says.
Karen brushes away silky brown hair from around
tired catlike eyes. They finally located a stairwell leading to the roof.
“Karen, we have to stay ahead of the pack or we’ll
drown with the losers.”
“I don’t care without my husband.”
Karen stops on the stairs. Exit signs cast a soft
red glow on her. He fishes out a bottle of booze.
“Damn, you’re
hot,” he whispers not realizing she can hear him.
Karen’s green
eyes narrow and voice drips with venom, “I’m not a piece of ass for you to look
at.”
“With it being
our last day on earth…”
“Fuck you.”
Flinching,
he asks, “You’re not interested?”
“You’re a pig.”
“You don’t
deserve shit, bitch!” he bellows, not just at her but every girl who ever shot
him down.
Karen tries
pushing past him. The alcohol makes him ten feet tall and indestructible. Every
aspect of her petite body turns him on. He grabs for her.
“What makes you
think I’m interested in a forty year old, potbellied, booze drinking cop?” She
yells, shoving him.
Hatred for her
truths opens a black abyss of negative memories and emotions. He roughly pushes
her against the wall.
“Please let me
go,” she sobs. “I don’t want to get raped.”
Her words slam
home and he cringes. Rage becomes embarrassment and shame.
“You think I want
to rape you?”
“Help me!” She
yells to anyone, desperate.
He shoves her,
unable to deal with her view of him. The shove sends her stumbling. She tries
catching her balance but falls. He drunkenly reaches out but it’s too late. Her
shriek fills the stairwell, followed by a sickening crunch.
“Fuck. Karen?”
Massive guilt
floods him as he looks at her crumpled form. Her neck is twisted at an
unnatural angle. He runs to the roof. Armed soldiers with assault rifles eye
him as he bursts through the door. The roof is a sea of survivors, hospital
staff, and soldiers.
“Secure the door
and check him for bites,” a marine orders.
A soldier checks
Larry and wrinkles his nose in disgust.
“Sergeant, we got
a drunk, but no bites.”
The stone faced
sergeant nods and redirects his attention to the helicopters.
“Private Laramie,
I want these choppers in the air, ASAP!”
“Yes, sir,”
another marine answers smartly. “What about the cop, sir? We are a few men
short.”
The sergeant
glances at Larry and says, “Put him in Iron Horse.”
“Do I have a
choice?” Larry asks.
“Nope,” Laramie replies.
Larry is hustled
into a beat-up helicopter.
“Can you guys
drop me off in Maryland?” Larry asks.
“We lost Maryland to the Zs a few hours ago,” Laramie says. “Do you know that Iron Horse is a CH-53E
Marine helicopter? Not many people get to ride in the helicopter that took out
Bin Laden.”
“No shit, never
would have guessed. Why do you guys need me?”
“We’re searching
for survivors.”
Four marines
survey Larry with unimpressed eyes. He focuses on a pinup of a blonde with
large boobs near the cockpit, feeling inferior.
“Man, you reek of
booze,” one of the marines says.
“It was my day
off.”
“Why are you in
uniform?”
Blushing, he
focuses on a decal of an iron fist clutching something in a yellow circle near
the pinup girl.
“I can’t believe
this shit,” the marine grumbles. “Didn’t someone get a memo this is an assault
chopper? We should be fighting the Zs!”
“Give it a break,
Albertson,” Laramie says. “Until a proper chain of command is restored, we’re
fucked.”
“I heard the
entire east coast is lost,” a third marine says.
“It’s just a
matter of time before we quarantine,” Laramie says.
“You really think
we’ll nuke our own cities?” another asks.
Larry looks up
alarmed.
“Yes, I do.”
Silence fills the
chopper. A haze of dust and smoke hangs over the city. The helicopter dips low
and zips over partially submerged buildings.
“Hey,” one of the
marines in the cockpit says to Larry. “Push that yellow
Karen brushes away silky brown hair from around
tired catlike eyes. They finally located a stairwell leading to the roof.
“Karen, we have to stay ahead of the pack or we’ll
drown with the losers.”
“I don’t care without my husband.”
Karen stops on the stairs. Exit signs cast a soft
red glow on her. He fishes out a bottle of booze.
“Damn, you’re
hot,” he whispers not realizing she can hear him.
Karen’s green
eyes narrow and voice drips with venom, “I’m not a piece of ass for you to look
at.”
“With it being
our last day on earth…”
“Fuck you.”
Flinching,
he asks, “You’re not interested?”
“You’re a pig.”
“You don’t
deserve shit, bitch!” he bellows, not just at her but every girl who ever shot
him down.
Karen tries
pushing past him. The alcohol makes him ten feet tall and indestructible. Every
aspect of her petite body turns him on. He grabs for her.
“What makes you
think I’m interested in a forty year old, potbellied, booze drinking cop?” She
yells, shoving him.
Hatred for her
truths opens a black abyss of negative memories and emotions. He roughly pushes
her against the wall.
“Please let me
go,” she sobs. “I don’t want to get raped.”
Her words slam
home and he cringes. Rage becomes embarrassment and shame.
“You think I want
to rape you?”
“Help me!” She
yells to anyone, desperate.
He shoves her,
unable to deal with her view of him. The shove sends her stumbling. She tries
catching her balance but falls. He drunkenly reaches out but it’s too late. Her
shriek fills the stairwell, followed by a sickening crunch.
“Fuck. Karen?”
Massive guilt
floods him as he looks at her crumpled form. Her neck is twisted at an
unnatural angle. He runs to the roof. Armed soldiers with assault rifles eye
him as he bursts through the door. The roof is a sea of survivors, hospital
staff, and soldiers.
“Secure the door
and check him for bites,” a marine orders.
A soldier checks
Larry and wrinkles his nose in disgust.
“Sergeant, we got
a drunk, but no bites.”
The stone faced
sergeant nods and redirects his attention to the helicopters.
“Private Laramie,
I want these choppers in the air, ASAP!”
“Yes, sir,”
another marine answers smartly. “What about the cop, sir? We are a few men
short.”
The sergeant
glances at Larry and says, “Put him in Iron Horse.”
“Do I have a
choice?” Larry asks.
“Nope,” Laramie replies.
Larry is hustled
into a beat-up helicopter.
“Can you guys
drop me off in Maryland?” Larry asks.
“We lost Maryland to the Zs a few hours ago,” Laramie says. “Do you know that Iron Horse is a CH-53E
Marine helicopter? Not many people get to ride in the helicopter that took out
Bin Laden.”
“No shit, never
would have guessed. Why do you guys need me?”
“We’re searching
for survivors.”
Four marines
survey Larry with unimpressed eyes. He focuses on a pinup of a blonde with
large boobs near the cockpit, feeling inferior.
“Man, you reek of
booze,” one of the marines says.
“It was my day
off.”
“Why are you in
uniform?”
Blushing, he
focuses on a decal of an iron fist clutching something in a yellow circle near
the pinup girl.
“I can’t believe
this shit,” the marine grumbles. “Didn’t someone get a memo this is an assault
chopper? We should be fighting the Zs!”
“Give it a break,
Albertson,” Laramie says. “Until a proper chain of command is restored, we’re
fucked.”
“I heard the
entire east coast is lost,” a third marine says.
“It’s just a
matter of time before we quarantine,” Laramie says.
“You really think
we’ll nuke our own cities?” another asks.
Larry looks up
alarmed.
“Yes, I do.”
Silence fills the
chopper. A haze of dust and smoke hangs over the city. The helicopter dips low
and zips over partially submerged buildings.
“Hey,” one of the
marines in the cockpit says to Larry. “Push that yellow
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