Franklin


Lamar secured Chop's chain lead to the felled tree on the mansion's property, claiming the canine would serve as an alarm system. Though the Rottweiler was not well trained, his inherent ability to hear and sniff out trouble long before any human could had saved Lamar and Franklin's lives numerous times during their trek through the ruined city. Chop's only other useful trait was his ability to attack on command, and though the bites he'd inflicted on a couple of the crazy people they couldn't avoid had never been fatal or debilitating, it had at least provided a short distraction, leaving the two men to dispatch them from a safer distance. Distance was key. Once those lunatics got too close, it was usually game over.

Old dude was lucky we were around, Franklin thought, glancing at the heavy set, salt-and-pepper haired man who guided them toward the crippled entrance of his wrecked mansion. Others hadn't been so lucky, Franklin's own aunt among them. He would never get that last image of her out of his mind; the way she came barreling at him the moment he'd entered the house, screaming incoherently, her face ashen and veined, and her eyes red as blood. He'd stood there, frozen in horror for what, at the time, had felt like forever, though in actuality it had to have been only a few seconds. Only when she had grabbed him, growling like some savage animal, did Franklin snap out of his stunned dismay. He'd fended her off as long as he could without a weapon. Lamar had been the one to put her down, arriving in the nick of time after he'd retrieved Chop and some guns from his house. Had he not, Franklin knew he wouldn't be alive now. The man acted a fool and razzed him more often than not, but when shit got real, he had his head in the game and always had his friend's back. It couldn't have been easy for him, either; Franklin knew Lamar had always had a thing for his Aunt Denise, despite the massive age gap.

She wasn't the only one who'd succumbed to whatever madness had spread among the populace. Most of the members of the street gang Franklin reluctantly took part in with Lamar had gone nuts as well. After the incident with his aunt, they had tried, with the aid of a few other gang members, to safeguard Forum Drive, but not even the harsh realities of the hood life could've prepared them for what they would face. Grossly outnumbered, their gang brothers, tough, hardened men they'd grown up with for the most part, had met horrible, screaming deaths on the street. Franklin and Lamar were the only ones to survive that short-lived battle, and only because Franklin had insisted they run when the tide had turned against them. Lamar had wanted to stay and fight, but Franklin had gotten through to him in the end. It just made no fucking sense to fight a losing battle, to die for nothing. Fleeing had shamed his friend, but as far as Franklin was concerned, he saw no dishonor in what they'd done. Doing what one must to survive was simply human nature.

As the trio entered the residence, Franklin looked around at the destroyed interior, then up at the streak of jagged sunlight pouring in through the damaged roof. "Damn, man. What the fuck did that?"

Michael glanced up and shrugged a shoulder. "Jet, probably; it sure as hell sounded like one. Might've winged it. Anyway..." He looked at the two men, putting on a business-like expression. "Listen, I don't know who either one of you really are, sure as hell don't know if I can trust you, but I gotta go out on a limb here. It's a rare fucking thing when someone helps you out of the kindness of their heart. If that's why you did it, fine. If not, if you two try anything...you'll fucking regret it. Got it?"

Lamar scowled, offended. "Yeah, yeah, we get it. We niggas, so 'course we gonna loot your fancy, broken shit and rape your white-collar wife." He looked at Franklin, frowning. "Fuck this shit, FC. Shoulda let that freak eat his racist motherfuckin' ass. Let's bounce."

Ah, shit, here we go... Franklin thought, rolling his eyes. "Come on, dog-"

"Hey," Michael cut him off, his sharp words directed at Lamar. "Why don't you chill the fuck out, all right?" He threw his arms out wide. "Look at the fucking situation; an entire city destroyed, maniac killers on the loose, and no fucking help in sight. You can't honestly think shit like this brings out the good in people when we're all fucking each other over on a normal day. I got a family I gotta look out for, so yeah, I'm gonna assume the worst out of anyone, regardless of what fucking race they are."

"Look," Franklin spoke up, wanting to ease the tension. "Y'all both need to chill." He looked at Michael. "You gotta look out for your family, I get that, man, but Lamar saved your ass and he didn't have to. We wanted to steal your shit or rape your wife or whatever the fuck you think we gonna do, we coulda put a bullet in your dome the moment we stepped foot in your house. I ain't saying we upstanding motherfuckers, 'cause we ain't, but we're the best motherfuckers you probably gonna get. You need us, or you wouldn't have brought us back with you."

The older man grit his teeth, as if those words were a painful blow. The truth usually was. Michael closed his eyes with a heavy sigh, a hand coming up to yank at his graying hair. "Yeah...you're fucking-a right. I hate to admit it, but I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, and that's uncharted territory for me."

"This shit uncharted territory for all of us, dog. Look, like I said, you need us, but we need you, too, especially if you handle a gun as good as you claim. Three that can shoot got a better chance out there than one or two."

"I guess we're going to find out; it's the only fucking option I got." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm gonna go try to talk the family into it. If you hear yelling, ignore it; it's normal."

The man stepped carefully through the debris and disappeared beyond the basement door.

Lamar went into what remained of the kitchen, tossing junk aside to get at the cabinets in hopes of finding some food. Franklin brushed some roofing off the couch and sat down, pulling his cellphone from his jeans pocket and powering it on. He'd kept it turned off to conserve the battery. Since this shit had started, he hadn't been able to get service, but his hope still held out that that would change. The only person he had left in the world besides Lamar was his girl Tanisha. She'd gone off to visit relatives in Vice City a week ago. He didn't know if what had happened here had happened there, too, but he needed to get in touch with her, to know she was okay, and she was probably just as worried about him as he was of her.

Unfortunately, the moment the menu screen came up on his iFruit, he was greeted with that 'no service' message. "Shit."

"Persistent motherfucker," Lamar remarked, watching his friend over a shoulder.

Franklin looked up at him, frowning. "What you sayin'?"

"You a persistent motherfucker," he clarified as he went back to rummaging through a cabinet. "Them cell towers down, probably got blown up. Put that persistence to use on the motherfuckin' situation at hand, fool."

Franklin rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the friendly advice, homie."

"I'm just sayin', homie. Ain't shit you can do about it. Gonna drive yo' ass crazy checkin' for service every ten fuckin' minutes when you ain't gettin' shit. Ain't that what that Mark Twain dude said, insanity's repeatin' shit, expectin' a different result?"

"That was Einstein."

Lamar waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Whatever, know-it-all nigga. You get the motherfuckin' point."

"You're out of your fucking mind, Michael!" came a feminine shriek from the basement.

"If you've got a better idea, I'm all fucking ears, Amanda!"

The screaming match between the spouses went on for a couple minutes, and was soon joined by two other voices, one male, one female. Franklin exchanged a what-the-fuck-is-that-about look with his friend.

"White people be fuckin' crazy," Lamar remarked with a shrug and tossed a bag of potato chips to Franklin. He found another bag for himself and stood in the remnants of the kitchen, cramming a handful of chips into his mouth.

The basement door slammed and Michael stormed into the living room, booting junk from his path, hands balled into fists at his sides. He looked between Franklin and Lamar and put his hands up in an exasperated gesture. "If you two survive this shit, never get fucking married and have kids. Unless you enjoy being miserable."

The two friends just stared at the man, not having anything to say to that.

"So," Franklin spoke up to push the awkward moment on. "Your family agreed to this shit?"

"Agreed?" Michael laughed without humor. "Did it sound like they were agreeing? They don't got a fucking choice, no more than I do or you do or any other poor schmuck that's alive out there. And apparently, that's my fucking fault." His hands clenched into fists again. "Argh, fuck!"

The man paced a bit, perhaps in an effort to calm himself. Then he turned to Franklin and Lamar. "All right, look, if we're doing this, I need weapons." He shook his head. "Scratch that. We all need weapons, as much firepower as we can carry without burdening ourselves."

Franklin rose a brow. "How the fuck we gonna get more guns?"

"There's an AmmuNation close by, in Morningwood. We go there and loot it. And let's just hope no one else got the same idea."

"And if they did?"

"Then...Jesus, I don't know. If those maniacs out there are tough fuckers like Carl was, we ain't gonna get far without guns." He looked at Franklin. "You said it yourself, the only thing that kills them is headshots."

"Who the fuck's Carl?" questioned Lamar.

"The man you put a bullet in. He was my neighbor; decent enough guy for a lawyer."

"Shit, man, sorry," Franklin said.

Michael shrugged. "It is what it is. Hang tight for a minute."

The man returned to the basement once again, presumably to explain to his family what the three of them were planning to do, and judging by the hostile yelling, the news was not well received. When Michael came back out into the living room, he was carrying something with him.

Franklin stared at the item with astonishment on his face. "Shit, is that a harpoon gun?"

Michael smirked. "Hey, it's considered a projectile weapon, right?" He jostled the spear-loaded instrument. "This baby's an antique, but she's still got a lot of life in her, and she's better than nothing."

"I guess so. You know how to use that thing?"

The man laughed, though Franklin failed to see any humor in the question. "Ask my wife's former fitness coach. The wife-stealing prick's sporting a prosthetic leg now...if he's even still out there."

"Shit, dog, you serious?"

"He got off easy," Michael declared as he headed for the front door.


It took them close to three hours to reach their destination, as they used alleyways and sneaking around at Franklin's insistence, which slowed their progression. Most of the streets were impeded by small groups of aimlessly wandering maniacs and abandoned vehicles. After everything Franklin had gone through with Lamar, he found avoiding the crazies as much as possible and taking them on only when it was absolutely necessary was the safest option. Going straight on the offense with those people was suicide, as they tended to be in packs or massive droves, and they were unnaturally strong and fast to boot. They were just unnatural, period.

Things took a turn for the worst when the men finally reached Morningwood and Chop let out a growl, forcing Lamar to reach down and cup him around the jaw to keep him from barking.

Coming to the mouth of an alleyway, the quartet stopped there, keeping hidden behind the wall of a building. Across the way in the parking lot of a strip mall, a gang of those mindless maniacs roamed, blocking entry to the AmmuNation. The front doors of the place had been blown open by something, splintered wood scattered around and the ground and walls damaged and blackened and smeared in blood. Pale, mangled body parts lay in the entrance way, and a handful of people were kneeling there, licking the blood off the concrete. Not far away from them, two others fought over an arm while a man slurped at the gory end of a severed leg.

"Ah, shit, I feel them chips comin' up," Lamar said, his face tinged green.

He dropped Chop's chain leash and Franklin stepped on it to keep the animal from running off as his owner lurched after a dumpster, doubling over, vomit spewing from his mouth with an uncomfortably noisy "Urrrgg."

"Hey, keep it down," Michael hissed at him.

Lamar shot him his middle finger as he gagged out the rest of those undigested chips, then he pushed Franklin's foot off the leash and scooped it up, wrapping it around a fist. Chop sniffed at the puddle of vomit and proceeded to lick it up until Lamar gave his leash a yank, making a disgusted face as he huddled beside the other two men. Thankfully, his vomiting hadn't attracted attention.

"Fuck, man," Franklin complained in a low voice as he eyed the group of people. "Nothing's ever easy, is it?"

"Never expect it to be, kid," Michael advised. "How smart are these things...people...whatever the fuck they are? Well, obviously they're all fucking insane, but I'm wondering if they're easily fooled."

Franklin looked at him. "What're you thinking?"

"Distraction. Break out a window down the street or set off a car alarm or...we could use the dog to draw them off."

"Oh, hell the fuck no. Them motherfuckers'll rip him apart," Lamar objected. "He can handle one or two, them stragglers you come across sometimes, but that big ass group? Fuck nah. I ain't riskin' the little homie's life for this shit."

"Then why the fuck did you bring him with us? What good is he?"

"I just told you, fool. He can handle one or two, and the little homie got better senses than us. Sniffed out them motherfuckers 'fore we saw 'em."

"Man, I don't know how intelligent these crazy motherfuckers are," Franklin said, changing the subject. "They walking around like they don't know where to go, spouting gibberish, but me and Lamar seen them take out a motherfucking tank."

Michael looked at him in disbelief. "A tank? How the fuck's that even possible?"

"Numbers. Thousands of these freaks downtown, like I said; that's where we seen it happen. Overwhelmed the tank and killed all the soldiers. There was other tanks, too, but they...shit, man, they fucking turned on each other. I don't know what the fuck's going on."

"You and me both, kid. Jesus fucking Christ."

Franklin looked back out at the assemblage of people moving about the parking lot. The fight over the severed arm had come to a conclusion, the victor walking off with his prize. The man lifted the gory end up to his mouth, fingers squeezing at the arm as if he were trying to work out the last glob from a tube of toothpaste. When he'd had his fill of it, he tossed it away, his mouth and chin stained in blood.

"See that shit, LD? I told you they ain't eating people. I think it's the fucking blood they after."

"What the...fuck?" Michael breathed, stepping back from the entrance to the alleyway and gripping at his hair. "The fuck is this shit?"

Franklin looked around at him, anxious the older man was going to have a freak out. "You okay, man?"

Michael let out a weak laugh. "Fucking perfect." He dropped his hands from his head. "Okay, I've seen enough of this shit. Let's go get those fucking guns."

And, as the man had pointed out beforehand, that required a distraction. Franklin looked up and down the street, at the cars clogging it. There was no way to tell which ones had alarms from where they were, and they couldn't exactly go looking, but in simply breaking a few of the windows, it might provide enough of a distraction to draw them off. He then glanced around the alleyway and took note of the fire escape leading up to the roof of one of the buildings lining the street. There were also a few bricks laying around from a wall a sedan had smashed into.

Franklin formed an idea.

"A'ight, so you could take some them bricks over there up to the roof," he said, pointing out the fire escape. "Drop them down on the cars. That'll get those motherfuckers' attention. Might get lucky and hit one with an alarm. And they can't reach you up there."

"Unless they got enough sense to climb the fire escape," Michael pointed out.

"By then, we gonna have them guns," Franklin assured. "Grenades and RPGs and shit, too. That'll take their crazy asses out."

"If it ain't already been looted. But, you know what? This plan is the best we got, given the circumstances. So, let's get to it."

After Chop's leash had been secured to the handle of a dumpster, Franklin and Lamar helped Michael carry as many bricks as they could up to the roof. It took numerous trips and a lot of stamina. The older man was huffing and puffing by the time they'd gotten enough bricks up there.

"This better be fucking worth it," he said, leaning against the fire escape railing to catch his breath and wiping sweat from his brow with a forearm, despite the nippy chill in the air.

"Hey, man, you got the easy job up here," Franklin reminded him.

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that."

The men headed down the fire escape. Once Franklin and Lamar were on the ground, they pushed the fire escape ladder up and Michael used the mechanism on his level to lock in place, taking care of the potential problem of those maniacs getting up to the roof.

"Once you're in that shop, you're gonna have to move quick," the former bank robber advised the two. "I don't know how long this is gonna keep them distracted, if it does at all."

Franklin nodded. "A'ight, man."

He and Lamar returned to the mouth of the alley, watching the people still roaming about and waiting for Michael to start making some noise.

"You ready, LD?"

Lamar tsked and whipped out his pistol from the waistband of his jeans. "I was born ready, nigga."

"A'ight, we gotta be sneaky though, dog, so don't be getting trigger-happy on them motherfuckers."

"Man, I know, fool. Damn."

Franklin shrugged. "Just saying. I know how you are."

From somewhere up the street came the inevitable bang-and-crash as a brick dropped down on a car windshield. At the parking lot, heads jerked toward the noise and a few of the crazies moved in its direction. The sound of more glass shattering drew off a couple more, but it was still not enough. The ones kneeling near the AmmuNation entrance refused to be drawn away from the blood on the asphalt. A couple more bricks later, and a car alarm whooped, echoing through the street. Still, those few people remained where they were, blocking the entrance to the gun shop.

Franklin cursed. "They ain't moving."

"Man, fuck this," Lamar insisted. "We can take them motherfuckers."

He started to leave the alleyway until Franklin grabbed his arm and yanked him back. "Gunfire's gonna draw them others to us, fool. We gotta think of something else."

Lamar opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off before he could.

"Yo!" came Michael's shout from the rooftop. "Up here, you crazy fucks! Come and get me!"

Franklin saw a brick sail across the street, clocking one of the maniacs kneeling on the ground in the back of the head. He had to suppress a laugh. "Damn, old white dude got an arm."

The woman who'd gotten hit turned her head and gathered herself from the ground, her red eyes zeroing in on the threat. She let out this hellish sound and ran toward the others gathered outside the building Michael stood atop. Another brick flew across the street, but the aim was too low this time. It landed on the ground, breaking apart.

"Argh, fuck me!" Michael cursed.

He continued yelling and throwing bricks, most of them missing their targets, but the persistent onslaught finally got the attention of those last few stubborn lunatics. The others were still crowded around the front of the building, shouting incoherently and growling, and clawing at the walls and windows as if they could reach their intended victim that way.

"Here we go," Franklin said as the last person bolted away from the AmmuNation, screaming nonsense.

Lamar unwound Chop's leash from the dumpster handle, and then the three of them moved out of the alley and ran for the gun shop while Michael shouted and dropped bricks down on the heads of the people, keeping their full attention on him.

Franklin tried to ignore the scattered body parts and the amount of gore on the shop's floor as he made a beeline for the stockroom, where most of the firearms and ammunition were kept, Lamar and Chop on his heels. He grabbed what firearms he could as his friend ransacked the accessories shelves, grabbing a couple duffel bags to carry their loot.

"Remember what Michael said," Franklin cautioned his friend. "Too much gonna weigh us down. We probably gonna have to run after this."

"Quit telling me shit I already know, nigga."

"Consider it a friendly reminder, nigga."

The duo worked together quick, Franklin stuffing one duffel with an assortment of firearms while Lamar took care of the required ammunition. When they were done, they started to head out, but Lamar stopped at the door, staring up at the wall on his right with a broad grin on his face.

"Woo! It's fuckin' Christmas up in here!"

Franklin turned to him as he was reaching up for something. "Man, let's go. He ain't gonna distract them forever."

"He ain't gotta do shit when I got this bad motherfucker!" Lamar declared, pulling up the RPG launcher to rest on his right shoulder. "Grab up some rockets, fool. I'mma 'bout to blow up some crazy bitches!"

Situating his duffel bag to rest on his left hip, Franklin grabbed as many rockets as he could carry from a crate on the floor and followed his friend out of the shop. As they stood there on the edge of the parking lot, Franklin passed off one of the rockets to Lamar and he loaded into the launcher.

"Hold on, man," Franklin said, then glanced up at the roof, where Michael stood, and waved an arm around to get the man's attention without making unnecessary noise. After a moment, Michael caught sight of him and backed away from the ledge of the roof, knowing what was coming.

"Aim for that car by them," Franklin told his friend. "That gonna rip them fuckers apart."

"I got this, fool. Get Chop and get out the way."

Franklin grabbed the dog's leash off his friends wrist and stepped aside. Lamar used both hands to steady his aim, then squeezed the trigger. The rocket hissed out of the launcher, and Lamar stumbled a bit from the force of its departure. The rocket still flew true, smashing into its target. The car exploded, and two others around it were caught in its destructive radius, going up into simultaneous fireballs. They all lifted off the asphalt and crashed back down to it, one smoldering vehicle overturning on its side. The energy from the explosion blew apart some maniacs. Flaming metal and gore swept through the air in every direction, smashing through shop windows and down onto a few cars and the street. A handful of people were on fire. Or at least that's what Franklin had first thought until he realized it was only their clothes that was burning. The people themselves...

He could hardly believe his eyes. "What the...fuck...?"

The skin should've been melting off their bones, but their physical bodies were utterly untouched by the flames. How was that fucking possible? It defied the very laws of nature!

There was no time to think about it, as the lunatics saw them and rushed for them, screaming bloody murder.

"Gimme a rocket, Frank!" Lamar shouted.

Fuck that. "You ain't gonna have time to load it and get it off. We gotta run, man!"

Franklin didn't wait for a response from his friend, dropping the last two rockets down and bolting off across the street toward the alleyway, yelling for Michael to get that fire escape ladder down. Lamar threw the launcher forward and followed, pulling his pistol out. The moment he got to the alley, he turned and fired off a few shots at the pursuing maniacs, winging one and getting another in the chest, though both shots did nothing to slow them.

Franklin found Michael standing on the lowest level of the fire escape, the ladder down as he'd asked. The man had his harpoon gun aimed out, and the moment those freaks came screaming into the alleyway, he squeezed the trigger. The harpoon sailed right through a man's head, the impact knocking his corpse back on the ground. Michael dropped his harpoon gun and looked down at Franklin.

"Kid, give me your gun!"

As Lamar fired bullet after bullet on the advancing maniacs, Franklin tossed his pistol up to Michael. He caught it with ease, leveled it at a target, and fired. A man dropped dead, a hole in his forehead. He fired again. Another headshot. As the gun went on thundering in the man's skilled grip, the last of the maniacs dropped like flies.

Michael climbed down the ladder to rejoin the other two, handing Franklin back his gun.

"Shit, dude, glad to see you wasn't lying about knowing how to shoot," the young man said.

Michael smirked. "Ah, well, what can I say? It's a gift."

"And modest, too."

"Hey," the man laughed. "I don't got much else going for me." He gestured at the duffel bag sitting on Franklin's hip. "So, how was the take?"

Franklin dropped the bag on the ground and bent over to unzip it, displaying the firearms he'd looted. Michael knelt down to look through them, nodding in approval. "Ammo?"

"I got it, dog," Lamar said, reaching out to take Chop's leash from Franklin.

Michael smiled at them. "Hey, for two kids, you ain't half bad. Good work. Now, we better haul ass. We've seen how easily these animals are drawn to sound, and we just made a fucking lot of it."