Chapter 9
Mike Hughes peered out from the edge of the window sill, taking a long gaze out onto the crowded suburban street. There were at least a dozen hundred of them, ambling their way through the street in an effort to consolidate their hunger. He checked the clip in his M4, taking note that it was half empty. The rest of the men, eight in all including him, shifted nervously within their equipment. Hughes was trying to decipher the situation within his mind, thinking about the best possible solution for dealing with their dilemma.
"Okay guys," he said in a low whisper. "It doesn't look good, but we're going to have to take what the situation gives us."
He looked around the room. One of the smaller ones inside the house, obviously a child's room due to the many toys and trinkets that were scattered all over the floor. The power seemed to be out, and the only source of light was flooding through the blinds of the window. He replayed their frightening ordeal before they reached the house in his head over and over, still hearing the screams and pleas from the other soldiers.
They had stationed themselves within the garage, a rather large one at that. John had closed the garage door before any had reached it. The eighteen or so manned-squad didn't realize how much contagion Sergeant Hawkins was dealing with out front, so their plight caught them way off guard. One of the men had strayed away from the crowd of soldiers, checking the rest of the garage for any peripheral that might possibly aide them in any way. He so happened to step under the attic door, which was cracked open from earlier entry.
Without any warning, a large, long tendril had shot out from the attic door, wrapping itself around the man's neck. It was only a few seconds later that someone had noticed, because the creature, licker's as Al had assessed, was successful in keeping itself quiet until it had its prey within its grasp. The long tongue had lifted the soldier a few feet off the ground, making it look as if it was pulling its victim into the darkness of the attic.
Mike remembers the terrified, death-ridden look of the soldier as the tongue squeezed tighter, and with a simple flick of the long tongue, it had severed the man's head from his shoulders before anyone had time to react. Guns were then raised in the direction of the attic, hesitation losing this bout, as they fired stubbornly towards the attack door. After a few seconds the gunfire stopped, and the attic door hung there slightly off its hinges, slightly in place still. That's when the wooden framework of the ladder-door erupted in a splinter of wood chucks, falling harshly to the ground with a loud clatter. Red, gleaming flesh crawled out from the hole with surprisingly quick speed.
Rifle fire from the soldier's gun had rendered their hearing to a temporary deafness, and this contributed to the fact that they hadn't heard the undead walk into the garage.
One of the soldier's closest to the door had been snatched from behind and had his aorta torn in one swift bite. His screams had alerted the rest of the squad, who in turn jerked their heads in the direction of the scream. That's when everything turned to chaos. Licker's were pouring out of the dark sanctuary of the attic, no doubt their nesting grounds in the house, and the undead charged in with blitzkrieg-like behavior.
John turned on his heel, yelling behind him "Follow me, quickly!"
Everyone turned and followed in his wake very closely, afraid of the tormenting death that they left behind in their sprint. John hit the side door to the garage running, the hard wooden oak slamming into the soft flesh of one dead individual, knocking him harmlessly down to the ground. The unit hit the open ground running, the early morning light penetrating their unadjusted eyes. All around them in the clearing, the creatures looked at them with a dull expression of surprise, and they began to run after easier game.
John ran with rifle in hand, taking a quick flick of his arm to click the communications link.
"Sir, we're making a run for the suburbs now. I'll send help for you when we get there! They're all behind us; hundreds of 'em! Be careful!"
Hughes heard the voices echo in his head, the loud clatter of gunfire leaking through the sound system when the Sergeant spoke.
Scattered gunfire issued from the disbanded unit, each man out for himself now. That is, except Hughes, who followed half the group – about eight men – towards the suburban neighborhood. Hughes turned his head as he ran, taking in large gulpes of air, his heart beating at a quickening pace.
"JOOHHNN!"
John and the other half of the group ran into the street before they could, their guns blazing as they met eye-to-eye into an unexpected crowd. They were caught off-guard once again, and already, Mike knew it was too late to try and do anything. Hundreds had surrounded John and the rest of the squad, their guns kicking to life with the automatic rifle fire.
Mike had stopped, his eyes fixated on the group that was being overtaken. He was unaware of his own dangers at the moment, but he raised his rifle anyway, in an attempt to help John – in any way possible. He began to squeeze the trigger when a hand landed on his right shoulder and squeezed. This made him jump and turn his gun in the snatcher's direction.
"WHOA WHOA! It's me, don't shoot, don't shoot!" yelled the soldier.
It was Patterson, whose blonde features looked just as frightened. He wasn't much older than Hughes, and wasn't more in rank than him either. He quickly snapped back to reality as the zombies honed in on their position.
"Let's go, hurry!"
Patterson half-dragged Mike as he began to run alongside with him for an empty part of the neighborhood. Adrenaline had fed him up to this point, but his supply was beginning to run low. They caught up with the rest of the squad, who rushed in the front door of a house, the closest place for refuge.
Mike was the last one through the door. He turned around and shut it abruptly behind him, locking the standard and dead-bolt lock. Flashlights were turned on in an attempt to bring light to the darkened environment, and the living room was bare an empty, free of any wandering souls. The living room looked like a regular living room; couch against one side of the wall, love-seat adjacent from it, and in the middle a coffee table. A plasma TV stood on the wall across from the couch, and the living room opened into the kitchen, and adjacent from the kitchen entrance was a hallway.
The men gathered around, breathing heavily and trying to catch their breath. Someone spoke. It was Leonard.
"Th… the major didn't make it…"
Mike nodded, closing his eyes as he paid his respects to the man. That's when the radio came to life with Sergeant Hawkins' thick voice.
And now, as Mike thought, here we are.
Brought back to the grim reality that was his life, Mike said a silent prayer in his head, to hopefully lift them of their burden. They were now in the living room once again, planning their next move.
Brown walked forward towards Mike, keeping his voice low as if he didn't want to be heard by any other creature.
"I've thought out a plan," he began to say. "The backyard – it's a straight shot from here. We hop fences and them bam! 77th Avenue, hello there!"
Mike contemplated this, going over the plans within his head as Brown finished his sentence.
"Good thinking, but how do we know those things haven't already beat us to the blockade?"
Brown looked at him then looked away, sighing.
"Well, I haven't really thought about that, but it's our only chance. We've got to get help for the Sarge. They were cornered into the laboratories, and that's never good."
"Yeah, I agree, but I don't know how far away we are… any idea?"
Brown thought for a second, then walked over to the blinds and looked out. He sat there for a second before pulling back, letting the blinds shut themselves.
"We're on 71st Avenue… 77th is that way… Hmmm.. We've got about six blocks to go. I say we stick to alley-ways and backyards, we'll cut our time in half that way."
Mike put a hand on the Brown's shoulder. He was of average build, about six feet tall, brown hair, brown eyes and a face full of kindness that could be seen working in a rest home. He was actually younger than Mike, and his rank was right below him.
"Good thinking, buddy."
Mike sat down on the couch, the rest of the squad surrounding him in an effort to hear the next move.
"Okay guys, we've got six blocks to go. We'll stick to the alley's and the backyards. Keep a single-file line and whisper over the comm. if you see anything at all. Keep it tight, keep it silent. Don't shoot unless you have to. I don't want to alert any unwanted attention."
Mike was surprised with himself. He had been considered a team leader back in his High School days. The days of varsity athletics, his preference being football. He knew how to deal with the emotions and behavior of people. If anyone did in the room, it was him.
"Take a minute to do an equipment check and make sure everything is running according to the instructions manual." He said, before walking out of the room.
That brought a chuckle from some of the group. Most of the men were recent graduate's of surrounding schools, so their bond would be that much more tight-knit. Mike took the time to relieve himself, heading towards the houses only bathroom. He entered the room to an unearthly stench. Looking towards the bath-tub he saw the lone figure of a child, long since been dead. Mike shut the curtains and shook his head.
Children shouldn't have to deal with this.
He turned on his flashlight and looked into the mirror, examining his own features. He took off his helmet, revealing sandy-blonde hair that was in a ruffle. Hazel-green eyes restless with the look of determination. His 5'11" frame took up most of the mirror frame, his stout figure rising and sinking with his increment of breathing. He splashed water on his face and turned back to the situation at hand.
He walked into the living room, which was closer to one of the most normal scenes he'd seen in a very long time, minus the semiautomatic rifles. Some of the soldier's were talking, joking amongst each other, as if the world hadn't stopped turning. When Mike walked into the room, the mood turned to all-business, the soldiers awaiting his next command.
