My alarm clock buzzed and beeped noisily. "Aw, fuck, c'mon," I mumbled to myself. I reached over and blindly searched for the snooze button. After thirty seconds, it was programmed to switch to the radio. It was on the sports station—I'd fallen asleep listening to my favorite radio show—yet, some newscaster was talking frantically about riots and such.
"There have been reports of chaos on the motorways as thousands of people try to leave, there's—" I shut it off.
I glanced at the clock; it read 4:30 AM. Fuckin' military life.
I more or less fell out of bed, and walked to my closet, my room still bathed in complete darkness. I scratched my stubble, and walked to my closet.
I opened it and pulled out my army fatigues and camouflage. I walked over to my dresser and pulled out a pair of underwear.
I walked into my bathroom and turned on the light, temporarily blinded. I pinched the bridge of my nose and turned on the shower. I took off my boxers and threw them behind me. I admired my physique in the mirror. Military life was hard, but it showed. I flexed and admired my image.
I stepped into the shower and let the hot water run over my body. I cracked my ankles, popped my knees, cracked my back, then my knuckles, finishing with my neck.
After a few minutes I turned off the shower, and grabbed a towel.
I dried off and put on my underwear and pants. I opened one of my drawers and put on my dog-tags that were in there. After I finished my routine, I walked over to my closet and got all my army outfits, and threw them inside a duffel bag.
After getting all my gear together, I did fifty sit-ups. After my sit-ups, I started to do fifty push-ups.
"36, 37, 38, 39," I said between grunts. I was on forty-four, when someone started banging on my door.
"Yo, Snyder, get the fuck up!" yelled a deep voice. "Yeah, wake up!" yelled another voice, this one higher, a woman's voice.
"I'm coming, Jesus," I yelled. I grabbed my duffel bag, and put on an undershirt. I put one arm through my camouflage jacket, and opened the door.
There were two of my squad members, Staff Sergeant John Horvath and Private Alexandra Banks. "You geared up Private?" asked John.
"Drop the formality John," I said. I put my other arm through my jacket. I shook my duffel bag. "Yeah I'm geared up."
"Good. Now let's blow this popsicle stand."
We started walking down the hallways of my apartment building. "Hey, Ally," I said, nudging her a little. We were friends, not the best, but she was nice enough. And pretty damn hot, I might add.
"Hey," she whispered.
"Do you have any idea why us reserve were told to expect a transport at 5 in the morning?"
"You know about the riots?"
"Kind of, why?"
"Well, there getting out of hand. They're calling in all reserves for assistance. Martial law's about to be appointed."
I whistled lowly. "Even us Marines?"
"Like I said everyone."
We'd reached the door, and I noticed a Humvee outside. There was someone on the .50 cal and some Marines were crouched down with their rifles at the ready.
We stepped outside, and the air slapped my skin. We walked over to the Humvee and I opened the back and I stepped in, the rest of the soldiers following. I recognized my best friend Christian Sanchez. "Sup Chris," I said.
"Sup Jack." He lifted two guns. "Want the M16 or the M4."
I chuckled. "You already know, the M4." He handed it to me, along with four clips of ammo. I pulled out the clip in the M4 and took some tape from my duffel bag. I taped the two clips together, making for faster reload. He handed me a Beretta and three clips, as well as some frag grenades.
I looked through the laser scope of my M4. It had a 4X zoom. I cocked the M4, and turned off the safety.
The Humvee started to move, as Ally handed me a spare Kevlar vest. I took off my jacket, and put on the Kevlar over my undershirt.
I looked out the windshield. Although it was early in the morning, there was no one on the roads.
"What the hell happened?" I asked.
Christian spoke up. "Well, the rioters are spreading."
"I know that, but how?"
"No idea. But, if you ask me, this ain't rioters. This is something bigger. How it spread just doesn't seem right. And how they attack…It's just not right."
I was curious. "How
do they attack?"
"Teeth. The sons of bitches bite
you."
"Fuckin' zombies," I muttered.
"That's what I'm thinkin'."
The .50 cal let loose and I quickly looked out the windshield. A mob of rioters were tearing at us.
"Let's fucking lock and load," said John.
I opened the door and stepped outside. The mob was about half a mile away and was coming at us full speed.
The .50 cal shooting in front of the mob, warning them. "Can we kill?" I asked.
"Only if provoked," John answered.
They were still running at us, and the .50 cal stopped shooting.
I looked through the scope and looked at one of the 'rioters.' Half of his face was missing, and his arm had been torn off.
"Fuck that," I said, and fired three shots into the crowd. None of them even flinched, even the ones I hit.
The mob was a fourth of a mile away now.
"Holy shit, they didn't even stop!" yelled one of the soldiers.
"What the fuck are you doing Snyder?" yelled John.
"They ain't fucking right, and they ain't stopping," I retorted.
I unloaded my clip into the crowd, and only four went down. "See?" I said.
John looked around. "Fire at will!" he yelled.
Everyone started shooting, and the .50 cal let loose.
Instantly ten or twelve of the mob flew down, but the mob kept coming.
I didn't shoot, saving my ammo.
The mob was getting closer, though the numbers were thinning, until finally only a few stragglers were left running.
"Stop shooting," I yelled, "save your ammo!"
Everyone stopped firing. Only three of them were left and they were shuffling towards us.
I pulled out my knife and jogged towards them. "Hey assholes, don't you think you guys should have stopped running towards us?" I said when I was standing about ten feet away from them.
They just made a primitive scream and gnashed their teeth.
I jogged towards the nearest one and stuck the knife through his chin. The K-Bar had a little resistance at first, but slid through, and the man crumpled to the ground.
I took a few steps towards the next one, and did the same thing.
The last one had his intestine and guts spilling out of him. I grabbed his arm and twisted it behind him. I grabbed his hair with my other hand, and walked back to the Humvee. "I don't think these are rioters," I said before sticking my knife through the back of his skull.
I pulled my knife out, blood and brain matter on it. I wiped it on the clean part of the dead man's pants, and stuck the knife back in its sheath.
"Damn, what the hell are these things," asked Ally in a scared voice.
"Zombies," Christian and I said in unison.
