CHAPTER 2 - FIRST CONTACT

Atticus flew the plane low and slow enough for both of them to get a good look at the devastation below. Flying over Kansas, they saw masses fleeing, mostly in cars and on foot. Kansas City had been taken over by rioting gangs and crime lords, but they wouldn't know about that from flying above. Atticus informed Samuel of what he learned of all the reports coming in as they travelled cross country. The streets of Indianapolis were all but emptied, except for some rebels having the time of their lives before the end. The entire eastern seaboard was evacuating west or illegally flying out of the continent.

"Captain, I can't believe I'm going to say this, but can you get closer?"

"I gotcha, Doc."

Captain Ross descended even more to get a first-hand account as they approached Ohio. The outbreak was now crashing down upon the flotsam towns in the valley. The horde moved swiftly like a flash flood, trapping people in their homes, if they didn't know enough to flee west. There was no escape now. The horde already stretched from the Midwest to the Atlantic ocean, fueled by the multitudes unable to get out of the major cities in time. Over ten million were dead. Most of them did not remain dead.

The cities were filthy with stains from oil and gas explosions and pillaged stores. The blood-trail from the horde painted the streets with the elegance of a mad artist’s brush stroke. The highways were desolate parking lots. Homes were burned down, fortified as makeshift bunkers, or broken into. Residential America was in shambles, and quickly losing ground.

As the suburban streets got more crowded, they passed over the Beltway, a network of highways circling the nation’s capital.

“We’re here.” Atticus pointed the War Bird’s nose toward the ground.

“I can’t believe this is really happening.” Samuel muttered to himself, looking out the window as they landed across the street from the house in a school parking lot.

Suburban towns and neighborhoods, once crowded with life, were now burned, and gutted, as far as the eye could see. Brushfires smoldered among the charred remnants. Any house still standing had been ransacked, along with the yards, now junkyards, and the streets. There was not a soul in sight.

How could anyone survive this?

As soon as the wheels touched down, Samuel tried to exit the aircraft. Atticus grabbed him by the arm.

“Are you nuts, Doc? Going out there without suiting up first?” Atticus brought Dr. Chase to the War Bird’s armory. “We have specific gear on board for dealing with this kind of threat. We call it Protocol Z.”

Samuel examined the long sleeved shirt Atticus had thrown him, then looked back at the captain in disbelief. “What’s this? Under-armor?”

“Not quite. Try ripping it.”

Samuel couldn’t rip the fabric. There wasn’t even so much as a seam to tear. It was the perfect defense for vulnerable flesh against bites and scratches. There were also bulletproof vests and combat-pads for their elbows and knees. After the elastic tear-proof under-shirt, the vest, their field jackets, pads, gloves, and boots, both of them were completely covered except for their faces.

The sidearms were already clipped onto ammo belts. Atticus grabbed a Desert Eagle .50 gun belt. He also took a second DE out of another belt, sliding the gun and its holster onto the first belt before clipping it together. Atticus slid both pistols behind him and began putting extra ammo on.

Samuel grabbed a 9mm pistol. Before he could decide which rifle to take, Atticus told him to take two pistols. At random, Samuel grabbed a python revolver, then snatched an M4 rifle with an ACOG scope and suppressor attached. He slung it over his shoulder by the strap, while Atticus did the same with a shotgun.

The captain locked and loaded a silenced P90 and approached the door.

“Why are all the rifles and machine guns silenced?”

“Studies have shown that anything louder than a pistol could potentially attract hundreds of them.” Atticus stopped and smiled. “Aside from the Desert Eagle, of course.”

Samuel stared at him, shocked. “The government was prepared for a zombie apocalypse?”

“Ever since the first atom was split, measures have been set by the US government and military to be prepared for any scenario.” Atticus said it as if repeatin from memory a military manual. “It wasn’t until the days of chemical warfare and weaponized viruses that the potential for a rising dead scenario became fully realized.”

“From what you're saying, it sounds like the government has also been trying to build such viral weapons.”

“I wouldn't be surprised if they're to blame for all this. At least it’s more likely than random woman being the head of some terrorist cell." Atticus turned to Samuel, "You ready?"

“You got enough guns?” Samuel retorted nervously.

“Can never be too safe.” Atticus met Samuel’s eyes and held them. “Doc, are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“It’s across the street, Captain. I think I can manage.”

“One block can be a long way when it’s crawling with creeps trying to eat you.”

“I’ve seen the news reports. I know what’s waiting for us on the other side of these doors.”

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“It’s different when you’re face to face with it. It's still killing a man. Just stay with me, stay close, and whatever happens, we stay together. here and back.”

“Okay…” Samuel took a breath. He was okay just a few seconds ago but now after Atticus assessed the situation, well Samuel was a scientist, his brain ran wild with potential scenarios. He had to get a grip. There was no turning back now.

“I’m ready. Open the doors.”

The bay doors raised up revealing a cloudy winter day, gray of light. Smells of smouldering cinders and burning embers flickered the winds. Even though the suburbuban neighborhood had been clear when they landed, they emerged from the War Bird to the sound of cries and moans maybe a block away, approaching them. The noise and commotion from the landing had alerted the dead to their whereabouts.

“This is it, Doc.”

Atticus pushed Samuel towards the street as he kept his head on a swivel, checking both sides and behind continuously. The wailing creatures were now close enough to see. They came dragging their limbs down the street, not running but not walking briskly, with raw purpose. like a bullet, and altogether inhuman.

Samuel would always remember the first time he saw one face to face.

It was the eyes: two vacant pupils staring back at him. The image would be burned into his mind forever. A woman with long blond hair clumped together by dried blood, covered in dirt and the guts of both others and her own. Her body was slowly deteriorating through her clothes. Soon the flesh on her elbows, toes, nose, and fingertips would be loose enough to fall off, withered down to the bone. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-five.

Her eyes were gray, and her skin was as pale as they winter sky above. From the neck down she looked normal, a girl out for a run. She might even have been beautiful before she was bitten, but it was hard to tell. Even ignoring her wasted features, the bite on her cheek was a dead giveaway. Half of her top lip was missing, and the little piece left dangling off her nose was just about ready to rot off. Her blood scattered, stained teeth showed through all the way to the gums even though she would never smile again. The dead girl moaned and drooled uncontrollably, slowly making her way towards Samuel. He could no longer bear to look at her.

“Shoot them now so they don’t have a chance to surround us.”

“Oh, my god,” Doctor Chase said.

“SAFETIES OFF!” Atticus screamed as he began to fire his P90 in bursts.

Monsters of men, women, and children alike, came at them, screaming, trailing blood and dead flesh, trying to bite them, contaminate them, devour them. A flagrant abomination and affrontation against humanity. Samuel was losing grip of reality because reality had twisted into an atrocity, a total travesty. This simply could not be how the human race meets its noble end. How did it ever get this bad? Samuel was checking out until the sound of each bullet chewing into the head of the attacking corpses stirred him from his existential crisis. On the other hand, Atticus showed no mercy.

Samuel still had not fired a single shot. He looked at the death all around him, and how Atticus had just jumped right in. It was all too much to bear. His family had to be dead. He knew New York would be just as bad as this. Atticus finished his clip and reloaded, keeping the undead all around them from getting too close. Samuel was barely able to walk.

They slowly crossed the street towards the house. Atticus knew Samuel was in shock. He steered the doctor with his hand on his shoulder, swinging his SMG across both sides of Samuel's head, firing on zombie after zombie trying to flank them.

“Just cover the front door!” Atticus yelled, briefly pointing his rifle at the white-shingled house ahead of them.

The objective finally snapped Samuel into the moment, pulling him out of his own head. He aimed through the Carbine’s scope and kept the front door in his crosshairs.

After a few seconds, the door opened, barely visible behind the makeshift barricade nailed across it. A woman was trying to break out of her own barricaded house, pulling plank after plank off the doorway. Something was driving her out to the street, and it couldn’t just be the sight of them coming to rescue her. The dead must be in the house. She ran through as her bare ankles were nipped at by undead carcasses on her stoop. She frantically fought to break free of their reach.

The woman ran to the street and crashed into Samuel’s arms, gasping for air. Gun still in his hand, Samuel grabbed her while Atticus covered them. In the middle of the crowded zombie street, they started backpedaling to the ship in the parking lot. Samuel took his sights off the front and turned around to get inside the ship.

“Time to get going, Doc,” Atticus called, still firing his P90.

The wretched corpselings had now gotten in between them and the ship. One gun wasn’t enough, especially now that they had someone to protect. Samuel needed to help. He drew up the sights of his rifle and started firing.

Atticus finished off the remaining rounds in his P90, then switched to his Desert Eagle and got to work clearing the dead that were now approaching the ship from behind them. The higher caliber weapon blew a grapefruit-sized hole in anything he shot. As he methodically took out zombie after zombie, the captain couldn’t help noticing Samuel’s shooting with growing surprise. Atticus had not figured the doctor for a marksman.

“They just keep coming,” Atticus said panting. “It’s impossible to hold down a front.”

“We have to get inside the ship!” Samuel fired again, and a rotting head exploded in a shower of gore. The horde of dead didn’t so much as glance at their fallen comrade, now twice dead. More were approaching from around the side of the school, drawn by the crack of gunfire. “I’ll take the ones in front, you clear us a path.”

“Right.” Samuel wanted two things at that moment. He wanted them to be anything else but human. That and he wanted to know why Atticus could fire on these people without flinching. What switch was in a soldier’s head that he could not flip himself? Well, he had to. And he had to right now. He could deal with the rest later.

He shot at their knees to bring them down. From left to right he swept the line-up of walking undead unfortunate enough to cross his sights. They looked ghoulish. That helped a little. He still winced every time he had to point his gun at a kid. He bit down and tried not to look away and most of all Samuel tried not to think about his own children back home in New York. Samuel kept firing, until they stopped moving. That required shots to the head. He used every round in the clip and that still wasn’t enough.

Samuel struggled to release the empty clip from the rifle. Atticus did not have the time to help him. His continuous shooting kept them at a safe distance. Samuel watched the captain smoothly replace his empty ammo clip with a full one. If only. Samuel’s gun training went as far as bolt action rifle range shooting at Boy Scout summer camp.

He looked forward again and saw one of the zombies he downed crawling towards him. Samuel panicked. He had to reload in the next couple of seconds or the crawler would be on them. He kicked it away and it groaned, finally attracting Atticus’ attention.

Before either of them could do anything more, the spare desert eagle pistol was pulled from Atticus’ waist. The woman swung the hand cannon over and shot the crawler, severing head from stem. The blood and viscera caked the sidewalk as it splattered, too chunky to spray cleanly. She held the smoldering pistol with both hands, compensated for the recoil like a real pro. Samuel finally locked and loaded his rifle, avoiding eye contact with the sidewalk.

Atticus tapped Samuel on the shoulder, signaling the path was clear. He plugged in his code on the side of the War Bird and the door to the ship popped open. Samuel pivoted in with his rifle, followed by the woman, Atticus put down a few more, covering them, before closing the door safely. He took off his equipment and jumped into the pilot seat. “We’re getting the hell out of here!”

“I think we stirred up a hornet’s nest.”

“They’ve been here for days,” the woman whispered in Samuel’s arms on the bench. Her eyes were closed, and she breathed unevenly.

“Nothing we can't handle,” he assured her. The smile his confidence earned him told Samuel she was okay. “Are you Rebecca Pratt?”

“Yes…” She opened her eyes. “And I can tell you how this all happened.”