I do not own TWD or it's characters.
"Soldiers up!" the sergeant yelled into the sleeping bunker. Trainees began to stir as sleep slowly dissolved, clearing their mind. Dan sat up slowly, swiping a hand across his eyes. Rubbing the sleep from them, he turned to his neighbor.
"What's going on?" He asked. His neighbor shrugged. Standing, they both got dressed. Once finished, they stood at attention waiting for the sergeant to give instructions.
"You all are shipping out to the city. We need more body's then we got out there, so you untrained nothing's will be helping. You do what you're told and stay out of the way. Got it?"
"Sir yes sir!" They all responded in unison.
"Clear out!" They all filed out of the large tent and into a truck. Other raw recruits were with them. Dan glanced around, seeing the unease as if it were a mist rising off the shoulders of his fellow soldiers. The truck rumbled into life, jerking them all slightly as it started the drive toward Atlanta.
"You have any idea what's going on?" he asked the guy sitting beside him.
"Last I heard, there was some sort of plague making it's way through Atlanta," the stocky man answered.
"Then why are we going? I don't know anything about medicine."
"Crowd control most like. Heard this plague makes people crazy, like they're on PCP or something. They start attacking people, even their own family."
"Shit, man. Is it contagious?"
"Yep. Spreading like wildfire, from what I hear."
Dan chewed on lip as they trucked bounced on down the road. Nerves ate at him. Give him a man and a gun, and he can defend himself and his country. But sick people? How were they supposed to handle sick people? The trip was uneventful, but all too short. Before Dan had his nerves calmed, the back of the truck was flung open and the recruits were ushered out. Jumping out, the men lined up, waiting for further instructions.
"Anderson! Beckett! Carlson! Franklin! Squad A. Follow Cooper here for further orders." The men called filed out. This continued, working it's way through the alphabet. Dans group was near the end of the list. "Smith! Stone! Starlin! Tucker! Squad J. Follow Jones here for further orders."
Dan and the others in his group followed Jones over to a new group. The soldiers here were all experienced, and from various branches of the armed services. Joining the ranks, Dan waited until whoever was in charge handed out instructions. Finally, a tall, broad shouldered man with greying hair stepped to the front.
"Alright men. Each of you choose a raw recruit. Fill them in. We head out in 10." No introductions. No information. Worried, Dan looked around him, seeing an experienced soldier standing at his side.
"Name's Jim Georgeson. You're with me. I don't know how much information you've been given, but I'll break it down nice and sweet for you. There is a disease going around. If you got it, you're dead. If you come across anyone who has it, approach with care. We are to contain if possible until transportation to the CDC arrives. If things get out of hand, orders are to shoot to kill. Do not get bit. If you get bit, you will become infected. Our unit has 20 ground troops and 1 tank with 2 people inside. Questions?"
Not sure where to begin, Dan simply shook his head. Shoot to kill? Did they really have shoot to kill orders? It didn't seem possible, but he'd deal with when the situation arose.
"Squad J move!" His squad all loaded into a truck and he bounced on the seat as they traveled through the streets of Atlanta. Having never been to Atlanta before, Dan was quickly lost. Behind their truck was the tank Georgeson told him about. Around them, people were running. A few bodies were in the gutter of the street. One had a knife in it's forehead. The truck stopped and the men jumped out.
"With me," his partner stated. Following, Dan jogged behind Georgeson. Rounding a corner, they came upon a small group of infected people. A body was in the street, and three others surrounded it, pulling intestines out of the gaping hole of the body and into the gaping hole of their mouth. Feeling vomit rise up the back of his throat, Dan swallowed hard. Georgeson raised his gun, pointing it at the people. Following his lead, Dan raised his own.
"I'm gonna need you people to come with us!" Georgeson shouted. Three pairs of white filmed eyes locked onto the soldiers. Slowly, crawling onto their feet, the people began to lumber toward them. Georgeson began to back away, leading the group toward the truck. Keeping an eye on the surroundings, Dan noticed another person sick with disease lumber out of an alley.
"Another infect, 9 o'clock," he stated, informing Georgeson of the position of the new arrival. Their small group swelled. First 3, then 4, then 10 sick citizens were lumbering after them. Growls and hands reaching out to the soldiers. Dan began to feel uneasy. There were too many of them. Turning around to check on their progress, he saw 3 members of his squad crawling on top of the truck. More and more of the sick citizens they were attempting to round up closed in around the truck. The walkie on his shoulder chirped.
"Got a situation!" Dan didn't recognize the voice.
"Take over." Dan stepped forward and took Georgeson position, leading the growing group of sick citizens. "Fuck me!" The walkie chirped again. This time, it was Georgeson's voice coming through. And eery echo of the walkie and Georgeson himself swallowed up Dan. That, and the ever present growling and moaning of the sick. Dread settled like a lead weight in his belly.
"Shoot to kill!" Georgeson gave the order. Gun shots rang out behind Dan. Sucking in a breath, and drawing up his courage, he pulled the trigger on his gun. The bullet punched into the leading sick man, directly center of mass. He saw the body rock back slightly on impact. No bleeding came through the hole, and the man continued his march forward. He saw others impact with bullets, and he knew Georgeson was shooting from behind him. Pulling the trigger again and again, he shot the same man 5 times. Still, no stopping. The man wasn't dying! Changing tactics, he shot the man dead center of his forehead. The citizen dropped. He used this tactic on 3 others before screams of agony from behind him drew his attention. Turning, he saw 4 of the sick citizens pull Georgeson to the ground. Blood spurted as teeth ripped into his arms and neck. Dan shot until his gun clicked empty.
More of the sick citizens were crowding around. The truck was tipped onto its side, the men being eaten alive on the ground beside it. Seeing the tank, Dan made a run for it. Climbing on top, he pounded on the hatch.
"Let me in! Please! I'm the only one left alive out here!" He screamed in desperation. The hatch swung open and Dan jumped in. The hatch slammed shut. A man he didn't recognize was clutching his leg. Dan could see blood oozing between the mans fingers.
"What happened?" he asked.
"One of those fuckers got me," he said between his teeth. His body vibrated with adrenaline. Blood continued to seep through his fingers. Dan swallowed hard, and looked around. He'd never been in a tank before.
"You know how to drive this thing?" Dan asked. Thumps were coming from all sides and the tank swayed slightly. The sick citizens were piling up.
"Yeah, but I can't drive. I'll talk you through it." With the injured mans guidance, Dan got the tank started and slowly drove away, plowing over any of the citizens who got in the way. He couldn't remember how to get back to headquarters, or how to get out of the city. His plan was to drive until the streets were clear, then figure things out. Cruising along, instructions for driving were unnecessary so he allowed the injured man to rest. He was unsure how far they had traveled, but the streets around them were clear in every direction he could look.
"How do I stop?" he asked. No answer. "Hey! Wake up, man, and tell me how to stop!" Dan shouted, trying to rouse the injured man. A low growl and a breath of rancid breath on his left ear warned him a minute too late. Pain laced through his body as the injured man took a large bite out of his neck. A scream filled Dan's mouth. Reaching for his gun, he remembered it was empty. Grabbing the knife in his boot instead, he shoved it into the mans eye.
Weakness erupted across his body as blood swept out of him. He opened the hatch in the floor, intending to crawl out. Once it was open, he knew there was no point. Weakness was pulling him under. Sliding back, he sat against the side of the tank and allowed death to take him. He thought of his mother and father, hoping they were okay. They lived in the country. They were sure to be far away from this plague. Death carried him under.
Waking, he blinked at the world around him. A world hazed in white greeted him. Hungry. Looking around, he saw nothing that looked like food. Low growls and moans erupted from a numb throat. The sounds were far away. Leaning back into the tank, he waited.
Loud blasts alerted him to possible food. Glancing around, he saw nothing. But he could hear it. So hungry. He felt the tank rock. Not food. His eyes closed as he waited for food. So hungry. He vaguely felt a thump against his chest. Opening his eyes, a filmy silhouette of hair filled his vision. Food. Hungry. Opening his mouth, he leaned forward, a moan escaping his lips. The silhouette jumped back and raised a hand. A loud bang ended everything.
A/N: I know absolutely nothing about the military or how things work, so titles and activity may be incorrect. But I really liked this zombie! He stood out to me the first time I watched TWD and I've wanted to write his story ever since. Hope you enjoyed!