Chapter 3

The People and The Monsters

The soldier stood with his eyes closed, his face relaxed and tilted up into the pouring water. The warmth of the water felt good against his skin, but it felt better to be able to wash the blood, mud, and stink from his body. The warm liquid went a long way to sooth his tense muscles and ease his aching joints. The steam cleared his head of the last of his hangover and somehow managed to bring to the surface memories that he wished he could forget.

Twenty eight hours. Lord, had it only been twenty eight hours since this whole thing started?

He looked to his left, and saw his long time friend Robert 'Bobby' Farrel flash him a bloody grin. The crimson liquid had outlined his teeth and was pouring from his lips in an uncontrolled stream. They had only been there three hours and already his friend was wounded and dying and using him as a crutch. The soldier had been bitten and scratched at over forty-three times. There were chunks of meat torn from his calves and arms, his shoulders were torn, and one of the more nasty monsters had gored him through his stomach.

One more time, Kyle, Bobby had said, Might as well go out in a blaze of glory. Lord knows I ain't going to make it out of this town.

What are you talking about, Bob? He asked, firing into the oncoming hoard of zombies with his assault rifle, You have to get through this so you can run your wife and kids up the wall.

Not this time, Bobby told him and shot a zombie twice in the stomach with his Beretta, I can't spread this to them.

You don't have to. We'll get you fixed up, no problem.

Buddy, you just don't get it, do you? I'm dying. I can feel it. God damn, my blood is on fire.

Just hang on! If we can hang on until tomorrow, we can get to the evac chopper and get you the anti-virus.

God damn it, Kyle! I'm not going to make it through the night!

Bobby...

Fuck, man. I'm going to go out. The least you can fucking do is let me go out on my own terms. I swear to hell I'm not going to end up like these fucking zombies.

Before Kyle could say anymore, Bobby had pulled the pins on two fragmentation grenades and ran head long into the crowd of the undead, Tell Shoran I love her...

The memory of the explosion from the two grenades jarred him from his daydream. He opened his eyes and looked blankly into the oncoming rush of water for a few moments before he shut off the faucet and leaned his head against the shower, too caught up in his memories to notice the pleasant contrast of the cool tile against his hot skin. The memory of losing his friend was not the worst thing he recalled under the influence of the steamy shower, but thankfully, he wasn't allowed to dwell on his thoughts any longer.

As he was exiting the shower, Natalie Black chose that moment to enter the bathroom carrying several garments in her slender arms, clutching them tighter as she stopped short in her tracks, a small gasp escaping from her mouth and a look of stunned surprise gracing her feminine features.

Kyle stood with one foot in the tub and one on the towel that had been put down to keep everyone from slipping on a wet floor. He made no move to cover himself, seven years of taking public showers in the Army had dulled his sense of shame.

Hello, I am Kyle Hardin and I have a huge cock, he thought with a smirk. He had been the cause of most of the feelings of inadequacy among other soldiers in the wash room. That way of thinking and his already lacking shame in the first place caused Natalie Black to get more of an eye full than she had expected.

The young girl's gaze, however, was first called to his chest, where a decidedly large scar ran from his left shoulder and ended under his bottom right rib. Another scar ran between two of his right ribs, where a blade had been imbedded three inches into his chest. There were three stab wounds in his stomach, healed and scarred over many years ago. His left forearm had a ragged scar that was so wide, Natalie was sure his whole forearm must have been severed at one time, and there was a collection of gunshot wounds surrounding the injury on his arm.

"See anything you like?" Sergeant Hardin asked. It was his experience that the easiest way to remove unwanted attention from yourself was to act smug. It worked, Natalie dropped her gaze to his feet, noticing another set of gunshot wounds on his muscular calf, and tried to explain herself while turning an interesting shade of red.

"I...um...I thought you might want...uh...your cloths, so you wouldn't have to run around looking for them...sorry I forgot to knock," she dropped the cloths into the sink and turned for the door, to eyebrow twitching with embarrassment, her eyes locked on the floor in front of her as she crossed the distance to the door with steps that bespoke shyness.

Kyle felt a twinge of guilt at his conduct around someone who clearly had only good intentions towards him, her face was scarlet and the Sergeant wished to change that; "Thank you for bringing my cloths. I appreciate it."

Her face brightened ever so slightly; "Don't mention it."

Kyle walked through the hall five minutes later, pulling his olive drab T-shirt over his head with one hand while pushing the towel into his ear with the other hand. His olive drab camouflage pants had been discarded in favor of a clean pair with the woodland pattern.

He entered the living room, walking slowly and confidently. His nausea had passed and he had now regained the slight swagger he had walked with since his early teens, though his head still throbbed with the pain of a possible concussion. He hooked his left thumb into a belt loop on the waist of his pants without thinking about it as he stopped in the doorway to the living room and looked around for signs of alcohol.

Target acquired, he thought to himself when he saw the liquor cabinet against the far wall. He crossed the living room in long strides, sidestepping the coffee table and Violet's extended foot, and opened the cupboard before pulling out a bottle of dark amber liquid, unmindful of the other occupants in the room who were currently eating their meals.

"Hey! You can't just take that!" Brian protested, only to have Kyle shoot a nasty look at him.

"You stole my M.R.E.s, I'm gonna steal your..." he glanced at the label on the bottle, "Jack Daniel's. Consider it payment."

A look of guilt flashed across Brian's face and he made no further comment.

Kyle twisted off the cap and took one long swallow that drained half the bottle. He lowered the bottle slightly, belched, and took another long swallow.

"You, sir, are a Neanderthal," Violet told him, "Didn't your mother even teach you basic manners?"

"Hey, you were the one who messed up a perfectly good hangover," He told her, then went on a search for his boots, socks, and woodland camouflage field shirt.

"You were disheveled and looked like a tramp," she informed him, despite the obvious flush of red anger which spread across her cheeks, unhappy with being reminded of her mistake.

Having found the desired articles of clothing, he sat down in an empty chair and began putting them on. Once fully clothed, he shrugged into his tactical vest and snapped the fastening clips together. Kyle's tactical vest differed from the kind the rest of his team wore. Like the standard vest, Sergeant Hardin's vest had four pouches across the chest, which were designed to accept two thirty round M-16 magazines each, and it also had two smaller pouches just above his waist. However, his vest differed in the fact that it had a low back. This would offer greater ventilation during longer periods of use and would prevent overheating. However, greater ventilation and added flexibility came at a cost of less protection. The ballistic nylon of his vest would only protect the small of his back, leaving him at greater venerability to shrapnel and, in this case, close quarters combat. The few seconds of protection that a full cover back would provide against the zombies could be the difference between life and death. However, Kyle Hardin was without those few seconds.

"Vi," Brian said, turning to Violet Snowe with a mischievous grin, "Zombies shuffle and moan, they don't stagger and drink Everclear."

"Cretin," said Violet.

Once he had his vest on, Kyle secured the tactical thigh holster that was attached to the vest's pistol belt to his right leg. He then secured the pistol magazine thigh rig to his left thigh. This rig held three fifteen round magazines for his Beretta in three separate pouches. The pistol holster itself had an extra pouch on it to accept one more fifteen round pistol magazine. People had often accused the sergeant of being over-prepared, but Kyle would just quote them a line from the movie Tremors; "When you need it and don't have it, you sing a different tune."

The soldier lobbed the empty bottle out of the window and went to the liquor cabinet to acquire more. As he was demonstrating the proper way to chug a flask of Kentucky Deluxe, he felt a tentative tap on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw Natalie Black looking towards anything but his eyes. Her gaze was fixed on the floor to her right and she was currently abusing the fingers on her left hand by wringing them as though they were a wet towel, and she was shifting her weight from foot to foot as though she were too full of energy to remain still for longer than the briefest of moments.

"You...um...you shouldn't really do that," she said quietly, pointing at the liquor in his hand, "Its bad for you..."

"Honey, my liver's already sued me for damages," Kyle said, "I really don't think it matters."

Sounds of moaning drifted into the apartment through the open windows. Kyle reached the window before Brian and looked down onto the street in front of the building. Outside, a group of about twenty zombies had collected and were now attempting to shove their way through the barricaded apartment entrance.

"Great," Brian muttered then ran towards the hall closet. Kyle watched him go, then turned back to the scene outside. The zombies were leaning their weight against the makeshift barricade in an all out effort to get to the small group of survivors inside.

Dr. Jackson returned from the hall closet, Kyle's M4A1 Carbine in one hand and his own Colt M-16A1 that had been fitted with the M-203 40millimeter grenade launcher in the other hand. He handed the M4 to Kyle, then leaned out of the window, taking aim at a zombie's head.

Brian was the first to open fire, dropping three zombies with his first magazine. Kyle fired a burst into a zombie's chest and caused it to stumble back into the walking dead behind it.

When the first gunshot went off, Violet had shrieked and curled into the fetal position under the coffee table, squeezing her eyes shut and clamping her hands over her ears. Scarlet and Sarah dove towards the vacant couch, where Sarah sat on the back rest, her feet on the cushions and her fingers in her ears. Scarlet was content to pull her legs against her chest and she rocked herself back and fourth slightly.

Shak, however, was not content to do either. She ran over to the two men and pulled Kyle's Beretta from the holster on his thigh, aimed at a zombie and started firing.

The gunfire quickly deafened those in the small room, but as with all veteran shooters, Kyle Hardin could only hear the metallic clink of the bolt in his assault rifle. He had his rifle set to semi-automatic and even though he was only firing one shot a time, they were crumpling just the same because every shot he fired was a head shot.

Doctor Jackson was a medical doctor and he was shooting like one. His rifle was set to full automatic and he was all but spraying lead into the crowd below with no real regard for accuracy.

Hot brass shell casings from Brian's M-16 flew from the ejection port and scorched Kyle's left arm, whom forced himself to ignore the searing heat. The high velocity bullets cut down the zombies below as surely as the Grim Reaper's scythe. It took less than two minutes for the horde of zombies be dealt with. They lay on the ground, some twitching, but otherwise totally lifeless. Blood was already pooling under the bodies.

"It isn't safe here any more," Kyle said, turning to Doctor Jackson, "They know you're here."

"You're powers of observation astound me, Sergeant," Brian said sarcastically.

Kyle did not dignify that with a comment. The soldier turned to Shakahnna, whom was grinning and holding up the empty pistol; "I got six zombies."

Sergeant Hardin held out his hand, a frown creasing his brow. The young girl gave him a pout before slapping the weapon into the man's palm and went towards the soldier's rucksack.

Brian turned to the young man beside him, lowering his rifle; "You going to try and get your ass out of dodge?"

"Yeah," Kyle muttered, changing magazines and thumbing the slide release on the weapon, chambering a round into the pistol before slipping it back into the holster; "Are you going to stay here?"

"Not any more, I'm not," Brian dropped his voice, "I don't think the girls are either. Not after this."

Kyle almost gaped at Brian. Even though the man was a doctor, the soldier seriously expected him to drop his knuckles to the ground and grunt from that comment.

The doctor's a slight chauvinist, Kyle thought to himself.

Instead of voicing his thoughts, Kyle only asked; "Do you have a way out?"

"Yeah," Brian said, "Do you want to come with us?"

"No, I need to meet up with my team," he frowned, "What's left of them, anyway."

"You sure you want to do that? It's going to be dangerous."

Kyle did not say anything, he merely turned from the window and headed for the liquor cabinet. The soldier opened it and withdrew various bottles of alcohol.

"Your pack is by the couch," Brian told him before Kyle asked.

The soldier crossed over to the couch and tossed the bottles into his rucksack, dimly aware of them clinking dangerously together before going back to the liquor cabinet for more. When he returned to his pack and tossed the bottles in, he noticed there wasn't as much clinking as there should have been.

Knowing what had happened, the man held his hand out to Shakahnna much in the same manner as when he wanted his weapon back.

The redhead merely blinked innocently at him.

"Give," Kyle said firmly, letting her know he was in no mood to play.

"You be's being no fun," the girl said cutely while giving him a playful pout and handed him the two bottles she had stolen from his backpack.

The man tossed the two bottles in the rucksack, closed the flap and tightened the fastenings. Once he had secured his pack, he hoisted it onto his shoulders and started for the door, holding his rifle more securely as he went.

"Sergeant, it's dangerous out there. You may get more use out of this than I will."

Kyle turned and saw the doctor holding out a pistol to him, "What's that?"

"It's been with me for a couple years now. It saved my life not too long ago."

After pausing for a moment, he took the accepted gift. He hefted the heavy 1911A1 in his hand, raising it enough to read the legend Springfield Armory on the slide, beside the company's logo.

"Are you sure, Brian?"

The doctor nodded, "If you won't stick with the idea that there is safety in numbers, then I at least want you to have as much protection as you can get."

Kyle pulled the slide back slightly enough to reveal the glint of brass in the chamber of the pistol.

When Brian spoke, it was in the tone of a man who had dedicated his life to healing others and preserving life; "Be safe, Sergeant."

"I guess you're gonna want something in return?" Kyle muttered; switching the 1911A1 to his left hand and reaching into his tactical vest with his other and pulled out the Beretta he had taken off the dead body on the street, "Here. If you can't hit your target with the fifteen shots in this gun, you deserve to get eaten."

Brian let out a mirthless chuckle and took the pistol before presenting the Sergeant with two extra magazines for his newly acquired handgun.

Kyle left the apartment, shoving the magazines and pistol into a pocket and closing the door behind him.

It wasn't until he'd left that Natalie approached Doctor Jackson and nervously said; "I'm going with him."

"Are you sure?" Brian asked, surprise evident on his face, "You hardly know him."

"Brian..." the young girl paused and chewed on her lower lip for a moment before saying; "In a situation like this, who would you rather be with? Scientists and civilians or a solder?"

Brian blinked in surprise before giving her a small smile, "I see your point."

"Than you'll see why I want to go with him."

"But...you're sure about this? I mean..." Brian leaned down to whisper in her ear, as though he were conspiring against the government, "He is little more than a thug."

"I know, Brian. He does scare me, but I really think he is my best chance to stay alive."

"Okay. I wish you'd come with us, but if you insist on going with him, then all I can say is good luck, Nat."

Natalie smiled and hugged him tightly before bolting out of the door, leaving Brian Jackson to turn to the last three women in the room and asked; "Ready to go?"

Outside, Natalie caught up to Kyle just as he exited the apartment building, wiggling around a large dresser that had been put up as a barricade; "Wait!"

"What?" Kyle asked grumpily.

"I want to come with you," Natalie said, panting slightly from her run down the stairs.

"Oh no you're not. You can turn your ass right around and go back upstairs."

"No."

"Go."

"No!"

"GET BACK UP THERE!"

"NO!"

Kyle let the rucksack fall from his shoulders, grabbed the young woman by her upper arm, and started dragging her roughly back to the apartment.

Natalie fought violently, finally pulling her arm free of the soldier's grasp; "I'm going with you, whether you like it or not."

The girl regretted her words as soon as they were out of her mouth. The look of mixed anger and hatred on Kyle's face when he turned on her made her wish she would have just kept her mouth shut and let him take her back to the apartment. Feeling committed to her demand, though, she put a look of defiance on her face and attempted to stare down a man who was a hardened killer. They stood quietly in the apartment lobby. Natalie trying to stare Kyle down, Kyle trying to decide just how much he'd enjoy hearing her neck snap in his hands.

Rather than trying friendly persuasion, he quickly grabbed the young woman around her waist and lifted her off her feet as easily as though she weighed almost nothing and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The girl squealed in shock and protest as Kyle started back up the stairs. She wiggled, kicked, thrashed, pounded his back, and screamed at the top of her lungs. Once at the top of the landing, the soldier walked to the entrance of the survivor's hideout and knocked on the door.

Brian opened up, a look of puzzlement on his face as he saw the soldier standing there as calm as a delivery man making his rounds while Natalie kicked her legs and continued screaming.

"This followed me downstairs," Kyle said, drawing out the word this, "I thought you might want it back."

Brian looked at Natalie's wiggling fanny, then at the soldier's dead calm face; "Actually, she wanted to go with you. She said she'd feel safer with a soldier than with us."

"I don't want her," Kyle said simply, as though he were commenting on the weather.

"PUT ME DOWN YOU BIG APE!" Natalie bellowed.

"Kyle, please let her go with you?"

"Why?"

"Because, frankly, I would feel better if she were with someone who knew how to handle a gun."

"What's in it for me?"

Brian blinked, "What do you mean?"

"PUT ME DOWN NOW, YOU CAVEMAN!"

"Having her along is going to slow me down and I don't like to risk my life unless I can get something out of it."

Brian chewed on the inside of his cheek for a second before reaching into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash; "Would five hundred, fifty dollars make having her worth your while?"

Kyle's reaction was instantaneous. He snatched the currency from the doctor so quickly that his hand was a blur; "Yep. That'll do."

As the soldier started back down stairs, Brian waved to the young girl, whom was still slung over the soldier's shoulder, though her arms were now crossed and she seemed have calmed down from her furry and was now in a simmering rage.

"Bye, Nat. Take care."

"Bye, Brian. See you later," said the young girl as she was carried out of sight.

Once back in the lobby, Kyle sat Natalie back on her feet and stuffed the money into his pocket. He looked critically at the girl as though trying to judge just how long she would survive on her own.

"Take me with you," Natalie said in a tiny voice, withering under the big man's gaze; "I can carry my own weight."

Keeping his expression the same, Kyle now found the young woman before him amusing. Natalie looked like she could barely carry a purse, let alone her own weight. The soldier turned and exited the building, picking up his pack and heading into the street, followed quietly by the young woman.

Finally, Kyle turned on her again; "If you come with me, I don't want to hear any complaining. If you fall behind, that's your tough shit. And if I hear you say; "I chipped a nail" I'll shoot you in the face. We clear?"

Natalie swallowed nervously, but nodded regardless. Her fear of facing the dangers of the city alone or even with the limited protection Brian Jackson could offer outweighed her fear of the man in front of her.

"Good, then you can carry the pack," Kyle said, shoving the rucksack unceremoniously into her arms.

The girl grunted as she almost toppled onto her ass and opened her mouth to speak; "But-"

"No complaining," Kyle interrupted her, and heading down the alley, unmindful of her attempts to catch up while tugging the rucksack onto her shoulders. The soldier let a smirk slip onto his face.

This is going to be interesting.