"Christ it's hot"
Lt. Harvey N. Smisson pulled off his gas mask and wiped his brow. It was indeed hot where he was. Carefully dragging corpses towards the bonfire where dozens of other twice-dead bodies were heaped and currently burning.
"You sure got that fucking right, Smisson" called out a fellow man named Farley ",but you shouldn't complain. At least we aren't the ones killing these fucks."
'He has a point' Smisson pondered as he slid his mask down and tossed another body in the fire.
He took a seat nearby the fire and took a glance at the figures in the distance slowly shambling forward, only to have their heads blasted off by some unseen snipers.
It had all started so small, with only a few "zombies", but between the killings and the "zombies" transporting the disease to living people, the plague increased exponentially in a matter of weeks. The living dead! Imagine, reanimated corpses searching for food which only humans could provide, they could only die by brain-damage or by being burnt to, uhm, death.
Unlike the movies Harvey had watched, however, they had fared better in the human-"zombie" war. Harvey himself had killed at least 20 or so of these "Undead fucks".
A large moan followed by gunfire snapped Harvey back to reality.
"Oh......."
Hordes off zombies lurched towards the fire where Harvey resided.
"....Shit!"
They came in waves of 30 to 50,Not that Harvey cared, he just raised his M-16 and promptly unloaded hundreds of rounds of Ammo into them. More took their place. Harvey checked himself for more bullets. Throwing his rifle to the ground and ran over to Farley's position.
"What a bloody mess!" he cried, for obvious reasons.
Farley wasn't himself anymore. He was a 200+lbs sidebar for 8 or 9 fucks chewing him up. Reaching to his back and pulling out a Shotgun and firing off several shots.2 of the snackers found themselves light-headed, mainly because they lacked heads. Kicking several of the rest out of his way he grabbed all the supplies he needed.
Running off into the distance he turned and emptied his guns a couple of times before running again. Turning his head, he saw his escape. A nice red sports utility, plenty of room. Breaking the glass driver's window, he slid into the car. Crossing his fingers and searching for keys. The noise of a thousand walking mounds of death grew louder.
He found none.
Letting his forehead collide with the wheel he broke down and wept. He slid out of the truck and walked towards the advancing wall of the dead. They seemed to almost welcome him with outstretched arms. He slowly raised his weapons and fired into the crowd at head level. He felt personal satisfaction at each impact with a rotting brain.
His heart thumped with every bullet released, and time seemed to slow down as the first few cold hands seized him. At first they couldn't get through his body armour, but they tore it away with chunks of flesh, which
they gulped down eagerly.
Raising his gun to his head as he felt everything going numb, but pulled it up to the heads of the nearest creature, pulling the trigger 14 times he felt proud that he could take out some of them with him...
BLAM!
He smiled as the car exploded behind him, the fire burning his already tortured flesh. Embracing the nearest monster in a death grasp he gave off a howl which rotten monstrosities heard for miles.
Toronto was dying....
- THE END -
© 1999 B.J. Maher. All rights reserved