CHAPTER 4

INFINITE DESTRUCTION.

"I'd rather die when I'm living, than live while I'm dead."

-Jimmy Buffett

"No, no, no these people are fucking dead. You have to fucking kill them all and hope that we snuff this fucking thing out!"

"Mr. Nelson, please check your language. We ARE live."

"Fuck that! The FCC doesn't give a shit about fuck right now! Have you seen what's happening outside your fucking office window? The Military isn't even distinguishing between dead and undead. They're fucking killing everything! Everyone is the enemy now!"

Mason shook his head. He'd made the unwise decision of turning on the radio around 2:00am and after two and a half hours he'd heard just about every perspective imaginable on this real, live apocalypse. A part of him knew that he should just turn it off, and ignore what he could. People had so many ideas of what was going on that it ended up jumbling what was real in with all the garbage talk. On the other hand, hearing what was going on in the surrounding area was giving him some insight. Apparently the National Guard had a few screws loose and was turning the civilian population into live targets. It was that information he found useful, as sickening as it was.

As more foul mouthed garbage began to pour out of the speakers, Mason changed the channel. "It is unclear whether this strange phenomena is the result of nuclear, or chemical weapons, or the disastrous outcome of some type of medical research. The President has not-" He switched the dial again.

"Ok, next caller. Caller, you're on the air."

"It's god… The end is approaching. We've all pushed him out of our schools, our offices, and our lives. No one goes to church anymore, and all people pray about is what they want. God's wrath is here. There's no end to it. It's our fault."

"Caller, you're on the air."

"Who cares what the fuck caused this! Get your guns and get the hell out of dodge man. The only people who are going to survive are the ones who are willing to take a stand and do what they have to do. This is why we have the second amendment, so we can defend ourselves when the shit hits the fan. All those soccer moms and liberals that want to take your guns away… yeah, they're all dead. Shows how smart and right they were." Mason raised his eye brows as he switched the power off.

"Well at least things are getting better." Mason said out loud as he scanned the road before him. It was weird how an outlook on life could change so fast. So many doors could close in the blink of an eye, but along with them some also seemed to open. Life was a tease though. It was a beautiful woman wearing booty-shorts saying you can look, but you can't touch. Any man whose experienced that knows the frustrations that go along with it.

Only two days earlier Mason had been bent on being a cop. He'd wanted the badge, the gun, the authority. Even with all the stressors that went along with it, it seemed too perfect for his personality. The sarcastic side of him was impressed with the idea that God had done this just so he wouldn't get his dream job. That was all fluff though. God wouldn't kill thousands of people just to give Mason a thorn in his side. Yet, the cynical idea stuck with him.

Mason yawned as he passed a pickup abandoned on the side of the road. Before all of this had begun, if he had a bad day he'd tell himself Well its not going to kill me. The self-motivating line had become so untrue that he just about had to laugh it away. He figured he might as well continue to use it. After all, maybe it would make him stronger in some way. The mind was just as strong as the body, if not more so.

The dash-board dinged and Mason's eyes locked onto the red light that was glowing beside the gas-gauge. It was the low-fuel light. It looked like he'd have to wake up Tyler. He turned part way to the back and grinned. Tyler was drooling onto his "Iron Maiden" T-shirt. If he didn't have to, he wouldn't wake his best friend. The scene was too funny.

"Dude, time to get up." Mason put his eyes back on the road. "Holy shit!"

"WHAT!?" Tyler snapped out of his sleep as Mason slammed on the breaks. Straight ahead of the car, a person was running alongside the road. The car skidded to an abrupt halt. And both the young men stared at the pedestrian in astonished amazement.

Mason rolled down his window and Tyler watched in silent surprise as what appeared to be a teenage boy ran up to the car.

"Hey buddy…" Mason said; monotone, "Need a ride?" He looked the kid over. His face was cut up and he was clutching his arm against his body.

"My arm!" The kid groaned. "I-I think its broken!" It obviously was. The bone was almost pushing through the skin like a disgusting bulb; moving around beneath the flesh.

"Ok, Ok!" Tyler opened the back door and climbed out. Oddly, his heart-rate had increased more than when they were in Harper getting gas. Dealing with people was more complicated than shooting at them. It was a startling discovery. "Get in the car; carefully." It was a sorry sight. The kid looked destroyed; with tears of both pain and utter shock running down his cheeks. A warzone was no place for a kid. Then again: a warzone wasn't a place for anyone.

As Tyler helped him, the kid climbed into the back seat. Tyler knelt outside the door and leaned in close to look at his injury. As Tyler grimaced at the sight, Mason climbed out of the car and took a look himself. He made a disgusted grunt and shook his head.

"Yeah, you fucked your arm up good." Tyler cleared his throat and stood up. He had no idea what the boy had gone through and part of him wasn't excited to find out. Curiosity always won the battle though. The kid's face was almost purple. The pain had to be excruciating. "What's your name buddy?"

"Braden," Braden gasped, "Braden Ambry." He pointed down the highway. "My friend- he crashed the car. I think he's dead." More tears ran down Braden's face. His morning had gone from bad to terrible in a matter of hours. There seemed to be no escape from the infinite destruction around him.

It was the previous night that Braden's dad had sent him to stay with his friend Kellen. Kellen lived on a farm, several miles outside town. It was supposed to have been safe. If Kellen's grandfather hadn't passed away in his sleep it may have been, but his body had returned to life and killed Kellen's father. From there, it had been a blood bath. Braden and Kellen had hopped into Kellen's dad's Sunbird and made a mad-dash away from the farm and the city. It had ended in disaster.

Kellen never saw the man on the road. He had been dead for sure. With his arms stretched toward the car, he'd wandered onto the highway before them. Kellen had hit him at seventy-five miles per hour. The car rolled. Kellen hadn't had his seat-belt on.

"Where's the accident?" Mason asked calmly. He was worried about the kid and felt bad for him. The sight of the arm almost made him nauseous. He knew that it hurt. It reminded him of when he'd broken his arm wrestling in High School. The pain was enough to make him puke.

"Like- a mile." Braden pointed down the road again. "We have to hurry." He pleaded desperately. "I don't want him to die- I don't want him to die."

"Fuck it, let's go." Tyler passed Mason and climbed into the car. Mason grimaced in disgust and slammed the back door. He hopped into the driver's side seat and pulled out the Glock 17 as Tyler sped the car up to seventy-five miles per hour. If the boy was alive, they wanted to get there as soon as possible.

It didn't take long for Tyler to spot the car. It was half-way in the ditch, lying partly crushed, upside down. It was a grizzly sight. It was a wonder that this blond, Aber-Crombie model-looking teenager had survived at all. He was a living miracle.

"I got this." Mason said; checking the 9mm's chamber. He didn't see any body wandering around the crash, so either the whole thing was over, or the kid was still alive and couldn't move. He was going for the first part; though it would mean the death of another innocent person. He would never want to be the one to have to choose.

Tyler rolled the car to a stop and Mason stepped out of the car silently. He squeezed the Glock's grip nervously and scanned the dark cab. With every step, he pictured a little kid butchered to nothing; holding in his guts. He felt a bead of sweat go down his cheek. It could be bad, or it could be terrible. There were no other possibilities... not that day.

Mason knelt down and looked into the destroyed car. He could see the outline of a body, but that was it. He had no flash-light, but he had a lighter. He quickly dug around in his pocket and found it. It was his Zippo. His dad had bought it for him as a sarcastic gift. He'd never liked Mason smoking. That was Mason's rebellion though. There seemed to be nothing worse than smoking to piss off parents. Though Mason loved to drink, Mason's dad had known every kid drank. After all, the two had drank together on more than one occasion after a long day's work in the Texas heat.

Mason struck the flint and the cab lit up instantly. He frowned sadly as he saw Kellen staring up at the floor of the flipped vehicle. He was still breathing and his eyes were open. Mason didn't want to say anything. It was like going to your best friend's mom's funeral. You wanted to be supportive, but what could you say?

"I- can't move." Kellen said in a dazed, raspy voice. Tears were running down his face. Mason crawled into the cab, avoiding the broken glass that was everywhere, and got up next to him. He grabbed Kellen's arm firmly.

"Can you feel that, buddy?" Mason swallowed hard. He knew what the answer would be, but he didn't want to accept it. The kid was so innocent looking; no older than 15. He had so much ahead of him.

"No." Kellen sniffled. "I can't feel anything. It doesn't hurt."

Mason felt a flow of morbid sickness overwhelm him. He knew he couldn't take the kid. Moving him would probably kill him. The options were slim.

"I can't move you." Mason said softly; trying not to let Kellen know he was crying. "What do you want me to do? Its your call." Mason knew what the answer would be before he heard it.

"I want to see my mom." Kellen cried; forcing more tears to pour down his face. "I don't want to be alone. I wanna go home, I wanna go home!" He sniffled some more, then, in defiance to fear, he sucked up his tears and held his stature. "Shoot me." He whispered. "Shoot me."

"I'm going to give you a few seconds to think about this." Mason said darkly. "I want you to be sure." Mason scooted up next to Kellen and grabbed his hand. He squeezed it gently and looked into the dying boy's eyes. "You say when."

"Do you believe in God?" Kellen's voice was brave. His fear at his time of death and diminished as Mason had seen in the elderly before. He knew it was time and he'd discovered the peace to accept it. Mason was more than impressed.

"Today's a bad day to ask me that- I mean yeah." Mason nodded. "It's kind of hard sometimes, you know? Before all of this I'd lose a girlfriend and I'd get mad at God for letting her go. I'd get in a fender bender and curse him. Now you come to this." Mason sighed and shook his head. "People thought things were so bad before, but they weren't. Now all we want is for God to make things normal again. I don't know if I love him today, but I DO know he exists. I just know." Mason looked into Kellen's eyes. He could say no more."

"I'm ready." Kellen closed his eyes and Mason put the gun up to his head. He squeezed the trigger and the muzzle flash lit up the car and blew out the lighter's flame. Mason didn't re-light it. He knew the results.

"Dead?" Tyler asked as Mason climbed silently out of the car. Mason didn't respond. He staggered over to the edge of the road and leaned with his hands against his knees. What horrible things had he done to deserve such an experience? What had Tyler done? This had been no test. It was plain torture.

Mason looked off into the distance; over a field that stretched as far as he could see. There was a tractor stopped in the middle of it. It was amazing how beautiful a field could be, even in a time of death and destruction. It was the definition of peace and serenity. It was strange how those things could be ignored and unnoticed before. How could he not know? He'd lived amongst it for years. Thunder roared in the distance and Mason looked to the sky as the wind began to pick up. Gray clouds were beginning to roll in from the west. It would begin to rain soon.

"You ok?" Mason felt Tyler's hand on his shoulder and he turned to him. "What happened?"

"I shot him." Mason spat at the ground and kicked his foot on the pavement anxiously. His face distorted into a desperate glare and then he began to cry. "What are we doing dude?! I can't keep doing this! I can't!" Mason put his face in his hands. "He was a kid! Just a fuckin' kid!" He wiped the tears away with his sleeve as Tyler watched him silently.

"I shot my best-friend in the head." Tyler said flatly. "Don't tell me what you can and can't do." With that, he turned and walked back over to the car. He climbed into the driver's seat and looked at Braden in the rear-view. The kid looked gone. His mind was in a different place; an empty place. Tyler felt like going there too. His own words echoed in his head and Eric's face flashed before his eyes. He could do nothing to change what had happened. All he could do to justify it was to live. He had to live and he wanted as many people beside him as possible.

Mason climbed into the car and looked at Tyler as he slammed the door. He looked angry, very angry. He put the Glock between his legs and rolled down his window.

"If I don't get to sleep in a fucking bed soon," he shook his head, "I'm tired of this fucking car. We need to chill somewhere for a while. Just for a fucking while." He didn't really care about being in the car, he just wanted to complain about something. He couldn't help it.

"Calm down." Tyler shifted into drive and pressed on the accelerator. "We're about one third of the way there. We can't run into too much more of this."

"Huh?" Mason looked at him with wide eyes, then shook his head out of frustration. "Whatever." He couldn't keep his anger in. He was broken and he knew it but that was the first step to regaining control. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and counted to ten in his head. He didn't get angry often, but when he did it ended up being bad. The Police had been involved before. He reopened his eyes and clenched his teeth. "Your friend..." Mason trailed off; looking at Braden in the mirror. He shook his head. Braden wasn't looking at him. He knew what had happened.

"Gas, food, anything else?" Mason looked at Tyler with renewed energy; forcing Kellen out of his mind. Tyler was right; he needed to stay calm and collected. He'd done what he had to and that was that. There was no use leaving a kid to become another walking corpse. No one wanted that.

"Well," Tyler looked at Mason with a cocked eye brow. The lights of town were closing in extremely fast. "I think that's it. Same plan as before?"

"Yeah.' Mason nodded. "I'm going in with the Glock. You two stay at the car. If I don't get back by the time they're within ten yards, then just go."

"Fuck that." Tyler shook his head as rain-drops began to hit the windows. "I'm not doing this alone. I can't." The idea of being completely alone terrified him. When he used to have roommates, he'd always want his alone time. He'd always want at least half a day when no one would talk to him. Now was different. If you were alone for a day in this, you'd be alone forever.

"Do what you have to." Mason stared out the window. All the lights were still on in the town, but traffic was nil once again. That was the only similarity to Harper though. This place was much more grim.

Every household in Launceston seemed to have something terribly wrong with it. The first had every window broken and the front door was opened. The second had a car half-way out of the garage with its doors opened and bags of groceries sitting outside of it. The third one Mason took his eyes away from. It was a beautiful, yellow house with three stories. It would have looked casual if a toddler hadn't been hanging from her neck outside an upstairs window. There was no peace in Launceston.

"O-h fuck." Tyler spat and clenched his hands around the steering wheel. There were small groups of dead-looking people already appearing from all over the place. It was almost comical the way the people looked. Desperate and dead-eyed women and men of all physiques. They appeared almost like clowns banding together. "Where's the fucking gas-station?" Tyler glanced frantically at Braden in the rear-view mirror.

"There-There straight ahead!" Braden pointed down the street, breaking out of his thousand-yard stare. He'd lived in Launceston his whole life. He knew it like the back of his hand. "Go to the second pump! The first one doesn't work!"

Tyler swerved around 3 corpses and clenched his teeth as his eyes jumped to the gas-gauge. They wouldn't make it much further. It would be a terrible joke for the car to run out of gas on them right then. He increased his speed slightly; just in case. That way, they could just roll it to the pumps.

"You keep that fucking door covered." Mason hissed. "If I run into one of those fuckers when I step out the door I'm going to be pissed." He looked at the Glock and cleared his throat as they passed a dead-old man. His throat was missing and dried blood was caked to his neck.

"You got it!' Tyler yipped and swung the car onto the gas-station's lot. He passed the first pump and Mason jumped out before the car halted abruptly at the second.

"Fuck me running." Tyler said nervously as he got out of the car and walked up to the pump. He grabbed the pump and his eyes went to the road as he waited for the fueling-sequence to begin. He could smell the dead; even through the thick scent of Spring rain. They were close too. Moving in, one by one. He could see them shuffling steadily along; their gazes going to nothing but him. They were robots, not people. He couldn't believe how badly he wanted to shoot them. Every single one of them. They were no longer beings to him. They were stress balls; just there for him to express his rage. He'd get his chance. He knew he would.

The door slammed behind Mason as he stepped, enraged, into the gas-station. His eyes locked onto movement instantly, disrupting the small store's odd serenity. He raised the Glock. A man was staring at him, walking awkwardly around a low-set isle to get to Mason's position. He was old, maybe sixty-five or seventy; Such a skinny man. He was wearing the standard old-man western shirt and a pair of slacks. Mason centered his sights and pulled the trigger; blowing the man's head open and spewing the content's onto the Cappuccino Machine behind him. He fell straight onto his face and Mason turned to the Counter.

Mason stepped up to the cash-register and stepped up to the controls. The controls were easier than in Harper. He pressed "enter." And looked up when he heard a sound. A door was swinging in the back and a guy in coveralls was walking toward him. A moment later, a second man appeared dressed in matching attire.

"Fuckin' primitives." Mason spat on the floor and raised the pistol as he walked. He clenched his teeth in anger as he looked them over. They were dead, mindless fucks. He wanted their brains on the wall, on the floor, on the isles. He wanted them smashed into mush. If only he had more bullets.

As Mason stepped passed a small, unlit hallway, a woman lashed out and grabbed his arm. Mason fell backwards in surprise; landing in the blood that had polled beside the dead old man's head and dropping the gun. The woman came at him immediately; thrashing violently at his face; trying to come in for a bite. Mason held her up with all of his strength; looking desperately for the gun. He spotted it to his side, but he didn't have a free hand to grab it. He looked down the isle passed her and grunted in fear. The men were only a few yards away. Mason scowled at the woman and pulled her in a little closer.

"I shoulder press a lot more than you bitch!" Mason thrust all of his shoulder strength and the woman flew back and tumbled to the floor. As he'd practiced many times; Mason rolled to his side, grabbed the gun, and rolled again onto his back. He trained the sights and double tapped the trigger; putting two holes into the thigh of the first man. As the first one fell; Mason quickly re-aimed; centering the sights on the second man's head. He squeezed the trigger and blew a hole in his eye; pink-misting his brain onto the ceiling. Brain matter rolled down his cheek and he fell into a pile. The woman was just getting back up as Mason brought the gun to her. He fired once and her jaw shattered. She fell onto her butt and looked around stupidly for a moment as blood drained onto her blouse. Mason fired again; puncturing a hole in her skull and spraying clumpy goo all over the floor behind her. She fell back and Mason climbed to his feet. He looked down the Glock's sights as the first man was trying to stand with a shattered leg. He stuck the gun against his head. "Eat it bitch." Mason blew his skull into bits and looked over his kills. He tipped his head; impressed.

"How's it hangin'?" Tyler asked anxiously as Mason walked up to the car with a bag full of food and water. Tyler was staring at the street; counting the bodies approaching. He had the revolver in his hand; ready to shoot.

"Just the way I like it." Mason responded dryly. "Get in the car." He rested his arms on the top of the car and aimed down the sights. A woman in scrubs was approaching quickly. It was amazing how quickly Mason had lost his feelings for these thins that used to be people. How could he feel bad? They'd caused so much destruction. He shot her in the head and she fell like rock. He climbed into the car and scratched his nose as Tyler began to drive. But why was God doing this to man? Man had caused the same amount of destruction, if not more. It was all even. They'd had it coming.

"Something happen?" Tyler looked at Mason's un-impressed expression. "I heard you shoot."

"Just a few less horrors in the world." Mason lit a cigarette and pulled a sandwich out of the plastic bag. "You like ham or Turkey Braden?"

Thanks for all the reviews guys. It keeps me writing.

Just to let you know, I will be revising chapter one in the near future. The ACTUAL Tyler Thompson read it and he said he thought it was good, but I need to re-write it. So that's what I'm doing.

Boltaction15 asked: "what do you prefer? the AKM47 variants, or Ar-15/m16 type firearms? just wondering." Your question is not easy to answer. If I were in a dawn of the dead scenario, I would most likely choose the most reliable weapon which would lean toward the AKM of course. YET, the accuracy of the M-16 series is hard to beat especially when equipped with selected accessories. That said; I really can't make up my mind. All in all, I prefer the AR-15 when I go shooting. The possibilities are endless with that gun. It seems to be only limited by the end-user's imagination.

Sorry it took me so long to update. My work schedule is a little fucked up. Thanks!

I will update as soon as possible. I am now starting college and it is difficult to find the time. Please bare with me.