Fathom by Mikel Parry

CH- BUSH ZOMBIE

Repugnant, gruesome, vile, utterly shameless—Demo tried to describe the pure evil he felt was now a part of him. He sat slumped in the car as they drove along the seemingly aimless back country roads heading home. Everyone was silent as no one had the will to make small talk, or worse, attempt to dig deeper into what they’d just seen. The only sound was made by the tires moving swiftly over the pavement, which produced a therapeutic hum. So much to try and decipher; so many lives lost. Carefully crafted murders, some decades old, raged forward in time like a river that couldn’t be dammed. In a sick way, Demo found the murderer’s steadfastness admirable. Staying with something so long was a feat few people could match. But at the same time, he hated them—him, her—it didn’t really matter. Whoever it was, they plagued his very existence. Why couldn’t the world be kinder, be a thing of beauty? Why did reality have to be so ugly much of the time? Demo raised his head and saw Bob Cat staring blankly out the window. If jaded had a look, that had to be it.

“So, is it just you now, Bobby? I mean, at home?”

Bob Cat squirmed a little in his seat.

“What’s it matter? Ain’t a damned thing I can do about it now . . . ’haps its better this way. They deserved better ’an me, anyways.”

Demo’s insides clenched. . Someone in his twisted little family was hurting and he was unable to fix it. What crushed him most was watching someone whose emotions were usually a block of ice, suddenly begin to melt.

“I’ll get these guys, Bobby—I’ll get ’em and make ’em pay—I promise you that.”

Bob Cat glanced at Demo and managed a slight smile of gratitude for his good intention.

“You really are as thick as sod, aren’t ya? I sure can pick ’em.”

Demo smiled back in solidarity. In a strange way, both men were realizing that their small gang was all each of them had. Forgetting to be cordial, Demo turned his attention to Roslin, who also looked as distant as a far off planet. It was disquieting to see the burden of regret, anger, and remorse each of them was carrying. The amalgamation of their emotion was welding them together like the twisted metal they had just left behind.

“I need to know more about the victims back there. It’s obvious you know a lot more than you’re telling. If we’re going to make this work, we can’t hide anything from each other.”

Roslin let the comment go unanswered long enough that it appeared to have crashed and burned. Demo finally spoke the up. He knew he was right; everything had to be out on the table if this case was going to get solved.

“He was an old friend. Someone I knew long before I got involved in any of this. We served in the military together for a while before we went our separate ways. Beyond that, it’s been the occasional email or Christmas card. I have no idea why he would have any involvement in this or why someone felt that he deserved to die that way.”

Demo put his hands into the air.

“Deserved . . . that’s the key here. Why go through all the theatrics? Why drag us along? Why single out these people? The motive is still convoluted to me. I need to inside Spencer’s head again. I need to get back to the Fathom.”

Roslin nodded his head.

“It’s about time you stopped kicking and screaming. We’ll get you back in, but you’ve got to start producing results. These little jaunts aren’t cheap.”

Out of nowhere, Bob Cat smacked Demo’s shoulder, leaving it tender and sore.

“Didn’t know you had a little firecracker stuffed up in ya, but what good am I, just another warm body in that white asylum?”

“Bobby, I’ve got something for us to get done on the outside. But first I need to refine my skills. I need more involvement with Spencer. I need to grasp the way he perceives reality. If he was awake this would be a lot easier, but he’s not so I’ve just got to take the plunge.”

Bob Cat resumed staring out the window. It was apparent that something was troubling him deeply.

“And what if a storm brews up again and sucks you in for keeps this time? You’re risking more than most would be willing to on such an unsure thing.”

Demo’s brow furrowed slightly in recognition of the truth.

“Well, it’s a chance I’ve got to take. Otherwise, out here, they’ll always be a step ahead.”

Bob Cat snorted in retort.

“Bunch of blooming fools—that’s what we are—a bunch of blooming fools . . .”

Demo rummaged around in his pockets before finding what he was looking for. Trying his best to avoid being seen by Roslin or the driver, he palmed it to Bob Cat.

“Cloak and dagger?” he whispered t, surprised by the sudden gift.

“It has everything we know about the blood legacy murders on it; at least that’s what I’ve been told. If this falls into the wrong hands a lot of people could be out in the open.”

Bob Cat shook his head.

“No, no, no! I’m not babysitting something this heavy. I can barely keep track of my pack of gum, let alone this.”

Demo didn’t back down.

“Do it, please, Bobby. I’m too easy a target. They’d expect me to have it. Just hold on to it until I need it.”

Bobby stuffed the electronic device into his pocket, letting out a gruff stream of air.

Demo glanced up at the rearview mirror just in time to see the driver staring back at him. The driver quickly diverted his eyes back onto the road. Something was definitely off about the way he had been watching them. But he was one of Roslin’s men; if he was involved, then anyone could be, right up to the very top.

The remainder of the drive was largely uneventful. Only the occasional muffled sound would slip through the awkward cement of silence that had been poured inside the car. But once they arrived at the facility, Demo came alive. He exited the car, on his own for a change. He walked swiftly to the unmarked door on the side of the massive facility and waited. He was fighting the doubt and fear that nipped at him like a stray dog. But he felt that he was making progress, even if only by inches. Spencer must know who the killers are. He must know what’s motivating them. After all, Spencer had been part of the original scheme. But now he was the bastard stepchild of an ongoing case. No more connections to the outside world; for all intents and purposes he was as good as dead. But he was their only edge. Demo was dedicated to beating them using Spencer’s own imagination against the maniacal game being played out in Demo’s reality.

Bob Cat frowned as he grudgingly stuck a new piece of gum in between his clenched teeth. It seemed that at least for the moment things were more or less normal, whatever that was. After Roslin made a quick phone call the door opened and Demo entered the building. Like a small boy on Christmas morning, he raced through the halls on route to the room that potentially held the gift of answers. He only got so far before the security people in charge of the mysterious building held him back.

“Always with the doors in this place . . . doors, doors and more doors. How does anyone get anything done around here?”

His question was answered by a man carrying a sleek, black pistol. He eyeballed Demo looking for any sign of his credentials.

“Step away from my door, Sir. Step away or I will shoot you.”

Demo gazed up at the ceiling. Why was reality always so difficult? So much red tape, so many opinions . . .

“He’s with me!” screamed Roslin, stomping down the hall towards them. “Put your gun down!”

The man looked at Demo then at Roslin then back at Demo. It was obvious Demo’s presence was an unwelcome one.

“I came in through the secret door; you know the one outside.”

The security guard shook his head and sheathed his weapon.

“Idiot . . .” he mumbled as he walked away.

The doors finally opened and the group marched in. They were met by the usual awkwardness of Jo, who practically tap-danced at the announcement there would be another venture into Fathom. The room had already been prepped. This secret government organization was very efficient, even if despicable. It was no wonder a man like Roslin called the shots.

“Jo, report?” asked Roslin sternly.

Jo smiled and opened his arms like a ballerina dancer.

“Fully active and already streaming some exotic visuals, if I do say so myself. I can’t wait to—”

Roslin put a hand up almost instinctively to stop him.

“Just get my guy inside. We need to escalate this. You can nerd out later.”

Jo gave him a sharp frown of disapproval, but he did what he was told. Demo did most of the prep work for him this time. For all of the device’s complexities, lying down on a table and getting your brains sucked out seemed fairly easy.

Lights, camera, action...

Demo braced himself for what he knew would be another mindboggling ordeal. But despite his best efforts, he still felt like he was getting utterly ripped from his body in the same way as before. This time he had to focus and be quick. He had to adapt. He had to think on his feet. And most importantly, not get caught. As the streaming fragments of light slowed around him and the aloof feeling faded, he found himself in his new world.

Immediately, an almost drowning humidity swept over him like exhaust from a car. An intense wave of heat pelted against his body A river of sweat flowed into his eyes making them sting viciously. When the world finally came into full view, he was completely taken aback by what he faced; jungle, and lots of it. He faced a seemingly endless wall of vegetation like nothing he’d ever seen before; contorted branches, roots, and thick underbrush. Looking around, he realized that he was completely alone.

“Spencer, where are you? What is this place?”

As he began his search, the quiet of the jungle was replaced by a wide array of animal sounds, each cleverly camouflaged just out of view. Demo pushed on, already feeling lethargic from the intense combo of humidity and heat. He had never experienced anything like it. Taking a break, he rested an arm against a tree. Wiping a stream of sweat from his brow, he attempted to map the area out. Nothing but green surrounded him, with the exception of a narrow path cut out of the jungle floor over the years by a small, trickling stream. Apart from the extreme nature of the climate, it was actually quite beautiful here. Taking a long look up the stream he immediately saw something that didn’t belong——or, maybe it did—it was up to him to find out. A sharp edge covered in vines stuck out into a clearing that was just a football field or two away. It certainly had to be something that hadn’t grown here. This helped animate Demo’s quest. Anything out of place could be immediately flagged as territory that Spencer might be dwelling in. The trick would be to find him without being noticed.

Plodding up stream, his worn out dress shoes sucked up water like sponges, making them heavier and heavier. Once again, his neoteric style was proving to be a major hindrance. But what did people wear in the jungle? His exposure to safari attire had been limited to a few contemporary movies and television shows. He didn’t have the slightest idea what he should be wearing. And if he got it wrong he’d be a sitting odd duck for Spencer and his jungle expedition would no doubt meet an untimely and messy end. He needed to find someone created Spencer’s mind. He could learn how to play the part from them and then move forward. Stretching his skinny legs, he began edging closer to what was looking like some sort of building. As he got closer a revolting smell struck his nose. It immediately reminded him of the rotting body in the barn, only amplified tenfold.

What the hell am I walking into?

It continued to intensify until he finally reached the edge he was looking for. He bent at the waist and vomited until all that was left were dry heaves. Grabbing at his knees, he finally gained the courage to look up.

The sharp edge he had seen protruding from the walls of green had indeed been part of a building—a shack to be more precise—one of many sitting in the small clearing. Each crudely constructed shanty appeared to be barely standing up against the choking might of the jungle. But it was what surrounded the buildings that had pressed his gag reflex into overdrive; bodies. Dead, rotting, bodies were strewn all around and staged in various positions. Flies hovered over them like tiny little helicopters. Blood was splattered everywhere. The scene couldn’t be more appalling. The attire of the fallen men made it clear that they were some sort of military, but of what origin, he wasn’t sure.

What happened here?

Fearing the worst, he knew he had to do something. The clock was against him and he still hadn’t located Spencer. But what could he do? Making a panicked, nonsensical decision, he decided to move in closer. He needed to check the bodies and then continue following the trail. The thought of being sucked up by the fade sent shivers down his sweaty back. It was this greater fear that made his fear of the unknown ahead the lesser evil. Stepping out into the clearing, he took one long, deep breath. The foul odor permeated the air like thick smog. It was an odor he’d never forget. As he stepped closer he saw a lightening flash of movement from the corner of his eye. .

What was that? I am so done with this place already. So, so done . . .

He stared at one of the shacks nearest him where he thought he’d seen the blur of motion. Focusing all his energy on the situation at hand, his nerves were literally strumming his insides like a twelve string guitar. Was anyone watching him? Was he really alone? Swallowing the boulder of fear in his throat, he stepped towards the shanty as quietly as possible. His sloshing shoes made the only discernable sound between him and the visually loud environment. Something moved again. Moving calmly, he inched his way forward his heart jumping in and out of his throat with each step. What had he just seen? Nearing the edge of the shack he saw one of the rotting corpses baking in the sun. It almost seemed to sizzle in the heat. Staying focused on the corpse, he saw it again; a quick, jerking movement that seemed to come from the body.

Are they still alive?

The suspense was too much. He had to take the chance. He peeked around the corner and blurted out,

“Hey, are you still alive?”

Demo dropped his head, realizing how stupid his question was. Sure, ask the corpse if it’s still alive. The corpse was indeed a corpse. It appeared to be a male riddled with bullet holes and burn marks, and well beyond saving. The movement had come from the stubbornness of a bird trying desperately to unhinge the remains of one of his eyeballs. Demo’s head spun around in a dizzying whirl of disgust. He’d had his fill of gore; of blood and guts. He had just plain had enough. Cutting loose his frustration, he let out an unearthly scream.

“Is anyone here alive? Is anyone here even real?”

Suddenly his attention was seized by a flutter of movement. The corpse jerked upright and began to take on a repulsive life of its own. Demo watched in horror as one by one each rotting carcass rose skyward raining pieces of decayed flesh onto everything. Demo’s heart stopped. He had asked for life, and life had answered by raising the dead.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

The skeletal soldiers fell hard back to earth and sniffed the air, zeroing in on their target; Demo’s time was up. With a blood-curdling howl, the army of undead sprinted after him. It was a well-known fact that Demo lacked the physique or prowess of any kind of athlete, but especially a runner. Luckily, within the endless possibilities of Spencer’s mind, Demo’s gangly legs moved faster than they ever had. He raced back towards the tiny stream with tears in his eyes. He suddenly missed the cold streets of the big city more than he thought he could. He’d even take the soul-sucking fade at this point. The idea of being devoured, piece by piece, by a rotting horde was nightmarish. Feeling them gaining ground, he glanced behind him. There his eyes met the empty faces of the ravenous, reanimated corpses, which reminded him to run faster. Despite his legs feeling like a campfire dosed in gasoline he had to dig deep and find something. He didn’t want to end up losing the game to a bunch of malodorous mold balls with legs.

“Bush zombies! Bush zombies from hell! I hate this place!”

Bush zombies seemed an adequate name for the cannibalistic hounds snapping at his heels. This was a nightmare he was just trying to survive. Just when he felt he could go no further, his battered dress shoes gave out from under him. It appeared that a moss covered rock would seal his fate in one slip.

I forgot to change! Why can’t I remember these things?

With a painful thud he hit the ground. He cowered into a ball, the pattering feet of zombies growing closer. In mere seconds they would dig their rotten, yellowed teeth into his scrawny body and devour him. The fear he felt was all consuming. As badly as he wanted to break free from the nightmare’s ghastly grasp, he just couldn’t seem to shake it. It was too real; so real that every heartbeat vibrated in Demo’s chest like a pounding drum. He had only come into Spencer’s world twice, and it looked like it was one too many. His life would end soon. Then suddenly his growing despair was thrashed off of him by an incredibly loud burst of noise and energy.

The sudden eruption roused him back to his senses. It came again and again like the deafening splatter of giant rain drops against a tin roof; it was the sound of bullets; bullets that were flying through the air to meet the rancid army head on. Chunks of rotten flesh and body parts flew through the air as the zombie horde let out howls of agony. Demo raised his head up from his cowardly position to see the source of his redemption. A small group of men armed to the teeth; dressed to literally kill. One of the men approached Demo without hesitation.

“You alright, Sir? You need to get up and get out of here. This place is crawling with the infested.”

Demo didn’t know what to say. In none of his preparation did he expect such a baptism by fire.

“Sir? Can you hear me? We’ve got to go, now!”

The crackle of the gunfire raged around him while he slowly rose to his feet. The soldier looked at him strangely. In all the commotion he had forgotten to put on the right attire. But it would have to wait. A more pressing issue was still falling on them; zombies. Flesh hungry zombies with super-human speed. This was enough motivation to get him moving again. When he was back on his feet, the soldier pointed towards the stream.

“Head that way! Viet Cong are dug in deep and the undead don’t care what side you’re on! Now go!”

Demo couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but as the soldier finished speaking, he affirmed the seriousness of the situation by firing a round just over Demo’s shoulder, nailing a zombie directly between the eyes. It was definitely time to go.

As he ran for his life (again!) the battle raged on around him. A swarm of flesh eaters rapidly trekking through the jungle ripped any soldier they caught unaware limb from limb. This was an absolute hell hole, and he couldn’t seem to find his way out. Demo’s mouth gaped wide open as he sucked heavy breaths of air in and out. His eyes bulged from their sockets like two balloons primed to burst. He had never run so hard or fast in his entire life. He knew he had to survive long enough for Jo to pull him free.

Splashing through a pool of water, he looked behind him to check the status of the ongoing chaos. Guns, soldiers, zombies—the perfect theater of death in the jungle—Spencer’s mind was as lethal as it was deranged. It seemed as if imminent doom was upon him, when again Demo saw something sticking out that didn’t belong. He recognized what it was instantly. A very large cement building with barred windows, sandbagged bunkers, barbed wire, and all the other makings of the perfect evil fortress from the most nefarious of dreams. Looking around, it seemed his only choice. Without thinking further, he ran straight into the open field between the exposed edifice and the jungle gorge. Stepping carefully over some barbed wire, a heinous hiss erupted from somewhere just outside his peripheral vision. Looking over cautiously, his heart sunk. A stray zombie was heading straight for him. The zombie’s left arm was completely absent but his hunger was obviously and insatiably intact. Demo knew that no one would be saving him this time. He was very much on his own.

Darting like a gazelle through the obstacles in his way, he felt the adrenaline in his body surge like an open fire hydrant. The sound of the zombie hunting him was getting closer by the second. He had to do something desperate. There was no way he was going to hold his own against Spencer’s super-zombies. Looking back at the building he saw his only saving grace dangling from a blown out window: a long braid of sheered cable. Little sparks erupted from its end, showing signs it was a potential hazard. But compared to what was behind him, it was worth it a shot flat out. He veered towards the cable as he did his best to dodge the terrain of warfare that set just the right mood for heart attack levels of enjoyment. Giant holes blown cleanly into the ground slowed his progress, along with the occasional burning tank or crashed airplane. His poor progress was weakening his chance for survival. A wisp of air from behind reminded him how close the zombie was. It attempted to grab Demo by the neck and drag him towards its gnashing jaws. The moment chased all logic from Demo’s mind. He dove over an exposed bunker, landing with an excruciating thud against the packed ground. With cat like reflexes, he jumped up in time to see the zombie follow him right down the same path. Before he could scream, everything turned to smoke with a deafening noise. Demo was thrown back several feet by the sudden explosion. Rotting zombie showered him with gooey clods. A loud hum filled his ears as he tried to regain his composure and assess the situation properly. His zombie stalker was no more. An unexploded mine had ended Demo’s nightmare. An unexploded mine that he had almost run directly into.

“This is ridiculous!”

Demo looked at the disgusting layer of fleshy chunks that covered his already ugly suit. He knew deep down that it was all a figment of Spencer’s psyche but the experience was realistically repugnant. His moment of logical reprieve was unfortunately over; additional members of the horror army were quickly catching up, each fleshy, bloody body tensed and ready for action.

“I’m never doing this again!” Demo screamed inside his head.

Like a pack of lions ready to chow, they were moving in. He had to get up the cable fast or become an all-you-can-eat zombie smorgasbord. Their red, murdering eyes told the whole story. They had one thought on their minds, and it wasn’t to play nice. This time Demo wasted no time purging his curiosity of their whereabouts—he only had one thing in mind—getting up that cable and into the cement fortress. Tt was his only= option. If Spencer was to be found anywhere, it would be here. And right now anything seemed better than being outside.

As he approached the severed lines of cable he briefly paused; was he really going to climb this? The putrid, rotting fog drifting under his nostrils told him he was. Grabbing hold, he heaved himself upward, doing his best to avoid the loose end with electrical potential.

“I really, really need to start working out!”

Hand-over-hand, he climbed up the wall like a kid at the playground. He was quickly realizing he hadn’t used these muscles in far too long. But he kept moving with all the purpose of a creature fighting for its life. When he was just a short distance up he felt familiar wisps of air graze against his pant legs. He looked down and saw a large group of animated corpses thrashing wildly just below him as he climbed. He wanted to puke. He’d only seen things like this in the movies, yet here he was living it out, scene by terrifying scene. This reminded him that almost no one ever survived those movies, which reinvigorated his climb. His arms quaked from exertion, but his renewed effort proved to be his saving grace; with one last burst of energy he collapsed just inside an opening in the building. Lying on his back panting, he tried to recover the strength to keep going.

I know this isn’t real . . . I know this isn’t real . . . Get up, you idiot! Get up!”

Getting slowly back up on his feet, he glanced down at the mindless horde whose lack of climbing skills had temporarily interrupted their hunt. He angrily kicked some loose debris onto their heads.

“I hate this place!

His scream echoed off the insides of the cavernous building. Although he thought he was safe for the time being, it suddenly seemed quite odd to him that he would be. Could he really be alone? The only safe harbor in the jungle was vacant? This can’t be right, Demo thought . . . Where was everyone? He decided the only thing he could do was just keep going. He really didn’t have any other option. If Roslin found out that all he’d accomplished was to avoid becoming a flesh buffet, he’d wish he had stayed there anyway. The room was decorated like a typical horror movie set. Empty gurneys smothered in blood, bullet holes dotting the walls, torn and dirty clothing strewn about, and mysterious jars whose contents left too much to the imagination.

What is this place?

He paced around the room looking for an exit, another avenue of escape from this nightmare. Down a hallway off of the room he was in, Demo saw a pair of double wide doors. Approaching the door to the left, he turned the knob, but got nothing. He tried throwing his weight against the giant metal door, but again came up empty. It was locked tight. Beginning to feel desperate, he tried the other door with the same results. Both doors were impassable. He wasn’t going anywhere. He let out a groan of frustration.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t they be locked? Maybe I should just ask for a key!”

As he ranted, something caught his eye. A subtle reddish glow called him back to the main room. His hope was shakily renewed. A control panel he had missed when he rolled in hung on the wall, held up by a few pieces of wire.

Red means no, green means go!

Maybe it was a long shot, but the button that glowed red might open the doors that stood between him and freedom. His ears pricked; he could have sworn he just heard something. Demo was suddenly ready to move.

“I’ll take door number one or two, thank you very much!”

He looked over the dials and switches on the exposed control board.

“Which switch do I push? Who comes up with these stupid things?”

He took a deep breath. Panicking now would do him no good. He needed to stay calm and do his best to logically weigh the choices. That’s what he should have done. But instead he started at the top and flicked every single switch, from top to bottom, as fast as he could. Sparks flew, lights flickered on then off, and a few blood covered monitors flickered, sending a buzz through the air. With each flick of a switch his heart jumped into his throat. With the last flicked switch, the red light turned green, and a loud clack of gears moving boomed through the room. Surprisingly, both doors squeaked open. He let out a long sigh of relief. He had done it. He had survived the jungle, land mines, and the zombie army. Maybe things were finally looking up. He was tempted to crack a smile until he heard something move again. His tiny reserve of courage shattered into even more miniscule fragments. Behind the door the mysterious sound became amplified by the motor-like growl of what sounded like something quite large. The growl became growls, escalating Demo’s already dismal outlook even further. As he watched in horror, the door began to pulsate with the force of the creatures behind it realizing their freedom was near. He backed away from the control board, keeping his eyes locked on the door. Inch by inch it pushed further and further open until he could see a collection of dark, glowing eyes fixated firmly on him. He backed up hurriedly, letting out a yelp when he knocked into something behind him. The something fell against his back then plopping onto the floor with a squishy thud. Fearfully, Demo turned to see the body he’d disturbed; a body that had been torn to bits. Beside it lay a giant dog collar. Glancing upwards he saw the last thing he wanted to see; a tattered sign that read:

KENNEL LAB

His head practically unscrewed itself from his body. The mysterious jars of chemicals, the tell-tale signs of death in every corner, the growls and glowing eyes. . . .

Let me guess . . . mutant zombie dogs.

Mutant zombie dogs that were undoubtedly just as hungry as their disgusting counterparts stuck outside.

“Spencer, when I find you, I’m going to kill you!”

Just as he finished his guttural cry of anguish, the door finally opened enough for a gigantic, snapping head covered in bloody fur and stiches to push its way out. A true hound from hell, whose deep yellow, bloodshot eyes traced every movement he made. It was time to run for his life again. Wasting no time, he sprinted for the other door. From behind him ferocious howls echoed off the walls deafening him. He hit the door but struggled to get it to move.

These doors are massive!

They had obviously been made to hold things in including the horrific monsters that were bearing down on him now. With a sudden burst of adrenaline, his arms tugged on the door wildly trying to get the stubborn door to budge. When it finally opened just enough for his scrawny body to slip through, he felt a rush of elation. Scraping his chest as he pushed himself through the small opening, he finally slipped past it just in time for it to be slammed shut by the unearthly force of growling mutant animals heaving against it. He ran as fast as he could away from them, looking around with renewed disgust at his continuing nightmare. His new path was littered with more testimonies to depravity. As he made his way through this maze of death, a loud crack brought his attention back towards the door he had so narrowly squeezed through. The door was moving yet again but this time in the opposite, undesired, direction. In utter amazement he looked on as one large paw slid into view prying at the door, tugging at it backwards.

“Oh why not…? Problem solving dogs from hell. It makes perfect sense.”

With one massive heave the door opened to the awaiting pack of hounds. They obliged the new opportunity by leaping into the hall gnashing their jaws at the air. Large, elastic strands of putrid drool streamed from their frothy mouths smearing the ground. They were going to gnaw on his bones one way or another.

The chase resumed with Demo’s distance advantage diminishing by the second. He could hear objects being flung wildly into the air as the massive beasts ripped through the halls behind him. All he could do was keep running as fast as his already completely exhausted legs would let him. Spinning recklessly around a corner, he crashed into a shelf holding operating room instruments, which fell to the floor clacking loudly. A scalpel sliced his shoulder on the way down, leaking blood down his arm. His adrenaline kicked into high gear. He ran past every horrific design element with lightning speed. He needed to continue to distance himself from the pack of ravenous dogs, but his hopes were smashed when he realized his getaway was about to come to an abrupt end.

He could barely believe what he was seeing. An airplane that had crashed into the hallway was creating a formidable wall. Looking behind him, he knew that death was imminent if he didn’t at least try to find a way past this. Jumping up and down with all his might, he tried to grab onto anything that he could pull himself up on and away from the madness approaching. But with each effort he fell back down, sliding off of the plane’s smooth metallic surface.

“I’m not going to die like this! I’m not going to let you win!”

Demo made one last valiant effort but plummeted ungracefully back to the ground. Sharp bolts of pain rang through his body. He had failed. He put his head into his hands. He hadn’t imagined it ending like this. Just when it seemed his life was beyondsaving, a beckoning call ripped him back into action.

“Grab my hand! Hurry! Just do it!”

Demo looked up to see another soldier looking worse for wear, but it didn’t take much prodding to get him to do what he was told. Draining his reserves one more time, he leapt into the air. His hand slid down the soldier’s arm and was miraculously caught in midair. With the strength of a superhero he dragged Demo up the side of the plane and away from the roar of Lucifer’s hounds.

“Keep moving! We’ve got another one!”

Demo fell backwards onto the ground. He now realized that they were a level up. The plane had burst through and opened up the bottom floor to one just above, segmenting the two areas apart. Catching a glimpse of what was below sent chills through his body like a million icy needles. The mutated zombie dogs were jumping into the air and snapping their jaws madly. They were within inches of reaching the top. Without warning, the now all too familiar sound of gunfire erupted. Waves of bullets pelted the pack of dogs, ripping pieces of flesh off their body like a blender. Howls of pain filled the air as the dogs that still could backed away from the giant aircraft.

“I’m almost out! I need more ammo!”

Demo looked around and saw a small group of soldiers sitting amongst the rubble. Each man’s face was almost completely covered in ash and debris. All of them looked incredibly jaded and a bit distant. But they moved with precision and purpose. Another magazine was quickly loaded into his savior’s gun, who continued hot lead assault. Demo’s heart sank deep into his churning guts. This was too much to take in. A hand landed firmly on his shoulder as he was trying to clear his head, and its owner began asking him questions.

“Who are you and what are you doing here? Don’t you know this is ground zero? You’re dressed like some stupid civilian! You’ve got no business being here!”

Demo looked blankly back at the man whose stale, cigarette-laced breath was making him sick. But he needed to respond and start playing the game. He needed to start taking control.

“I’m with the network. Crash landed just miles from here. You want to tell me what’s going on here?”

The man looked befuddled, but Demo used every fiber of his being to look confident and sure of himself. He didn’t lose eye contact for even a moment. But then someone else answered his question.

“Whole place is gone to hell. War went south and the Viet Cong got desperate. You can thank them for the break out of infection. I hope they all die!”

Demo gasped. The divide between reality and fiction was getting closer. But all that mattered was that this was real to Spencer, so he needed to believe it too.

“We’ve got no comms, no patch outs, and we’re being overrun at every previous stronghold. Whole place is in chaos but you, a reporter, made it through? Pardon my BS meter.”

Demo shook his head.

“You have no idea what it took for me to get here. But now I just want to get the hell out of here.”

The man nodded. Even he couldn’t argue with that desire.

“We’ve sent a small team out looking for a radio uplink. They should be back any second. Till then I suggest you pick up a gun and shoot anything that’s not singing the national anthem.”

Demo nodded in agreement. The man shoved a large assault rifle into his delicate hands.

“I don’t know how to use this. I’ve only got experience with small arms; pistols or whatever.”

The man rolled his eyes before pointing down the length of the airplane where the other soldier was still firing the occasional round into the hallway.

“You think a little pea shooter’s gonna stop them? If so, then by all means, be my guest.”

The man stepped away and began spouting off orders to the others. Suddenly, a man holding his side and breathing heavily shuffled into view. His presence obviously aggravated the man in charge.

“Private Vulcan! Where in Satan’s backyard have you been? We’ve been stuck here for hours!”

Demo’s insides churned violently. Had he really just found Spencer? And not just found him, but was now sitting a mere two feet away from him? Catching Spencer’s eye, time seemed to momentarily freeze. What stood before him was a sleek, well-trained killing machine. Everything about him was calculated and cold. His posture showed his casual insubordination. He couldn’t hide that he was a stick of dynamite with a very short fuse, and he very obviously didn’t care. As his boss continued to verbally attack him for his lack of concern for others, he gazed at Demo curiously.

“And where’s the rest of the group? Where’s Dicky and Smalls?”

The question took Spencer’s attention off of Demo. He snarled back at his superior officer in response.

“They’ve been taken care of. I did what I had to do.”

The man grabbed Spencer by the collar.

“Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Spencer shoved the man off and backed up.

“Dicky’s gone—ripped limb from limb—and Smalls got bit. So, like I said, I did what I had to do.”

The soldier slammed Spencer into one of the nearby walls.

“You’ve got a real problem with taking orders, don’t you? I’m gonna make sure they hang your stinking carcass from a tree when we get back! I’ll see you court martialed for the crap you’ve pulled out here!”

Spencer let slip a wicked smile that seemed to darken the room even more.

“I did what was right. And I won’t be hanging from any tree anytime soon, you can count on that. And who’s this guy?”

The gruff looking man released his grip on Spencer.

“He’s with the network. Crash landed a few miles from here. Moron is lucky to be alive. Stupid media can’t keep their filthy hands out of anything.”

Spencer looked at Demo incredulously.

“What network? Ain’t any networks who would know about this.”

Demo felt himself begin to fall apart. Spencer was every bit as cold and scary as he’d imagined he’d be. Demo knew he had to come out on top of this and leave no evidence behind. This is the very last place he’d want to be stuck for the rest of his diminishing consciousness.

“WAR network; you won’t hear of us anytime soon. Let’s just say we get paid to be in places like this. What we do with the information is up to our discretion.”

Spencer looked Demo over top to bottom before shaking his head in disbelief.

“You look like a fruit basket to me. Do all the idiots there dress like you?”

Demo knew he had to supplant this. He needed to make Spencer believe that he had conjured him there; that Spencer himself had thought up this idiotic scenario.

We don’t get out much. We let the doing what needs to be done get done by better men than us. You guys do what’s right.”

Demo’s cleverly crafted words seemed to appease the dark ego that was closely inspecting him. Spencer’s smile widened. He enjoyed being praised for a job well done. He liked the validation that what he was doing was what needed to be done. These key points were duly noted in Demo’s mind. He opened up the floodgates in his own mind to take in every little detail, every shred of character that he could steal from Spencer’s mind unnoticed. He was cut short by a massive explosion. All the men in the room were thrown against the walls, each one landing with a sickening thud. Rays of sunlight rushed into the room through a newly opened and massive hole in the side of the building.

“Those idiots are blasting the facility with us still inside!” someone screamed hoarsely from beneath the debris.

But it was what came crawling through the hole that brought the men who could stand back to their feet. Waves of the undead clawed their way up the pile of newly formed rubble that led conveniently to them. The men began screaming as they fired furiously at the nearing horde of flesh hungry zombies. This time there was no escape. One of the men nearest the hole was pulled into the mass of rotting flesh screaming as he was chewed apart. Demo wanted to run but found his legs completely useless. The blast had temporarily crippled him. Panicking, he searched for Spencer but he was nowhere to be found. A rot-faced zombie was footsteps from reaching Demo. It lunged forward just as a hurricane of sparks filled the space. Waves of electricity pulsed through Demo before everything went dark.