Army of the Dead |
|||||||
|
|
||||||||||||
Army of the Dead
A second place contest entry by Rob Edwards
General Harlan Cooper, (known as "Howlin' Harlan" to his men) was not having a good day. First, his base had been assigned to temporarily store a large shipment of a toxic chemical en route to its final destination. Its designation was "Trioxin 239-A." When Cooper had attempted to learn more details, all he had been told was that it was a "diluted, refined version of a similar compound that was being sent to Washington for further study and evaluation," which told him precisely, nothing.
Second, the unthinkable had occurred. One of the canisters had been breached when a restraining strap had broken while the canisters were being off-loaded and it had crashed to the ground. Cooper had been supervising the off-loading and watched in horror as great, green, billowing clouds of gas had erupted from the canister, washing over a number of his men, instantly rendering violently ill everyone it came into contact with.
Army HAZMAT teams had been dispatched immediately and were still in the process of cleaning up when the storm hit. Such a sudden, violent downpour, accompanied by jagged lightning and crashing thunder, Cooper had never seen the likes of in his long and distinguished military career. But a little rain wasn't gonna send "Howlin' Harlan" scurrying for cover, so he stood his ground and continued to supervise the cleanup. As the rain washed over him, it felt like slimy ice and was accompanied by a slight burning sensation all at the same time. "Better make sure to mention that to the HAZMAT team," Cooper thought to himself.
Lieutenant Thompkins, Cooper's aide, broke into his train of thought. "General, do you hear that, sir?" he asked. "Hear what?" Cooper replied, ears straining. Then, over the sounds of activity and the pouring rain, he heard it. It sounded like wailing. Moaning, unearthly, wailing. "It sounds like it's coming from the old graveyard," Thompkins observed. Cooper peered through the pouring rain and darkening gloom, trying to see what in the Sam Hill was going on over in the old military cemetery by the perimeter. What he saw he could scarcely believe.
Working its way up out of one of the graves was a man. Or what was left of a man. His rotted flesh made any of his discernible features unrecognizable, and his once proud uniform hung in filthy tatters from his skeletal frame. As Cooper's mind struggled to cope with the evidence of his eyes, another pair of hands, followed by a head, then a torso, broke into view. Followed by another. And another. Quickly the entire cemetery was alive with moving shapes as rotted corpses twisted and writhed their way up out of their graves, resembling fat, bloated earthworms as they worked their way up out of the rain soaked ground, all along accompanied by that high, keening wail of pain, sounding like a chorus of the damned.
By this time all work on the sight had come to a halt as everyone became aware of the hellish spectacle unfolding before them. Some of Cooper's men snapped out of their revelry as the corpses began staggering toward them and rushed forward with weapons ready. "Halt! Stop where you are or we will open fire!" If the dead heard, they gave no indication. "Fire!" The night came alive with muzzle flashes as a dozen M-16's blazed out a firestorm of 5.56mm lead. Round after round thwacked into the living dead, with no effect whatsoever. Like a putrid tidalwave, the zombies washed over his men, and Cooper's face screwed further into a mask of horror and disgust as he watched them rip and devour the flesh from the living bodies in a cannibalistic frenzy.
As Cooper watched in stunned shock, absurdly, the old phrase ran through his mind 'Old soldiers never die…'
"Lieutenant Thompkins, sound the alarm! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!!!"
Cooper leaned against the wall as he snapped another clip into his weapon. He and his men were fighting a losing battle. How DO you kill something that is already dead? Cooper had discovered how-- quite by accident. As one of the ugly bastards had come for him, he leveled his weapon and put a round right between its rancid eyes. The walking corpse went down and stayed down. "Shoot 'em in the head! You've gotta shoot 'em in the head!" Cooper called out to his men. But it was too little, too late. They were forced back past the armory, past the barracks, past the mess hall. His men were badly outnumbered by the seemingly unending hordes of the dead, and they were panicking badly, forgetting all of their discipline and training. Christ, Cooper couldn't blame them. They were trained to fight living opponents, not dead things from hell.
As the general chambered another round, he realized that he was the only living thing in sight. The mobs of zombies apparently realized it at the same time and began converging on his location. Cooper looked quickly about and spied the entrance to the infirmary next to where he was crouched. Rushing through it, he slammed the door behind him and locked it as the masses of the dead began trying to pound their way in.
Looking about him, Cooper saw his men that had been exposed to the toxic gas and had to be sent to the infirmary. Or what used to be his men. Their faces were smeared with blood, and they were clutching the organs and limbs of the doctors and nurses they had killed, which they hungrily devoured. They spotted Cooper roughly the same time as he spotted them and began stumbling toward him as he raised his weapon and fired.
And fired.
And fired.
And fired.
Cooper sat wearily behind his desk, his pearl-handled .45, which had been a gift from a four-star general, in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in the other. He had barely managed to fight his way free and had retreated to the CP, the last location not overrun by the dead. It was all over. There was no hope. There were too many zombies, and their numbers were growing. Every one of his men they killed got up and became one of them. Communications had been lost with the outside, and, even if help were on the way, it would get here too late. By the moans and groans echoing in the hallway, the general could tell the zombies were in the building. Then the pounding began.
Suddenly, the door splintered under the impact. Cooper watched as the first one through the door was Lieutenant Thompkins. His left arm was completely missing, and the flesh on the left side of his face had been gnawed completely to the bone. As Thompkins turned to face him, his one good eye met Cooper's and their gazes locked. There seemed to be a flicker of recognition there and a soft groan escaped his lips as he began to stagger forward. Cooper raised the .45 and fired, blowing blood, bone, and gray matter out the back of Thompkins' head and all over the wall behind him. "Rest In Peace, soldier," Cooper murmured.
As Thompkins' now twice-dead corpse slumped to the ground, the still walking cadavers shuffled in behind him. Cooper realigned the .45 and began methodically firing. Corpse after corpse was flung backwards by the fat .45 blows to the head, but there were too many of them. Cooper crossed himself and put the .45 to his temple, determined to leave this world with what little honor and dignity he had left.
*CLICK*
The weapon was empty.
Cooper hastily popped the clip and began to reload, but it was too late. Cooper screamed as the zombies surrounded him, greedily stripping the living flesh from his bone. As his life ebbed away, he left the army of the living.
And joined the Army of the Dead.
|