4 Soldiers in Arms
Four soldiers left for dead by there superiors fight there way out of a city taken over by the dead. (Everyone will get paired up. No slash!)
A.N. song Mad World
O.C.'s in order of ranks First Lieutenant Lawing, Warrant Officer (WO1) Curtis, Staff Sergeant Jenkins, and Corporal Yakob. (females are unnamed as of now.)
Prologue- 4 Men
Mercy City
Oct. 25th, 2009 (using the dates in games on the walls.)
An abandoned intersection sat in the darker metropolis of Mercy City. Cars lined the curbs, some with smashed windows, yanked open doors, or detonated airbags. Some of them still held drivers, although the people strapped in weren't necessarily amongst the living. Every corpse that had the misfortune to be killed had been picked clean, pale skeletons of bone and scraps of skin. Their empty eye sockets gazed forward indefinitely, their lip less grins bared for none to see. Several street lamps were busted out, the cause unknown, but the lack of light only added to the gloomy atmosphere. A feeling of death hung around the area.
But the intersection wasn't as deserted as it first seemed. From a darkened doorway, four men made their foray into the night.
A taller man lead the way, an M-4 assault rifle at his shoulder, prepared to administer death to any curious threats. His head was protected by a woodland-painted helmet, a dark green dome that kept his brain in his head. His torso was protected by a flak jacket and a tactical vest, the interlocking nylon providing sound protection to all but rifle fire. Emblazoned across the man's chest was the name 'Lawing', and his helmet sported the single silver bar of a lieutenant. His face was obscured by a standard issue gas mask, two large, dark glass portals shielding his eyes from the rest of the world. The filter protruded into two valves, both pointing downward. Slung across his back was an M-21 Sniper Rifle, a semi-automatic rifle good for counter-sniping and urban environments. At his right hip was an M-9 handgun, safely nestled in its holster. His legs were covered by standard BDU's, and he sported several flak packs that served as armor. His feet were encased in shin-high steel toe boots, with a knife hilt just visible on his right calf. Lt. Lawing's profile just screamed 'Fuck with Me and Die'.
Just behind Lawing was shorter, stouter soldier, whose helmet was bare of any markings. He too wore a gas mask, but painted across the forehead in red paint were the words 'No Mercy', an addition against regulations. He carried an M-4 as well, but strapped to his back was his secondary weapon, a Remington 1100 tactical shotgun, better known to police forces around the world as the 'Street Sweeper'. Its semi-automatic firing mode and ten shell capacity made it a deadly force in close quarters. A long fighting knife, roughly eight inches long, sat on the right side of his collarbone, well within reach. He bore a Chief Warrant Officer insignia on his collar, an encircled vertical bar denoting his proficiency with a certain trade. Just below his rating was the name tag, with 'Curtis' stenciled in white. He carried not one, but two M-9 side arms, and had a utility belt of ammo to supplement the additional bullet drain. He also wore steel toes, but lacked the ankle knife. Curtis was a man with a plan: kill everything.
Staff Sergeant Dean 'Deano' Jenkins followed close behind Curtis, his back to the warrant officer's as he covered the rear flank. Dean's outfitting was identical to Lt. Lawing's, but his load out was slightly different. Jenkins carried the standard M-4, but hanging on his front was the deadly H&K MP5 submachine gun, a hose of bullets that just begged for victims. Deano had 'misplaced' his knife in an earlier confrontation, so instead of a knife strapped to his calf, there was a crowbar hanging from the belt loop of his BDU's. SSG Jenkins also hefted a heavy field pack, filled to the brim with the team's provisions. But in a side pocket, within easy reach, was about a block and a half of C-4, a preferred explosive when you wanted things to not exist anymore. Deano was packing, and he knew it.
Lagging behind Jenkins was the new addition to the group. His name tag was gone, and his shifty disposition forestalled his identity being shared with the rest of the squad. He too carried the M-4, but the RPG-7 rocket launcher on his back made him 'King Boom'. He had several supplementary rockets strapped beside the launcher, but he wasn't short on 5.56mm rounds, either. He was like Deano, lacking in the handgun and knife department, although the way he carried himself portrayed a hand-to-hand fighting master. He too wore BDU's, flak armor, a thick, green helmet, and a gas mask.
The entire group was exhausted; a week had passed since the infection had hit the US. They had been called in to Mercy for normal rioting when things turned sour. The rioters started acting strange: freaking out as loud noises and attacking anyone in front of them. 2nd platoon, under the command of Lt. Lawing, had set up a barricade at Second Street and did their damnedest to hold back the rabid mobs. Try as they might, the forty soldiers of Second Platoon were overrun by the onslaught of vicious civilians. And when the barriers fell, and the rioters got inside the makeshift fortress, Second Platoon saw them for what they were: cannibalistic monster, smudge with dirt and blood and gore. Second Platoon sallied forth with drawn knife and raised gun, but there were too few of them, and they fell one by one.
The Lt., against his better judgment, called in a mobile artillery strike on the areas around Second Street. The artillery landed among the crowds, shrapnel separating limbs from bodies and rending flesh and breaking bone. Even with the added artillery barrage, however, the surviving members of 2nd Platoon were forced to bug out and retreat through the alleyways. The infected people behind them sprinted in pursuit, and several more brave soldiers fell victim to faster monsters and dead ends. A surviving fire team of roughly fifteen men made it to a storefront, and locked themselves in. The temporary barricade, however, proved to be but a temporary defense.
Slowly, wounds that weren't worrisome claimed the lives of the valiant survivors. One by one, they succumbed to infection and were executed. They died heroes, some blowing their own brains out or leaving the barricade before they turned. Soon, only three remained. Deano, Lawing, and Curtis snuck across rooftops, stealthily slipping past oblivious infected. After they descended back down to ground level, they made their way through several coffee shops, where they encountered the mystery corporal. And now, our four survivors made their way through another alleyway, one that ended with a door on the side.
Corpses greeted them as they walked through it. The Lt. stopped and examined the corpses. The dead had been infected, but seemed to have been killed by their peers. Every one of the downed zombies were covered in a viscous goo. Lawing reached forward and rubbed some on his finger, checking the consistency, then wiped it on his trousers and motioned for the others to follow him. He would contemplate the goo later. They walked to the door and stopped. At a signal from Lawing, they split into two teams, one on each side.
Lawing stepped in front of the door and raised his boot. With a grunt of effort, he kicked hard near the doorknob, sending the door flying inward. The other three soldiers peeked in, M-4 rifles at the ready. Nothing. The four moved in, checking corners and shining flashlights all over the area. They moved down a hallway in single file, their boots thudding on hard wood flooring. They walked forward slowly, then froze when they heard a moaning sound. Lawing followed his ears towards a nearby door and slowly opened it, keeping his M-4 at the ready. The Lt. Shined his light inside to reveal a medium-sized bedroom, though sleeping wasn't exactly a recent activity here.
In front of them where masses of bodies, all bearing vicious slash marks. They had all been killed at once, it seemed, and the slaughter was oppressive to the mind, to say nothing of the nostrils. And kneeling in front of the corpses was a crying woman, her light grey hair shielding her face from view. Her dress had holes in it from scratches and bites, her hands sported freakishly long claws, and her gaunt completion all told Lawing one thing: she was infected.
"What do we do?" asked Curtis, half reaching for his tactical shotgun. He was no stranger to death, or women, but put both together and the warrant officer wanted some scattershot between him and trouble.
"Not sure, but we'd better eighty six the lights just in case." Lawing responded cooly.
Everyone turned off there lights and waited. The infected woman kept wailing, a grating sound for even the briefest of times. Eventually, the corporal got tired of it and asked, "Why don't we just shoot her?"
"We don't know what the hell it is." whispered Jenkins in response. Lawing frowned and turned to the two conversing NCOs'.
"Just shut up, both of you! We do not want to piss that thing…," he froze, as if sensing something.
"It's right behind me, isn't it?"
Curtis gulped loudly and nodded, and everyone could here the click of his safety coming off. Jenkins and the corporal followed suit, while Lawing fought to keep his pulse slow.
They all nodded in unison and he turned, M-4 coming up. Time slowed. As he raised his weapon, the now standing woman was brought to light, and they all regretted that fact. The woman's face was contorted in an expression of pure rage, and her eyes glowed red. Her teeth were all pointed, and her yellowish tongue was barely visible. Time seemed to speed up slowly, and Lawing's sights lined up on the infected's head just as she emitted a lound screech. He pulled the trigger twice, and watched with satisfaction as blood blossomed from her forehead and cheek, and the crazy woman was knocked to the ground. Behind where she once stood, a gooey collection of blood, icor, and brains colored the pale walls. But the gauntlet had been thrown down.
Outside, Lawing could hear the sound of a crowd gathering. His shots had attracted some unwanted attention, and he snapped into tactical mode.
"Shit! Move, get up the stairs!" Yelled Lawing as they moved from the door and stormed up the stairs. Curtis let Jenkins and the corporal pass when they reached the top, then slammed the door closed. He moved a large waste bin in front of the door, securing it for the time being. They stomped up the stairs, and soon broke free of the stairwell out onto the open roof. Curtis secured the roof exit with another waste bin, and the rest relaxed slightly.
"Remind me never to piss off a woman again," Lawing offered, and the rest of the survivors chuckled at his dry humor. Curtis slumped against the dumpster and slid down to a sitting position, before leaning back and resting properly. Deano found a comfortable corner where he could prop up his back, then set his pack to the side and likewise fell asleep. The corporal went over to the edge of the roof, silently volunteering for night watch. Lawing was fine with that, and he found himself a nice blue folding chair, flopped down into it, and closed his eyes.
I have a beta reader finally. So all stories will be beta'd soon.
Betaread by bathedinblood