“What time is it?” Marvin asked, not that he really cared. Out of the city, in the rural country, night was darker than he ever imagined it could be. The burning scraps of paper that was their sorry excuse for a fire only made the dark around them darker. “Hey, excuse me.” He repeated. A disgruntled private stirred. He was slouched against a fallen log and had snoring faintly earlier. He glanced at a watch on his wrist. “Its…****in…2:41…” He murmured. “Why do you care…you’ve got no where to be.” “Yea…” Marvin agreed absently. The soldier promptly went back to sleep. Marvin spared a glance around at the rest of his group. Five marines, himself, a mother and son, the latter being about 7, and a brother sister family, both in their early thirties Marvin guessed. Save for two of the soldiers whispering quietly away from the fire, just barely visible in the night, they were all asleep. Marvin envied them. He couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t slept much in several days, come to think of it. The few times he had, he would awaked by dreams of growls and the clashing of teeth, visions of the dead, and even worse, the un-dead. Marvin had never been one for superstition, which was why he still fervently denied that little voice in the back of his mind which told him simply: Zombies. It was impossible, there was no evidence, no possible way the dead could…not be dead. It was simple really; people were just rushing to hasty conclusion, these zombies, were just…what was actually happening…the thing was…the thing was Marvin could find no other explanation. He was a man of science and reasoning, a professor, as it happened. He had taught at New York Institute of Technology for seven years, and for seven years he had found scientific, reasonable explanations to every problem presented to him. Why not now? And if, the little voice added, if you find an explanation, one bristling with numbers and calculations, then what? Will that stop you from being next? Will absolve you from the memory of your beloved wife trying to tear you limb from limb? No. Suddenly Marvin became aware that the marines had stopped whispering. He looked over at them, and realized were staring fixedly towards him. “Guys?” “Shhh,” The larger breathed harshly. “and don’t…move…” Terror gripped Marvin as the marine reached slowly towards his weapon. He brought the gun up to his solder. Before the noise of gunfire, which followed split seconds after, Marvin felt an unbearably pain seize his left arm. He screamed, and bullets erupted around him. He stood and whirled around to see a frail elderly woman shrieking in agony as 5.56mm rounds filled her body. Because, the little voice kicked in, she’s not a frailly elderly woman at all. Sure enough, the resemblance was minimal. What was left of her skin was a sick gray; most of her body however was scrapped raw and bloody. Remnants of a dress and undergarments hung around her giving her the look of an insane person. But her face was her most terrifying attribute. She wore an expression of primal hunger, now mixed with pain. Her face was more a skull than human visage: eye sockets were hollow, cheeks thin, hair spindly. Marvin watched in horror as the walking corps fell to the muddy ground, all the while gazing while she moaned in agony. It wasn’t until she had ceased twitching did he stop to realize what the pain in his arm must have meant. Blood gushed from his forearm, were a bite mark lay. Realization flooded over him. He looked in horror at the two marines, one still clutching his gun. The shrieks and gunfire had roasted the rest who were now avidly watching the event about to unfold. “Please…” Marvin begged, now looking down the sites of an M4 Carbine at the two marines. “I don’t want to die like this.” He could see that the soldiers were as scared as he was, scared of what he would become. “I…I don’t want to die like this…” And he didn’t. A muffled pop sounded from nowhere and then another: the two marines dropped instantly, blood spurting from newly formed wholes in their foreheads. The mother shrieked and covered her son’s eyes. The private with the watched no brandishing his own rifle, stood, and fired shots into the darkness, only to fall himself from an identical fate. Screams. Out of the darkness, from behind the mother and son, arms emerged, clawing bloody skinless arms, and began dragging them backwards. The two remaining marines were now holding guns of their own. One, a lieutenant, was shouting, what Marvin could not tell. He rushed over to the mother and son, shooting at the creatures hidden in the darkness, attempting to save them. The other soldier only stared blankly forward. The screams from the campers and howls of the dead nearly obscured the single gunshot that sounded from his own pistol, bringing him swiftly to the ground. With all logic and reason driving from his mind and now replaced with sheer, unmitigated terror, Marvin ran off into the night. Corporal Jacobs took point. To his left was Lance Corporal Dubois, to his right Private First Class Calvin. Behind them was Private Thomas. They moved through the city slowly, formation tight, with the comforting tattoo of the Iroquois gunship, Reaper 25, hovering above them. “This town is deader than a strip club at 6AM,” crackled the pilot’s voice in Calvin’s ear. “I’ve seen deader.” The crew chief put in. “You’re not helping, Markus, so just shutup unless you see someone that ain’t me, Alpha or Charlie.” The chopper was about 200 feet above Fire Team Bravo, combing through a once thriving town east of New York City. Two more choppers flew at similar altitudes over Fire Teams Alpha and Charlie both a few blocks either side of Bravo. “Alright, Reaper 25, entering a building, stand by.” Jacobs beckoned and the four marines moved slowly into a dreary run down store. It like the ones before it was empty. Some signs of struggle were visible, broken glass, magazine racks askew, but it was devoid of life. Not even a curious fly crossed their path. After a thorough sweep, they emerged into the flat light of the cloudy New York morning. “Let’s visit their neighbor.” And once again they moved slowly into the shadowy interior of a building marked, Hardware Etc. “Clear.” “Clear.” “…Clear” Was chanted after each empty room was inspected. “Jacobs, the stairs.” Dubois motioned to a flight of stairs strewn with debris, amongst it were small pin pricks of blood. Stepping carefully over the rubble and trash, Bravo made there way cautiously up the stairs, Dubois in front. At the top was a small hall leading to three different rooms. Specks of blood decorated the hall, but did not reveal the direction of their owner. Jacobs motioned to the one on the right and Dubois and Thomas rushed threw, giving a thumbs up seconds later. Calvin watched the stairs, kneeling, as Jacobs and Thomas burst into the next room. Again to find it empty of of anything but boxes. One room remained. It lay across from the stairs, conservatively small windows overlooking the dusty streets. Just then they heard the husky call of Dubois. “Corporal! Calvin, get in here!” and then, to someone else, “Sir, please state your name or I will be forced to fire!” They hurried into the room. Dubois, an African-American former college-wrestling star, was built like a gorilla. His tall stature and booming voice normally had those who encountered him do so from a safe distance and always with a cautious look. As Thomas and Jacobs, followed closely by Calvin, burst into the room, they found Dubois looking terrified; staring fixedly at a man huddled in a corner. But the man didn’t react to the sudden noise and unexpected company. He remained still, shivering, blood soaking his shirt. Blood usually meant one thing: terminate with extreme prejudice. But Dubois had not yet fired. “Sir, I think he’s human, I think he’s alright.” Jacobs knelt down, “Reaper 25 we have a possible human survivor,” then, “Sir, we have to be sure your not infected, please tell me your name.” The man looked up at the Corporal. His eyes were desperate and dull against his pallid completion, but he managed a sigh. “Sophie?” “What the hell is wrong with you, he’s dying!” Calvin rushed forward, med kit out. “Hey Markus, get your ass down here we’ve got a casualty!” The man, Sophie, was given water. “Hang this up!” Calvin shouted, handing an IV bag to Dubois. “I need your arm, sir.” Calvin said soothingly. “I’m trying to help you.” In a jerky motion Sophie extended his right arm, to which Calvin attached the IV. The man’s free left arm revealed his left arm or what remained of his left arm. “Jesus!” Dubois turned away, nearly throwing up. Calvin inspected the sump with gloved hands, “This is too neat…” he puzzled, “but…how…” “****!” Came Dubois’s cry again. He cringed, gesturing to the opposite corner. Hidden in shadow, lying in an even bigger pile of blood was a forearm, and next to it, a hacksaw. “What hell happened to you…” Jacobs muttered under his breath. The chopper landed and Sophie was carried out on a stretcher.
I loved the text, really well written and everything. The tittle ZOmbies! does not makes it justice tho. What is it? you wrote it or what? Is sophie and mervin the same guy? A guy's name is sophie?
haha thanks! and yes i did! and yes they are! sophie, as you will learn later (if i write more) was his wife's name haha, what a silly name for a guy
