They were getting in.
John Clarkson looked down through the small slit in the wall, as he had for ages now. The zombies were still there, and still bashing on the door. However, now they were close, the hinges giving in and the steel door bending under their attack. It was a matter of moment before they would force themselves in.
The monsters looking back at him sported blank looks, their milky white eyes saying nothing. Covered in greenish boils and mould-covered sores the zombies were barely recognisable as once having been human, much of their clothes having been torn to shreds by their own clawing hands or the obscene growths coming out of them.
John shrugged, it did not matter how ugly they were anymore, he would soon be dead, and then he wouldn't have to look at them anymore.
He rolled the vodka in his glass around, a mere drop was left from the bottle, but he clutched the glass tight none the less, treasuring the final drink more then anything. "Secret tunnel full of the undead. Door about to be opened. No fuel for the flamers, nor any grenades left." John already knew all that, but it felt good saying it, to put words on his doom.
Putting the glass to his lips he sipped the final drop of alcohol, to his mouth it tasted like ashes, but he smacked his lips together in appreciation none the less. "No help from that chapel coming either, or they would have sent it already." He tossed the glass aside, uncharacteristically crushing it against a wall. Who cared about being clean now? "And not even a full garrison."
He grimaced, shoulders slumping. Half his arbiters had died in the initial attack, never standing a chance as they either were bitten by those ugly bugs and turned...or were eaten alive by the suddenly monstrous people around them. Then there had been the rioting prisoners... John closed his eyes, tensing at the painful memory.
They had been in total chaos, struggling to get patrols back into the fort while fighting the growing groups of zombies coming at them...when the prisoners had broken out. Even without this strange disease it had been a nightmare scenario, especially when the prisoners reached the armoury...and when every killed prisoner and arbiter begun to turn into another zombie the fight had turned into chaos.
It had been mere chance that had left the arbiters victorious.
Shrugging he glanced down at his body, the black carapace armour of his was scorched and torn from the vicious fighting he had endured, and he knew it was coincidence and nothing else that had kept him alive so far. Yet, he was alive, and that meant he was still fighting.
Turning he faced the only piece of furniture in the room, the steel chair riveted into the floor of the small interrogation chamber. He smiled, how many criminals had he exposed while they were strapped to this chair? How many heretics had died here? Their pleading falling to deaf ears? And now is equipment lay there, ready for one last fight.
Putting on his helmet he pushed down the black visor over his face. By now he knew from experience what a plague zombie's punch could do, but perhaps it would take at least one blow before breaking? Better than his skull taking it...
He grabbed his power maul, grip worn from years of use, putting it on its highest setting before fastening it to his belt.
His laspistol, how many had he executed with it? How many a charging heretic had he put down? He holstered it, despite knowing that it could barely hurt these sick creatures.
His combat shotgun...the mere threat of using it had ended many an argument. And with these creatures...it was perfect.
He didn't expect to win though, he knew better, but he would go none the less. Sighing he shot the interrogation chair one last look before marching out into the corridor. The place was torn and scorched from their fight with the prisoners and the zombies from both sides...at least they had managed to throw the corpses out through a window, though the smell still lingered. Gagging slightly John moved on, surprised at the resolve in his steps.
There were of course others, but they had given up long ago. Two had killed themselves a day ago...and the others...
It didn't require any effort to hear the moans as officer Kakaon and Wenman stayed in their joint room, apparently set on screwing each others brains out until the end. Wenman seemed to scream excessively much...no doubt trying to shut out the sound of the zombies entering while she rode Kakaon.
John smirked, for an instant considering bursting in and ordering them to the gate for a final defence. He couldn't bring himself to do it though, they had chosen their ending, and he couldn't deprive them of that.
Another three steps down the stinking corridor and he could now hear the last officer under his command, officer Yllmer was praying, loudly enough to be heard through the thick door to the fort's praying chamber even. He was probably trying to shut out the sound of the zombies entering as well...and to save his soul before his imminent death.
John grunted, hefting his shotgun loosely as he marched towards the main room, he had made his choice, and he did not fear for his soul, not anymore.
"Fuck the emperor." He growled, scratching his chin and marvelling how loose the skin there was. Ever since everything had gone to hell he had enjoyed the lack of daily sermons, a small blessing in the hell the world had become.
Officer Yllmer was probably right, faith in the emperor guarded one against this mysterious disease, John hadn't taken off his armour for two days now...but if it was close to anything like last time he guessed it would be covered in boils and sores. He hadn't been bitten...but still the disease had begun to spread within him.
But why would he pray to the emperor? Even if it saved him from this horrible affliction...why should he spend time praying to the god that had allowed something like this to happen to his planet!? He owed the emperor no further allegiance! He had fought his entire life for the god! He had killed hundreds of heretics! He had killed mothers and children for the emperor! And how is he rewarded?
With this! His entire planet full of undead! With his friends and family dead! With himself about to be eaten!
No, the emperor could demand nothing else from him.
Finding himself in the entrance hall John relaxed, looking around with calm eyes. Behind him the stairs went up to the rest of the building, at the base of the stairs a curved desk faced the entrance, the chair behind it broken into nothing but wood. There was a red carpet leading up to the doors...John was surprised by how clean it still was.
Walking past the desk John flicked the safety off on his shotgun, squeezing it tightly as he watched the upper part of the doors giving way.
It was a horrible sight, thick steel covered in dark blood bending under the impacts of the undead...their mouths agape in hunger for his flesh. Fascinated John watched the hinges on the massive gate shake, the wall around it breaking into crumbs. It couldn't hold out much longer.
Taking a deep breath John gritted his teeth, so this was it? It felt a little...disappointing.
With a bone jarring impact the gate gave way, the gore covered doors falling unto the floor, parts of the wall coming down with it.
They were so many...
Taking a step forward John fired, tearing the head off the first zombie entering the room. The second shot tore into the head of another zombie, the boils covering it exploding into gore and pus, but it still came at him...a second shot blew a hole through its chest and dropped it to the floor.
A moan escaped one of them as the horde of zombies pushed forward, like an unstoppable avalanche they came at him, clawing hands pushing towards him. Another step forward and John blew the leg of a third zombie, then swung his shotgun about, knocking a fourth unto the floor with a heavy blow that jarred his shoulder.
That felt good...
A swinging fist caught him in the face.
Flying back John saw stars, the sound of the visor shattering was nothing compared by the pain suddenly digging into him, nor the screaming.
Realizing it was he who screamed John struggled to his knees, his blurry vision seeing the wall of undead approaching, stepping over the shotgun he'd dropped under his flight. Emperor...he couldn't open his left eye!
Pulling his pistol John fired the weapon as fast as he could, ruby laser shots burning the thick skin of the plague zombies. He wasn't really sure where he hit them, his vision too blurry, but missing was impossible...and he managed a grin when another of them fell forward, quickly getting crushed under the weight of the others advancing.
They were close...weren't they?
Dropping his pistol John pulled the power maul, the worn weapon humming as he activated it. "Come on you piece of...!" Grunting he stepped forward, swinging his weapon against the skull of one of them.
It broke like a ripe melon, spraying him with blood, pus and brainmatter.
Another pawed at him, drawing a growl from him as fresh pain struck him, this time from the feeling of having his entire right arm being stripped of armour, exposing sickly green flesh now sporting three bloody gouges down the entire limb.
His backhand blow sent the left arm of the clawing zombie flying, the monster dropping unto one knee with a moan. "Ha! Take that you-"
Then another grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him closer.
John managed a gasp as his power maul fell from nerveless fingers, watching in shock as another of the beasts grabbed the gouged arm...and begun to feed. "Ah! No!" He tried to pull away, only to find his back hitting the chest of another zombie...and then all breath was knocked out of him. "Gnh!?" Staring down he found a clawed hand sticking out from his abdomen, dark gore in its hands.
He swung his left arm backwards, slamming his elbow into the head of the zombie. It didn't budge though, another of its hand punching through John's lower back, almost tearing him in half. Another zombie lashed out at him as it was pushed past him by the sheer amount of monsters, tearing a deep wound across his throat. "Ahn..." There was blood in his mouth...and...it burnt...he was of fire... "Ghuh?"
With an explosion of blood the hands were pulled back out of him, dropping him to his knees.
Where...was his arm? His right arm...was...missing...at the elbow...
He couldn't breathe...he couldn't...
There was no sound when he fell face first to the floor. Heavy feet marched right over him, crushing his chest...breaking his bones...slowly reducing his body to bloody paste.
Emperor...why?
