Chapter two

Private 1st class Eddy Jackson had a rough landing coming in, and his legs being stiff from the flight to this location didn't help much of the impact, if any. He got up and quickly undone his harness, releasing his parachute. Jackson looked around for his lost rifle, a look of disappointment spreading across his face. He then took out his sidearm, a Smith & Wesson SW1911 and quickly ducked behind a tree, clearly seeing that he was way off course since he hadn't spotted anyone from his unit.

"Damnit… my luck too… middle of fu—"

"HEY!" a loud whisper shot through the darkness and still of the night.

Jackson looked up into the leaves of a nearby tree, where the source of the voice came from. The man in hiding moved around in his equipment, looking as if to free himself and—THUMP—down he came.

"Ow! Goddamnit that hurt!"

Jackson recognized that as the voice of Pvt. 1st class Mike Hughes, thrown fresh out of school and into combat, just like him.

At least I'm not on my own and he's in the same situation as me…

"Dude I think we're lost." Said Hughes in a hushed whisper.

"I know. I lost my rifle on the way down… don't know where the hell it went."

"Well maybe we can find where our unit is. Over there, I think I see a cabin."

Hughes pointed down the sloping hill and between the trees, where a dimly lit house could be seen 100 meters away. They both began walking quickly in a crouch position, trying further to conceal their outline into the night. Kneeling behind a fallen log, they lessened the distance to 25 meters, weapons loosely fixated in the house's direction. Dim candle light emitted behind the broad window panes, and the two recruits could see the house more clearly now.

The house stood at least two stories high, its ominous shape standing out against the moon in the clearing it was located in. The front extended out left-to-right, 50 yards in each direction. The house was a good size, and Jackson estimated it had at least 25-30 rooms beneath that recently remodeled plaster. Another notable thing was that every window seemed to be boarded, and more than two dozen vehicles were parked in the driveway to the left of the house.

"Seems like a lot of people barricaded themselves to protect them from those zombie-things." Said Hughes quietly.

"Hmm… where are they now?"

As if on cue, the front door creaked open and flooded the porch with light. A figure stood out from the light, making it harder to recognize the individual. Hughes began to stand up when Jackson pulled him down with a gloved hand.

"Wait!" he whispered. "Something doesn't see right."

Hughes looked at him with a concerned, hard-thinking look, taking in the vibes he was sensing from him. He kneeled back down next to Jackson and trained his weapon onto the porch. The person walked forward towards the steps, preparing to descend down them—and it tripped, falling on its face with an ensuing groan. That caught the two somewhat off guard, not quite expecting to have their concerns proven so abruptly. They had their weapons trained straight down the pathway between the trees, where the front porch stood, bathed in the soft light that escaped out the door.

Several more figures where shadowed into the scene, succeeding in their descents down the stairs. The downed figure stood up and hung its hands low to the ground, more groaning coming from hits wretched-looking breath.

Jackson's face lost its color, confirming Hughes suspicions.

These must be the things from the TV…

Hughes shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable prone position. His heavy boot landed on a twig, causing a low, audible crack! to sound out into the still evening.

"Oh man!" Hughes let a small whisper escape his lips, his face twisting into a contorted expression, as if he was about to apologize for his incompetence.

Several of the creatures heard the sound, their pale features and dull, lifeless eyes resting onto the fallen log, spotting the two soldiers almost instantly.

"Run." Spoke Jackson rather quickly.

Jackson turned on his heels and dashed off into the opposite direction of the house, Hughes hot on his trail. The zombies followed in a pursuit to destroy their humanlike existence, an unfathomable hate burning inside the hosts of the virus. With exceptional speed, the undead had lessened the distance between them and Hughes, closing in on their prey with cold, rotting hands.

Damn those things can move!

"Oh shit!"

Hughes turned around just as he became encased in one of the creatures grasp. He raised his M4A3 towards the creatures gut and squeezed the trigger.

Rat-Tatatat!

The automatic burst to life in rapid succession, tearing through the things gut and ripping out what entrails the zombie managed to keep on its viral transition. Most of the bullets had gone through its belly, hitting a few of the others. Hughes fell back onto his Kevlar bag as the creatures weight had been forced upon him at this point.

"Eddy help me!"

Jackson stopped quickly and turned around, his pistol eye-level, allowing him to quickly take aim at whatever happened to be in his wake. He noticed Hughes was flat on his back, wrestling with the creature as what was left of his jaw began to open and close, snapping loudly at his throat. He began to squeeze the trigger of his pistol when the trees around him erupted with muzzle flashes.

"Holy sh--"

Jackson hunkered down towards the ground, his ears screaming from the loudness of the gunfire. After what seemed like several minutes, the gunfire began to cease, with a few itchy trigger-fingers squeezing in some last shots, followed by someone yelling from the source of the gunfire. The smell of cordite and gunpowder flowed through the air, as the smoke lingered and stayed.

"Hold your fire! Hold your fire! Enemy down!"

Jackson looked around and saw several shadows rise up from the earthen floor. He shot a glance towards Hughes, who was pushing the corpse off of him. He groaned in agony, smelling the awful smell, then stood up. They were approached by an army soldier, or at least that's what Jackson thought they were, judging by the green fatigues that they wore.

"Well, you're lucky you ran into us. That was quite a party you were haulin'." Said the nearest soldier, who approached Jackson from out of the darkness.

Jackson looked around him and noticed at least 15 dead creatures laid sprawled out behind them, including the one that was on Hughes.

"Sergeant Bill Hawkins, we're with the U.S. army. You guys must be the Umbrella boys that we're supposed to meet up with in the city."

Jackson looked at the man who approached him. His friendly demeanor caused him to loosen up a bit.

"Pvt. 1st class Eddy Jackson." He took the mans hand and shook it, continuing to explain his dilemma. "This here is Michael Hughes, same rank. We're way off course from our position. Guess that's what happens when they give you two days of nighttime freefall training…"

Hawkins let out a small chuckle, breaking the seriousness of their situation.

"Guess so, huh? Well I'm guessing you'll be falling in with us."

Jackson looked around and noticed that Hawkins unit was 30+ in men, so falling in with them would be the smartest move to make.

"Yes sir, that would be a very good idea." Replied Hughes, speaking before Jackson acknowledged the superiors question.

"Alright then, let's saddle it up! There's a house 125 meters in the direction you guys came from, and I'm guessing that's where your buddies originated from. We're going to check it for any survivors. " Hawkins nudged his rifle towards the house's direction, and began to walk, his men following loosely behind in a single-file formation. Jackson followed closely next to Hawkins, trying to get as much information from him about the nation's situation.

"It's not looking good. LA is pretty much overrun, except for hundreds of survivors not knowing what to do. Not to mention… my son's somewhere in that mess. I hope he'll be okay." Hawkins face caught a serious tone, as did his voice.

They approached the façade of the house, noticing that the front door stood wide open, a crimson trail of blood smeared all over the door and porch. Stopping in front of the house, Jackson once again looked at the ominous shape that stood against the night, a horrible feeling rising up from the pit of his gut.

He sighed and gripped the steel of his pistol, not quite ready for what the night was about to bring him.