two years, it’s safe to guess the entire continental U.S and Canada is completely devoid of life. Couple more years, Alaska, Central America, maybe parts of northern South America will be wiped out. Our only bet is to get somewhere they can’t get to, like the Caribbean Islands, well, maybe not Cuba. It’s only 90 miles from there to Florida. Hawaii is probably safe, but it’s too far. From maybe the Virgin Islands or Puerto Rico, we can get a better boat that we can take to Europe, not like those things can fly planes. “Stop the truck once we clear the street,” and he calls me crazy. “Just do it.” He stops, and I turn towards the street.

“Pass me the M-16, I’m gonna block off the street,” and I aim the rifle at a fence. With a swipe of gunfire, the fence swings wide, closing off the side street they came out of. He aims again, and a fire escape ladder crashing down, preventing the fence from moving. “Smooth move, now what?” “Those things can’t move it, trust me, let’s go.” I jump back down, and change clips on the AK and M-16. “Take a left at Fillmore Avenue, and drive ‘till you see McCutchen Street. It’ll take us to a turnoff that’ll lead us to the dock. Once you see the turnoff, just drive.” He guns the engine, and peels off, just as the zombies reach the barricade, moaning loudly, smacking their rotted lips in hunger.

“Oh shit, look out!” I motion for Jericho to turn, but I have to jerk the wheel, making the truck do a one-eighty. “What?” I turn his head around, and he looks out the back of the truck. Almost right behind the truck are the remnants of a police spike strip. “Jesus, it’s almost like those things knew, and set a fuckin’ trap!” Jericho jams the pedal, and we drive away from the strip, only to be met by a mob of at least two dozen zombies standing in our way. “Shit, we can’t get through them,” and Jericho turns the wheel, driving back towards the strip. “No, not that way!” I grab the wheel, but it’s too late, the front wheels run over the spikes, puncturing the tires. The truck comes to a staggered stop, almost turning the car over. “Just drive until the wheel give out totally!” The zombies begin to lurch forward, as he stomps the pedal and we drive down the straight road to the marina.

When we get within a hundred feet of the marina entrance, the wheels give out, and we stop hard, almost sending us through the windshield. “Listen, I’ve got a plan. We’ve got maybe ten minutes at the most till they catch up, so we load up the machine guns and shotgun, take enough food to last a week, and cram it in a bag with enough ammo to last us at least a month. It’s not too far, and if we run, blasting through whatever comes in our way, we can make it to the boat, and we’re gone.” He looks at me, fear building in his eyes, and jumps out of the car. I load the rifle mags, and he fills his shotgun. He slings it over his shoulder, and checks the clips in his pistols. “Ready man?” He looks up at me form his bags, “Yeah, let’s get out of here,” and he pulls the bags out of the bed.

As we start to run away, the zombies appear out of an alley, closer than I thought. “Fuck, you start running, and I’ll slow them down.” “What you’re crazy, you’re the one with the keys to the boat and…” “Just run!” He picks up the bags, and runs. ‘I’m sorry man,’ and I lift the M-16. I pull the trigger, and after a spray of lead, the truck explodes, flames holding back the undead horde. As they slowly stumble back, I continue running, catching up to Jericho. “Why’d you do that?” “You planning on coming back?” He shrugs his shoulders, and we continue running.

“Here it is. His boat, if I remember, is at Pier Three, Slip Seven. The Sea Shanty, silly name, but who’s to argue.” We walk along the pier, scanning for the names, when a zombies stumbles out of a guard building, and it grabs Jericho. I pull out one of the revolvers, and send the zombie into the water. It stands up, its head barely clearing the water level, and I fire again. The water turns red in the dim light, ad blood pours from the remnants of the ghoul’s head. “Thanks,” and we resume walking.

When we reach the boat, we toss the bags and large guns into the hold below. “Okay, I start her up, and you keep an eye out.” I jump up top, pop the key in the ignition, and the engine sputters for a moment before roaring to life. “Yes, tank’s even full. Jericho, ready to split…hey man you, oh fuck.” Jericho stands frozen in place, his eyes set on dozens and dozens of zombies standing at the entrance to the marina. I grab the machine guns, toss one to Jericho, and we start to blast away, reducing several of them to dust. “Man forget it, let’s go!” I grab him by the shoulder, and we turn back towards the boat as the zombies lurch towards us.

“BRRRRAAAAPPP!” Machine gun fire breaks out, bullets penetrating my lungs in several places. I spin around as I fall, and I see Jericho standing over me, smoke rising from his gun. “Wh…why, I offered to take you with me, away from, (cough cough) ‘oh shit, blood,’ away from here…” “I’m sorry, I only packed enough food for one man, but it’ll last me for at least a month, enough ‘till I get to an island, maybe Puerto Rico. I guess you won’t be needing these,” and he reaches down, pulling the revolvers out of their holsters. He tosses them in the boat, along with the AK, and he starts to walk away, “I’m sorry, survival of the fittest. But if it’s any consolation, I’m forever grateful, and I’ll toast a beer to you when I get to the Caribbean,” and he begins to leave. ‘I don’t think so,’ and I pull out my pistol, remove the silencer, and point it at Jericho. With every ounce of strength I have, I pull the trigger, and a bullet flies through his shoulder. The second bullet grazes his arm as he goes down. He looks back at me, looks up, seeing the undead mob making their way towards me, and begins to laugh as he jumps onto the boat, as my pistol falls from my grasp. He turns to the steering column, and hits the lever for the gas, and he slowly putts away, laughing at his victory as I lay on the dock, lung-shot and bleeding to death.

I look in the other direction, and see the zombies getting closer, and I look back at Jericho. As he stands at the helm laughing, I see something rise out of the hold behind him, a zombie. I watch it grab him by the head and arm, and dig its teeth into his neck, ripping flesh and muscle. As Jericho screams in agony, his lifeblood oozing out of a gaping wound, followed by another, I turn onto my back. I look up at the stars, and with my last breath, I close my eyes, and laugh…