Chapter 4: Grave New World

"Chuck, you've done some crazy shit in your life, but this has got to be taking the cake," the voice inside his head told him as he managed to pull himself out of the cramped metal duct and back into open, finding himself nearly bowled over by the stench of decomposing flesh amplified by a million.

"Damn it," he grunted aloud, hearing the moans of the dead in the distance and he approached the nearby chain-link fence.

Beyond the confines of the Willamette Parkview Mall it was nothing but a sea of inhumanity.

There had to be thousands of those zombies staggering about out there and they were still pouring in with every passing second, almost like they were magically appearing out of thin air.

Not only that, he could still hear the sounds of survivors struggling: the police sirens, the gunshots, the dying screams...

Chuck's foot suddenly brushed against something and he looked down to find a pair of binoculars. Out of morbid curiosity he picked them up and peered through them.

On the rooftop of the nearby C.W. Factory he watched as a lone woman attempted to hold off a small crowd of advancing zombies armed with only a handgun, only to run of ammo and find herself tackled and falling to the pavement below. It wasn't much farther away in the mall parking lot where a motorist was stranded atop his battered white sedan swinging away wildly at the zombies surrounding him with a baseball bat. When he could hear the whirr of helicopter blades above he suddenly stopped everything he was doing and began waving his arms wildly, the distraction enabling the zombies to grab him and pull him to the pavement below.

"What the?" Chuck asked to nobody in particular as he looked up to see an unmarked helicopter flying overhead, followed by two more. He wondered if they were military, but yet they looked more like they were just scouting the terrain rather than attempting a rescue mission. It was a sight that left him swallowing hard and worrying for Ed's safety.

"Hello there!" a voice called from behind, causing Chuck to nearly jump out of his skin.

Whirling around on his heel with his spiked baseball bat at the ready, he turned to find a well-dressed fellow casually strolling towards him like he didn't have a care in the world. When he got a good look at his face it instantly dawned on him.

It was the same man from the gas station!

Chuck opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off before he could.

"You're not from around here are you?" the man asked in his thick Spanish accent.

"What's it to you?" Chuck asked narrowing his blue eyes at the mysterious man, already not liking the vibe he was getting from him.

The man walked past him and looked out towards the carnage before them, "Tell me, what have you seen thus far?"

"Who the hell does this creep think he is?" Chuck asked himself, deciding for now he would play along. "Well what is there to say? This place has turned into a goddamned Hell on Earth!"

"I guess you could say, everyone's already dead?" the man asked turning to face him, a smirk cracking his features.

Chuck stared at the man in utter disgust, wanting to bash his brains in right then and there.

The nameless Latin man looked back to him, a fire burning brightly in his dark eyes as his tone became even more sinister, "This my friend...is Hell!"

That did it right there. He had crossed the line.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, you freak. You are seriously fucked up and you are going down!" Chuck said advancing towards the man with the spiked bat drawn.

A loud ding sounded from his right and temporarily distracted the former motocross champion, giving the nameless Latino time to reach for a small metallic object he would toss into the air. A second later there was a bright flash and a deafening bang.

"What the hell gives?" Chuck shouted, unable to hear his own voice over the ringing in his ears. The blast left him blinded and he was waving his arms around wildly for several seconds until he felt a hand gripping onto his shoulder.

"You're going down!" he shouted to his unseen assailant, delivering a haymaker that knocked the person from their feet.

It was then his hearing slowly began coming back to him and he could make out a woman's voice yelling at him "Please don't hurt my husband!"

The blinding light began to dissipate and it was then Chuck could make out the solid wall which he would brace himself against. Solid shapes began taking form around him and it was then he was able to make out the older man in the pink shirt lying on the tarmac before him, pawing around anxiously for his lost glasses. Standing nearby with her hands clasped over her mouth was a bespectacled older woman in a bright green shirt and next to her was a grubby-looking younger man with a mustache and goatee with his brown hair worn in short dreadlocks, a hunting knife in hand and his light green sweater covered in fresh blood.

"Please, don't hurt me!" the downed man pleaded, "We came here to get away from the zombies!"

Chuck blinked his eyes repeatedly as his vision fully returned to him and the ringing had subsided.

"I'm terribly sorry about that. I thought you were someone else," Chuck said offering his hand to the down man, who seemed initially hesitant to take it, "I mean it. I didn't mean to attack you like that. Some creep was here just a second ago and I tried to stop him!"

The man looked warily towards him for a few more seconds before finally accepting his hand and grabbing a golf club before Chuck pulled him back to his feet. The woman then ran over and embraced him.

"I'm terribly sorry," Chuck repeated, "I'm not here to hurt anybody. My name's Chuck."

The couple eyed him cautiously before the man spoke up, "I'm Jeff Meyer and this here is my wife Natalie. The young feller over there is Brandon. He helped us get up here thinking we could be safe."

"I know of a safe place not too far from here. You can follow me," Chuck said with a wave of his arm.

"Um hey mister...Chuck, is there anybody else there?" Brandon asked as they jogged towards the platform and pulled themselves onto the higher platform, the motocross racer stopping to help the Meyer couple up.

"Just three other people. There are a few others running around here somewhere and I was on my way out to find them before I bumped into that weirdo man," Chuck replied.

The biker was first into the duct and waited until he made sure his three companions were behind him and with seconds they were crawling through to the vent room.

"Thanks a lot for your help. I really owe you one," Jeff said reaching out and shaking Chuck's hand, "Here, you might need this more than I will if you're gonna be going back out there," he said offering his golf club, which the biker graciously accepted.

"I'm never going to the mall again as long as I live. I've had enough of this," Natalie whined before Jeff took her to the back. Brandon only offered a nod before making his way to the back.

"Here," Chuck heard Otis' raspy voice call out and he turned to find the janitor offering him an apple and a jug of coffee creamer, "You might be out there a while, son. This should hold you over until you find something else to eat."

"Thanks, I appreciate it," Chuck said before making his way back into the vent.

Chuck made his way back outside and approached the elevator the trio arrived in and pushed the call button, the same cheery 'ding' signaling its arrival. He stepped into the elevator and rested the golf club against his shoulder, knowing he was going to need to be ready in case he encountered any more zombies or that creepy Latin guy again.

"Unless he's some kind of ninja he couldn't have gotten far," he told himself as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open and he found himself in a large storeroom filled with shelves of boxes, barrels, supplies and other miscellaneous goods for restocking the stores around the mall. Fortunately the room appeared to be empty and he began looking around for anything else he could use until he heard a beeping sound coming from his coat pocket and he pulled out the transceiver.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Otis from back at the security room. Can you hear me Chuck?" the janitor's raspy voice called out.

"Loud and clear. What's up?"

"Let me give you a rundown of the mall's layout so you know what you're doing. Right on the other side of that warehouse you'll find the Paradise Plaza. There are lots of shops there...restaurants, sporting goods, books...you name it. It's a pretty big mall so you'll probably need to use the can now and then. Just check the map to find the restrooms when you need to," Otis explained.

"Alright thanks. Keep me informed if anything else comes up," Chuck replied before putting the transceiver away.

Chuck was about to advance farther along when he suddenly heard footsteps coming from behind him.

"Zombies, huh? I had a feeling more of you would show up," he said taking cover behind a shelf and raising his golf club, ready to hit an eagle off a zombie's skull. He waited for the steps to draw closer and it was then he stepped into the open ready to swing, cut off by a woman's shriek.

It was that Jessie lady from the office and now she was falling flat on her ass.

"Ohh...oh god! It's you! Look, don't sneak up on me like that!" Chuck scolded reaching down to help the young woman back to her feet.

"Brad was attacked. I located him on the monitor...oh!" she spoke trying to stand, only to fall back to her knees.

"It's probably just a sprain," he said helping her up and walking her over to the elevator.

"I've gotta help Brad...or he's done for," she protested.

"Alright fine. Give me your gun," Chuck motioned for her handgun, "Come on. I'm the reason you just got hurt. Let me help."

"No! I can't let a civilian do that. That's against regulations!" she protested.

"Yeah, well I don't think they had zombie-infested malls in mind when they wrote those regulations," Chuck shot back.

"Do you know how to use this?" she asked tepidly handing him the gun.

"Kind of," he said accepting the gun and testing its sights, "I've never fought a war, but it should be as simple as point and shoot."

"Look, after I'm through helping you, you and I are going to have a nice little chat," Chuck said tucking the gun into his belt.

"If you can get that past Brad first," Jessie replied bracing herself against the wall and making her way back to the elevator.

Chuck ignored her last comment and made his way to the entrance that would take him to the Paradise Plaza.

Stepping out into the open he was met by some cheery music being played over the speakers, quickly replaced by the feral snarls of a large mass of zombies, followed by more gunshots and the exasperated cries of survivors.

He looked to his left to find two armed guards near the downed gate leading to the entrance plaza, both of them on the verge of being overwhelmed when one of them looked over to Chuck.

"Sir, it's dangerous! You have to get out of here!" the balding man called out just as his gun clicked empty and he was tackled to the floor, a zombie tearing into his neck as he struggled to get it off. His partner didn't fair much better and was down to beating off some attackers with a nightstick before he too fell to the floor and found himself made into dinner.

"Damn it." Chuck muttered to himself, surrounded by the undead from all directions with numerous things on his plate at once.

He had to provide backup for Brad, find Rebecca, stop that creepy guy if he found him again and rescue any more survivors he would happen across.

Aside from the monumental task of raising his daughter as a single father following his wife Pam's death, this had been the most responsibility ever placed on his shoulders.

"But if I don't do it then who will?" Chuck asked himself as a zombie drew dangerously close and he swung the club upwards into its jaw, shattering it upon impact.

The attack caught the attention of another zombie staggering around outside of the Contemporary Reading bookstore and Chuck drew his club backwards and with a cry of "Fore!" launched a golf ball that traveled through the zombie's right eye and out of the back of its head.

More zombies took notice of Chuck and started lumbering towards him, including one armed with a hunting knife who shot its arm out and managed to slice him across the chest, causing him to cry out in pain. With a cry of rage he slammed the club into its forehead, splitting its skull wide open. He began swinging his 9 iron and launching more balls at the zombies, hard enough to tear through a few more decaying craniums before running out of balls and finding himself back down to using his spiked bat, wanting to conserve his bullets for backing up Brad.

"I gotta stop screwing around with these undead yahoos and get over to help Brad out," Chuck told himself as he climbed onto an elevated island in the center of the corridor and ran along it, barely dodging the decaying hands reaching out for him. Before he could reach the end and attempt to jump to the next island the transceiver started beeping.

"Out of all the times! This better be damn good Otis!" Chuck shouted aloud before pulverizing another zombie's head. When he was confident there was enough space he raised the transceiver, "Yeah?"

"Chuck, you there? It's me Otis, the janitor," the old man's voice called out, barely audible as the zombies closed in on the motocross champion.

"You kind of caught me at a bad time. You'd better make it quick!" he called back, barely dodging a swipe from a tall zombie.

"I've been watching the monitors here and I got some info you might want. There's some dark-haired guy wanderin' around in Paradise Plaza. He's carryin' a camera like that reporter lady friend of yours. I guess he must be some kind of journalist too. Takin' pictures at a time like this...he must be crazy," Otis spoke.

It wasn't the kind of info he was looking for, but if there was another survivor out there then it wasn't a bad idea to have a few extra helping hands on board.

"Okay, where is he?" Chuck shouted as he was forced to cut through a shin-high moat to escape a large cluster of undead.

"He's up in the Colombian Roastmasters café. You're headin' towards it right now," Otis replied.

"I'm on it," Chuck replied shoving the transceiver back into his pocket and slamming his bat into the face of another zombie before going for a grand slam that sent three flying backwards. Unfortunately for him, another zombie managed to get close enough and went for his throat.

"Get off!" he screamed before performing his back drop attack that slammed the zombie backwards. Another undead menace practically running towards him he quickly shot his arms out and intercepted the would-be attacker.

"Hands off!" he screamed just as he lightly lifted the zombie off the ground and tore its arms off, showering his face and upper torso with blood in the process.

"Damn it! I'm gonna need some new clothes!"

XXXXX

Author's Note: And so concludes yet another installment of "Case Greene" compliments of yours truly!

To keep my readers up to date I will be listing survivors rescued and escorted back to the security office at the end of each chapter. In this chapter it is:

Jeff Meyer, 55

Natalie Meyer, 53

Brandon Whittaker, 22

Well I think that's it for this installment so as always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/