Chapter 25: Reason For Rhyme

He huffed and puffed like a gazelle he sprinted
The empty road, lights paint streaks of gold
As he ran, no signs of life he sighted
 The police he seeks, calamity must be told

His feet were sore from running bare
 His temple pounding, his body wear
From lines of clothes he stole a pair
 In such event, thievery seemed fair

Turn by turn the streets got wider
 Empty cars across they scatter
If he had stopped to ever wonder
 What seemed amiss and lacking order

The city he reached to find it empty
 No soul no sound save drizzle on pavement
A world he would sum seemed unsightly
 If not for thought clouding his judgement

Standing now before the fort
 Doors agape, he felt distress
Hello he called without retort
 Had he his senses, he would regress

Within the halls he finds a waste
 Effects strewn all over the place
He calls and calls no one to face
 A moan he heard deep within the base

It must be someone, he thought to himself
 The one he hoped is able to help
He dashed across, ducked under a shelf
 Only to find before him a whelp

The moon shed light into the bowel
 He saw the whelp hiding in cower
It turned and hollow eyes most foul
  It's face he note the intent scowl

The whelp he sees it's teeth jagged
 With dripping blood it's face corroded
Amidst the air a smell looms putrid
 What seemed awakened beyond the dead

To run he knew but legs stay stuck
 This beast before him now grows amok
First mom now this, imagine his luck
 It gave a growl and then a strut

As the whelp prepares to pounce
  Explosion he heard from way behind
It's head erupted it fell and bounced
 Then lay before him devoid of mind

He turned to find a man on the ground
 He lied in blood unable to rise
'Thank god my child you have been found'
 'You're here to look for help I surmise'

He told the man of enraged mom
 How she attacked in state of fit
Along he came away from harm
 Answers, help, a police to greet 

The man asked if there was kin at home
 Then he recalled sister in slumber
'Return home, with this bat you must haul'
'Strike their heads and send them to nether'

And off he went he headed back
 How it was he forgot his sister
During the frenzy, senses he lacked
As he left the station, dawn grows nearer







 

Chapter 24: At the 'way

"Owl. Come in Owl!" There was no reply. He heard a loud bang which could be the sniper rifle going off, but he couldn't tell if it came from Owl's gun or the enemy's.

"Team. Regroup. Head south-west to the baseball stadium."

"Roger," came the reply in chorus through the radio.

He packed up his gear and left the scene. He was already familiar with the routes taken by the roaming monsters. His enemies were camping in the northern edge of the city, constantly drawing attention by their endless gun shots and explosions. By staying out of major roads and the rim of the city, one can travel safely without encountering so much as a couple of stray human zombies. And neutralizing them using silenced handguns would not warrant additional notice.

About ten minutes later he arrived at the main entrance of the baseball stadium. It was an entire stretch of red bricks 3 storeys high. There were torn and partially burnt flags hung all around, just above the row of broken glass leading to complete darkness beyond that. Weeks ago this would have been the place of hustle and bustle. Roads would've been filled with cars and people during the Playoffs. He stepped into the darkness through the broken glass panes and found himself in a diner just as his eyes adjusted.
He could hear the clatter of utensils on glassware and the echoes of chatter. Two weeks ago they served clam chowders, fish and chips, and coffee by the pot. Two weeks ago there was life in this city. Today it became a graveyard of undeads, diner tables scattered with unfinished food now reek of mold. The people must've left in a hurry. As his mind wandered a crackle of shattered glass on the ground just outside of the building startled him. As he turned with his rifle taking lead, he found members of his squad; Tiger, Sly and Chain.

"Sir." one of them spoke. "I took a detour to Owl's checkpoint. He's gone." All three of them had masks and Night Vision Goggles mounted on one eye. 

"Taken down by a 50 cal. They even took his gun," he continued. He was Tiger, the team's recon.

"These guys are different," another, a woman, said. She had wiry blond hair tied to a tail. Her face was heavily smudged with grease and some scars, eyes hollow and deep. She was biting on a cigar. Chain was the team's Firebat, but unlike any conventional Firebat her weapon of choice was a set of modified Arclite she personally named the Ifrit Gemini; two single-handed flame throwers attached to gas tanks strapped onto her back. Chain was Soviet-born, with no affinity to smiles and warm gestures. Standing halfway over 6-feet in height she was the tallest in the team. Along her sleeveless right arm were numerous burn scars. Occupational hazard. 

" I told you we should have hunted the Major down and neutralized him when we had the chance. Now he's got reinforcements and he's gonna make it hard for us to get our job done." Sly spoke. Sly was stout with V-shaped torso and shredded arms. He appeared to be holding a massive triple-barreled rifle with ammunition belts pouring out of each one and slung all around his thick torso. The 'Minigun" weighed at least 20 kgs and with Suppressive-Fire on, it can rain 6000 rounds per minute; enough to blend an entire horde with just one casual sweep.

"Relax." the leader, Mother 1, said.
"If he's gonna try to finish what he started, I know where we can get them."
"During the kite," Tiger immediately interrupted.

 Explosions rocked the entire northern corner of the city. Previously intact glass were now scattered across the tarmac, in a million little pieces. There was silence again, but the previous din still ringing in their ears. Remnants of three fatties now smeared everywhere. We didn't think it was even possible to take down three of them in one go. The Major's ability in handling them and luring them straight into the ring of claymores was unbelievable. Seemed quite heavily practiced, even.

The fatties, or Lyganesh, were about three storeys tall and had their bodies stitched up from different parts. Some had 3-4 arms protruding out of their torsos and each hand wore a cleaver. Their skins were incredibly pale and some inner organs even visible through the translucent flesh. Bloody abominations, I call them. I could not imagine how could this monster have mutated under natural conditions, unlike other zombies we've encountered which looked like they were previously living beings.

As the ringing in my ear subsided I hit a button to retract the tripod of my gun. It turned Suppressive-Fire off and allowed me to move around. I was the last one returning to our checkpoint further south. Suddenly I felt wind blow out of the ground right behind me. I turned around to check it out but found nothing behind me.
Odd. The rain has long stopped, and there was no wind ever since. More oddly the wind pushing out off the ground.

Realizing I was already far behind the rest of them, I picked up my pace and started catching up with them. Then there it was again, wind bouncing off the ground behind me. This time it was stronger, and there were faint flapping sounds. It was rather unexpected but I immediately recalled our landing complication into Boston earlier this evening.

I turned around and instinctively looked up. There it was, a gray shadow in the darkness of the night. It's bony wings spread torn skin wider than the road I was on, with claws protruding from the ends. As my gun barrel reached the direction of the monsters my flashlight caught it's head. Six eyes, reflecting red. Jagged rows of teeth dripping blood. It had a pair of contorted horns almost the length of it's head. It's body was human-like, but skin very dark and scaly. It's muscular limbs ended with sharp claws. Then it has what looked like a thick tail.

What at that brief moment seemed like the longest few seconds, I stood motionless staring square at that monster. It then let out a shriek with pitch so high I immediately loss balance and fell to the ground.

Chapter 23: Night of The Dead

0200

His slumber was startled by a distant cry. As he slowly regained consciousness the echo of the cry faded away. He couldn't tell if it was from his dream or was it of this world. He found himself in his bedroom snug underneath thick sheets. Silence save the deep and constant drone of the air conditioner. It wasn't a particularly hot season, but he liked keeping his room extra cold and himself tightly bound in fleece blankets. 

As all sensation returned to his sleeping body, he suddenly felt the urge to pee. Reluctantly jumping out of the warmth of the bed, he quickly rushed over out of his room, pass his little sister's room door, and through the next door into the washroom. 

He turned on the lights. It blinked. Again. And again. The room was illuminated. He emptied his bladder, let out a shudder and depressed the flush button. As he turned around and reached for the door knob he heard a loud scream. This time it sounded like it came from inside the house. Not a dream, he thought. He didn't know what to do. It sounded like a man. It sounded like his dad. 

0210

Harnessing all the courage he's got, he crept out of the washroom and into his room to get his trusty baseball bat. It was tucked just behind the room door. One of the places around the house he kept crude weapons for break-in instances like this one. His mom called him paranoid, seeing as this was practically a crime-free neighborhood. She was wrong.

He got out of the room, passed his sister's room which was still closed. He walked pass the washroom, lights still on and the door halfway ajar. Then he got to his parents' room door which was just before the stairway down to the living hall. It was open, completely dark inside. 

"Mom. Dad." he whispered. No response. Slowly he pushed the door open to check on his parents. The hinges creaked and almost immediately his attention was turned to a crashing sound heard from downstairs, most probably from the kitchen. He tried as quietly as possible to descend the wooden steps, hoping not to rouse the robber and be able to  have a swing at him for messing with the wrong house. 

The living hall was pitch black save road lights flooding in through the windows. The window sheers moved slightly to breeze, but he was too focused on the kitchen to notice. As the walkway ended and the kitchen hall opened up he saw the a figure standing behind the island counter. It seemed to be digging at something on the ground just beyond the counter. 

"Oi!" He yelled, breaking silence. Just as the figure was turning around it's face was lit up by the outside light. He swore he saw blood all over the figure's face and mouth. He couldn't make out the figure's face through the mess of hair all over it. 

0220

Without thinking he rushed towards the figure and swung his aluminum weapon around in hope it would hit something. It did both times but that didn't seem to harm the figure. Instead it reached out both hands to grab him. He stumbled backwards barely missing it's reach by a few inches. But it didn't come any closer. Something below the figure seemed to have prevented it from moving. Then he heard the faint sound of his father. 

"Run, Tom. Get your sister and run!"

The figure went down and attacked his father. Refusing to let it harm his father, he swung the bat right onto it's head. Twice it hit the head, causing a loud cracking sound. His father was screaming out, he could see the figure plunging it's hands into his chest and ripping flesh off. One more hit on it's head and it cracked. It landed on the ground next to his father with a loud thump, lifeless. 

Dropping the bat he crashed onto his knees, landed on a massive pool of blood. He removed his shirt and compressed it against his father's open chest. 

"Dad. You're gonna be okay."

"Tom." his voice weak. It sounded as if those words took all his energy to muster.

"I'm gonna call the ambulance now. Hang in there."

"Tom. Listen to me."

"No dad. You should keep quiet. Your wound don't look that bad. You're gonna be fine." He was lying. His father's wound was so bad he could barely look at it again. He didn't dare press too hard against the wound because he could already feel the broken ribs and something that could've been the organs beneath. 

"Tom!" His father grabbed his arm. He was shivering, sweating. He was trying so hard to hide the panic that was overwhelming him entirely. 

"Get your sister and run. There are more of them around. Be careful. Go for their heads. Find the police. Your mom is gone." Words came out very slowly and very difficult.

0300

No words were uttered after that. Slowly he watched as his father groaned in pain, threw a few episodes of fits, and began chocking in his own blood before passing out. He cried and shivered. He didn't know what to do. He sat there in the pool of blood right over his father's body. He cried. He trembled. He didn't know what to do. 

0335

He sat right over his father. No longer crying. He was trying to recollect what happened the past hour. What was that figure? Why did it want to hurt his father? How was it able to tear open his father's chest with it's bare hands? 

Mom is gone? Where has she gone to? She has to be somewhere around. Maybe she will know what to do. 

He stood up, for the first time since the whole incident his head was clear. He knew what he needed to do. He needed to find his mother. She would know what to do. As he turned around to head to the front of the house, a sparkle from below caught his eyes. It was an object below shiny from the reflection of the outside lights. The object was around the dead figure's neck. With it's head crashed open he could not see the person's face. But that reflective necklace looked mighty familiar. It was... 

"Mom?" It suddenly dawned to him that the figure was his own mother. The very person who tore his father open. The very person he killed with the baseball bat. 

His own mother. 

"M.. Mom?" 

"Mom!!!" 

0400

The police needed to know this. He needed to contact them. They would know how to handle it. But he would be going to jail for killing his mother. But his mother tried to kill his father. And why would she try to kill him? What on Earth is going on here?

He stood up and started towards the front door. His legs soft, gave way a few time s causing him to crash onto the ground. He got up again, headed through the main door and slammed it close behind him. 

He needed to get to a police station. His body was soaked with blood. He was without a shirt. His right hand still holding the baseball bat with traces of his mother's brain matter still stuck at the edge. The cold air struck his bare skin, but he couldn't feel anything. The neighborhood was dead silent. There were two people dead in his house, and not a single soul heard what happened. Both his parents were dead and he killed one of them.

The police will have the answers. They have to have the answers. 

Chapter 22: Strays

"I'm just here to look for some lost items, not to harm anyone." His arms were still tucked behind his neck with both his elbows pointing outwards. He was kneeling down at the moment.

He closed his eyes.

"If you let me go, I will give you everything I have and be on my way. I promise I will not leave this spot for ten minutes to give you a headstart." 

He needed the little time. Just a little more. He felt the cold barrel behind his neck tremble slightly. This could very well be his lucky day after all. But he had to be very sure what kinds of people he was up against. He needed a little more time.

"Take the guns. I have ammunition and med kits in my waist pouches. Take them and go." Nobody tried to do anything. The slight tremble of the barrel behind him was still present. Crucist got the time he needed.

He opened his eyes. What little light around him gushed into his pupils and flooded him with temporary sight before it adjusted. He could see a figure, no more than 5 foot tall, standing before him with a handgun held out towards him.

'A kid?!' he thought to himself. Quickly he ducked and rolled leftwards through the doorway back into the room he exited just moments ago. Just as he thought, no shots were fired. As inexperienced as they seemed, they were smart enough to realize they were standing in each other's line of fire. Both stumbled towards the doorway, with their guns held out as far as their arms can reach. Silently Crucist crawled up behind the wall just next to the doorway waiting.

A handgun was seen passing the doorway. Amateurs. They're doing this all wrong, he thought. Keeping the firearm too far away from the body in such a tight environment creates a very cumbersome distance between the user and it's weapon, which also slows the user's reaction time and accuracy. 

Crucist's right hand went straight for the wrist, thumb and middle finger pinching the nerve point that would incapacitate the person's arm completely without much effort. At the same time his left hand reached out below to fetch the falling handgun. Maintaining grip of the wrist Crucist pulled the person towards him, twisted his arm around the neck with his back directly against Crucist. The handgun now against the kid's left temple and both of them facing the doorway awaiting his accomplice to show himself. 

It wasn't very effective. The kid's inferior height and body mass left Crucist still exposed to gunshot in too many corners, should his accomplice decide to take the chance. He walked in, exiting the darkness behind him... Or her. A girl?! Barely taller than the boy he was holding as his shield. Her hair short and dressed in shorts and an over-sized T-shirt, but no mistake it was the face of a little girl. 

"What the fuck is this?" Crucist thought to himself, but somehow the words escaped his mouth in a whisper. Although it wasn't the best time to be prim and proper in front of children he couldn't help but feel a slight guilt for spilling the words out. 

The girl inched closer, still unyielding. Her hands trembling more now, the gun still pointed dead at Crucist. 

"Lady, I'm not here to harm anyone. You put down your gun, and I will let your friend go." 

She inched closer. Crucist started to panic. But he tried very hard not to let the two see it. What is worse than a person with a gun is a person with a gun, and her hands trembling. 

"Let. Him. Go." her voice was soft and rusty but stern, as if haven't been used in a while. She was barely 5 feet tall, clothes dirty and torn in some edges. Her face was visible now, covered with dirt and grease. 

"Listen. I'm not here to harm anyone. I'm with the United World's Committee Omega Squad. I'm here to rescue some people stranded a couple of weeks ago here in Boston."

That didn't seem to calm her nerve. What ever happened to the days when army uniform and ranks instill sense of security? And why hasn't anyone thought of this before, the fact that there could be surviving civilians in the city?

"That was what they said, too." His eyes widened suddenly. 

"Who they?"

He wasn't sure if she was referring to the same people. Could be from the team who's marksman Night Cat killed a few hours ago. 

"You met them?"

No response from the girl. She was standing still now. And Crucist could already see the weight of the gun building acid 

"One of them tried to kill my team member, and we took him down."

"They will come for you. All of them, like they did your friends."
"Our friends?" 

He didn't know what to make of the words he had just heard. The people they were sent to rescue were not casualties of the monsters created from this disaster? Who are these other groups of marines? What are they here to do? What is this girl talking about? 

"We don't want to have anything to do with you and your marine shit." The boy he was holding finally spoke. Crucist looked down at him, and it suddenly dawned to him that he was using a child as a shield against another child. So much for instilling a sense of security. Slowly Crucist release the boy and he walked away towards his accomplice, massaging and flicking his right wrist to try to ease the discomfort.  

"As you promised, don't follow us." The boy said, then he grabbed the girl by her arm and fled the scene. None of the guns and ammunition were taken. Crucist was left alone in the room, flabbergasted and unable to make sense of what he had just heard.