directional line of fire. The rifles flashed out angry red flames as they green dotted the undead. Zombies fell all around them.
The guardsmen’s semi-automatic weapons banged out in the marble lined hallway. The smoke from the weapons set off the sprinklers in the corridor making an already slick floor damn near impossible.
Anderson led the group sliding down the hallway to an exit; behind him, the rear guard continued to fire occasional rounds as they engaged targets.
From the exit, it was a quarter of a mile back to the armory and dozens of zombies milled about the landscape.
“Once we start out there,” Anderson said, “we don’t stop for shit.”
“Sir,” Winters said, “we’re pretty low on ammo.”
“Just make do,” Anderson said. “You civilians better make sure you stay in the center of the group.”
They moved out of the building through motion-activated sliding glass doors.
To get back to the armory, they would have to cross two-hundred yards of empty space and then through rows of single story brick residences. Past the buildings was a tree lined dirt road that connected to the armory.
The zombies locked onto the group, and closed in from all sides. The soldiers had to slow down because several of the civilians were struggling with injuries. They continued to drop zombie after zombie, but ammo was becoming a real issue.
Anderson heard soldier after soldier shout, “Out of ammo.” Anderson recognized his group was about to become a moving buffet.
“New plan,” Anderson shouted, “Grab the injured; we’re going to have to run for it.”
Several of his men doubled up to assist in carrying the wounded. The group picked up its pace, but lacking firepower, the zombies edged closer. The group was forced to fight hand to hand battles on the run with the undead.
Winters ran up to the nearest zombie and bludgeoned it in the face with his rifle. He kept moving toward his destination as the zombie fell to the ground.
A guardsman on the other side of the group found his feet wrapped up with a zombie when he tried a similar move. Three other soldiers and two civilians stopped to help the downed man. They fell behind the main group, and a dozen zombies filled in the gap.
“Don’t stop!” Anderson shouted, but it was too late.
Unarmed, the civilians were torn to pieces leaving the soldiers to fend for themselves.
The cut off soldiers swung their rifles like clubs hitting the zombies around them. They beat three of the undead to the ground. They tried to fight back to back, but a dozen or more of the undead came at them from all sides. They pushed in at the soldiers at the same time, and the living disappeared under the wave with screams.
Anderson watched from a distance while his men were cut off and overwhelmed. I’ll never forgive myself, Anderson thought. He moved on with his 10 remaining troops and 30 civilians.
They raced past the burning brick residential buildings. Smoke billowed out of broken windows. Anderson noticed a child’s big-wheel that was too close to one of the burning buildings; the wheels were half melted into the ground. The VA campus housed a fire department, but the firefighters were either with the undead, or had run off.
The rest of the trip they ran down the dirt road that went through a patch of woods to the armory. The path was clear, and the rest of the trip went without incident.
Anderson ordered a couple of his men to secure the gates to the armory, and he led everyone else into the main building. A number of civilians in vehicles pulled over on the highway when they saw the soldiers.
“Sir,” Winters said, “we’ve got civilians on the highway looking for sanctuary.”
“As long as they’re not zombies, let anybody in that we safely can,” Anderson said. “And if they can handle a weapon, give them one.”
In the fading light, Anderson heard two large booms in the distance.
The guardsmen’s semi-automatic weapons banged out in the marble lined hallway. The smoke from the weapons set off the sprinklers in the corridor making an already slick floor damn near impossible.
Anderson led the group sliding down the hallway to an exit; behind him, the rear guard continued to fire occasional rounds as they engaged targets.
From the exit, it was a quarter of a mile back to the armory and dozens of zombies milled about the landscape.
“Once we start out there,” Anderson said, “we don’t stop for shit.”
“Sir,” Winters said, “we’re pretty low on ammo.”
“Just make do,” Anderson said. “You civilians better make sure you stay in the center of the group.”
They moved out of the building through motion-activated sliding glass doors.
To get back to the armory, they would have to cross two-hundred yards of empty space and then through rows of single story brick residences. Past the buildings was a tree lined dirt road that connected to the armory.
The zombies locked onto the group, and closed in from all sides. The soldiers had to slow down because several of the civilians were struggling with injuries. They continued to drop zombie after zombie, but ammo was becoming a real issue.
Anderson heard soldier after soldier shout, “Out of ammo.” Anderson recognized his group was about to become a moving buffet.
“New plan,” Anderson shouted, “Grab the injured; we’re going to have to run for it.”
Several of his men doubled up to assist in carrying the wounded. The group picked up its pace, but lacking firepower, the zombies edged closer. The group was forced to fight hand to hand battles on the run with the undead.
Winters ran up to the nearest zombie and bludgeoned it in the face with his rifle. He kept moving toward his destination as the zombie fell to the ground.
A guardsman on the other side of the group found his feet wrapped up with a zombie when he tried a similar move. Three other soldiers and two civilians stopped to help the downed man. They fell behind the main group, and a dozen zombies filled in the gap.
“Don’t stop!” Anderson shouted, but it was too late.
Unarmed, the civilians were torn to pieces leaving the soldiers to fend for themselves.
The cut off soldiers swung their rifles like clubs hitting the zombies around them. They beat three of the undead to the ground. They tried to fight back to back, but a dozen or more of the undead came at them from all sides. They pushed in at the soldiers at the same time, and the living disappeared under the wave with screams.
Anderson watched from a distance while his men were cut off and overwhelmed. I’ll never forgive myself, Anderson thought. He moved on with his 10 remaining troops and 30 civilians.
They raced past the burning brick residential buildings. Smoke billowed out of broken windows. Anderson noticed a child’s big-wheel that was too close to one of the burning buildings; the wheels were half melted into the ground. The VA campus housed a fire department, but the firefighters were either with the undead, or had run off.
The rest of the trip they ran down the dirt road that went through a patch of woods to the armory. The path was clear, and the rest of the trip went without incident.
Anderson ordered a couple of his men to secure the gates to the armory, and he led everyone else into the main building. A number of civilians in vehicles pulled over on the highway when they saw the soldiers.
“Sir,” Winters said, “we’ve got civilians on the highway looking for sanctuary.”
“As long as they’re not zombies, let anybody in that we safely can,” Anderson said. “And if they can handle a weapon, give them one.”
In the fading light, Anderson heard two large booms in the distance.
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