Forsaken

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"Here's the last one," Diego said as he handed Mitch a fifth black plastic garbage bag. "Don't lose them."

"You think Manuel would let me show my face around here if I ever lost one?" Mitch replied, tucking the bag into a space beneath a duct-taped satchel full of junk in his grocery store cart. "Why do you always think I'm stupid?" He turned away without waiting for an answer, pushing his cart out of the parking lot of the St. Paul farmer's market, past a pile of unmatched shoes, under the viaduct, down Robert Street and to the banks of the Mississippi.

The Belle Oiseau, a barge tug, was tied up on the docks. Eight barges full of grain were connected to it. It was a moonless night, and a little cold for early October. It was a little bit early to start his journey south for the winter, but when Manuel came calling there wasn't much choice but to obey or disappear. Disappearing wasn't so hard, what with all the different cities to go to, but finding a new supplier as well stocked and as understanding as Manuel was.

A fat man in a dirty denim coat was smoking on the deck of the Belle Oiseau. "Making your run a bit early, hmm, Mitch?" he asked as Mitch spat into the dark brown water.

"Manuel says jump, I jump, here's your stuff, Felix," Mitch tossed a Target bag tied up into a ball to the man.

"Thanks, second barge from the front, third hatch." Felix tossed his cigarette into the Mississippi and climbed up the steps to the bridge.

Mitch pushed his cart down the line of barges. He spent a few minutes tossing his dirty duffels and garbage bags onto the barge, then jumped from the railing onto it. A few minutes later he had himself a snug nest amid a fairly empty section of the barge. It was wheat, which smelled better than corn, and was pretty comfy. "Couple days down to the first drop in Wabasha, then another to to Dubuque, five reds and a blue sound like the ticket." Mitch said to himself. He'd never liked needles, and after his stints at the V.A. vowed to never let one enter his skin again, and smoke wasn't really his thing either, he breathed in enough on battlefields, beer was okay, but it was hard to pack enough of it to make a difference and to keep it cold. Reds, blues, and occasional smiley faced yellow pills were what kept him going, or in this case, kept him out. He was blissflully on his way to nothingness before the tug revved its diesel up and slowly started the chain of eight barges on the way south.

Screaming eagles woke him up. Wabasha. He cracked open the hatch. It was a windy and foggy morning. Manuel had tried for years to get him to use a pager, then one of those damn cell phone things, but he never wanted to figure them out. Anyway, Manuel's network was effective as ever, and he saw a small bass boat come out of the mist towards his barge. Without exchanging any words he tossed one of the black garbage bags into it.

He was hungry, so he had a bag of Doritos and a can of refried beans, cold. Pretty damn good. The barge was coming up to another set of locks, so it would be a lot of disconnecting and waiting as the tug put each of the eight barges through one at a time. Time for another round. "How about adding a couple of smiley yellow guys in the mix?" Mich asked himself. It sounded like a good idea.

It turned out to not be such a good idea, as it gave him horrendous dreams the likes of which he hadn't had in a few years, complete with yelling and screaming and gun shots. He woke up with a start, realizing that the screaming and gun shots were real and not in his dream.

"Dang! Some rat must have narced on Manuel! This is gonna suck big time." Mitch figured it best to stay silent, there was an off chance that the cops would be satisfied with what they would find on and around Felix and not bother searching all eight barges full of wheat.

He waited. A few minutes later the shooting and screaming, ungodly screaming at that, died down. He waited some more.

The barge kept bumping against a wall, so he figured he must be in a lock. After a few hours of steady bumping, and nothing else, curiousity got the better of his caution and he peeked out of his hatch. He couldn't see anything, but he could smell a big fire.

He came all the way out of his nest, still nobody was around, so he climbed up the ladder of the lock.

The sign said that he was in Dubuque. The blood stains on the cement said some heavy stuff had been going on here, as did the mutiple fires coming from the city.

"Hmm, I'd best get some of my better gear out of my bags," he mumbled as he climbed back down to get his stuff.

 

“Another random town in the state of Iowa,” Ken looked out of the window from his seat as he let out another sigh, his sight lingered on the sight of the river flowing down towards the city in the far distance. He thought that this trip would be a good idea, travelling from the northern most state to the southernmost state in the US by renting a bus with his classmates from college. Looking at the others from the back of the vehicle, he could see his peers’ vigour as they talk with each other with excitement in their voice.

“Ken, why the down face?” Ken turned and looked to his childhood friend, sitting next to him. His platinum hair was tidily tied behind his back into a pony tail as Ken’s green eyes met with his hazel eyes. They had known each other for a long time since their mom worked in the same high school, and they had always to play with each other waiting for their mom to pick them up from kindy, and later primary school. As for their high school years, they were inseparable. “Come on, cheer up mate! We’re fulfilling the American dream!”

“American dream?” The edge of Ken’s lips twitched a bit as he saw the glittering light in his companion’s eager eyes. In this kind of time, sarcasm was an instant remedy. “I never thought that you actually have any dreams at all, Locke.” His childhood friend quickly gave him a quick and playful punch at the arm. Of course, the pain didn’t sting at all. Ken’s face quickly turned from gloom to a face with a shallow smile.

“Really, Ken. Cheer up. We’ll be there shortly.” Locke gave him a big grin as he closed his eyes and rested on his seat. “We should enjoy what time we have here… After this, we’ll have to go to uni and study again. I’m NOT looking forward to that.”

Ken sighed again. Well, he was actually looking forward to university, unlike his friend here. But Locke was far more athletic than he was, and he was actually training to become an Olympic shooter. Of course, Western Australia had a very rigid gun law so that’s why he was looking forward for window shopping in stores. He had a specific love for hand guns and rifles, and was quite proficient in their use. Ken had never touched any guns before, although he would love to try. “Come on. University isn’t that bad… Maybe you could learn how to enjoy it.”

“Alright boys and girls! We’re here!” The bus finally halted as they reached their destination and after it pulled itself into a carpark. There were still some distances between the city centre of Dubuque and where they were, but it was already evening so they had decided that it would be best if they stay just within the city limit and next to a rest stop. Well, they’re on a budget so for most of the nights they decided just to sleep in the bus anyway, so it wasn’t half bad because the vehicle was only half filled. “There’s a convenience store and a McD’s in the stop so go and help yourselves. Don’t wander too far from the station and be back tomorrow morning the earliest!” The driver yelled from the front as he removed the key from the igniters, hopped off and slammed the door after him. Of course, he left the other doors in the bus opened.

“Let’s go and get dinner.” Locke suggested as he yawned while he moved from his seat and out to the parking lots. Ken followed behind him and took a deep breath of fresh air as they went outside. Both of them twisted their waists a bit and they felt good when they heard the cracks from their bones. Both of them threw stupid jokes at each other as they entered the station and was greeted by their classmates in the restaurant. It was going to be a long night since it would seem they had to spend the night here…

Almost all of them were in the McDonald’s as they ate their food slowly, exchanging chats with each other. The others who were not in the station probably went for the restrooms or to smoke outside the fast food restaurant. The night air was cool, but they could still the burning sky in the distant, its red lights reflecting the calm surface of the Mississippi River. Ken was giving another sarcastic comment on how Locke looked like a hungry pig when the lights started to flicker. And before anyone could say anything, all electronic appliances within the restaurant died. Including the lights.

And then everyone heard somewhere that a door was forcefully slammed opened, and the cold air outside crept into the restaurant, slowly but surely. Everyone looked at each other as one of the staff of the restaurant took out a torchlight out of nowhere and walked out of the restaurant. He was probably going to check if the any switches were accidentally tripped. Everyone was waiting patiently for a few minutes when a violent and high-pitched scream rang through their ears, making even the bravest of the group, a 6ft tall jock’s blood ran cold. It was coming from outside the station…

“What in Jesus’ name was that…?” Ken heard Locke muttered under his breath as a few of the patrons left their seat, including the two friends and proceed towards the door ushering the girls to stay behind.

 

Mitch definitely didn't want all of his stuff floating down the river with the barge if some idiot opened the lock gates, so he spent a good half-hour hauling it up to the control room of the lock. Then he started unpacking and gearing up. Hunting knife and Leatherman multi-tool, always useful, camp machete, hard to justify in a town to inquiring cops, but it looked like that might not be a problem here, canteen of water, pack of deer jerky, two bags of Doritos, the small first aid kit, and of course, a couple bottle of pills, three should suffice for right now. Then he started unwrapping a lumpy garbage bag.

The smell of his own feces in the bag didn't bother him, as his sense of smell hardly worked right at all after his traumatic brain injury. The stickiness was a little bothersome, and he'd have to make sure to really wash his hands well before eating again, but more than once the trouble he went to to hide his Baby had saved his but. Most cops would decide to stop the search of all his belongings at this point. He could clearly recall Officer Lutzen's reaction, "Mitch! What in the name of Sam Hell are you packing around this crap for?!"

"Well Officer, the gas stations and restaurants won't let me use their toilets, and since I've been banned from the library, it's hard to find a toilet any more. I wouldn't want to be arrested for public defecation, or leave it lying on the ground like a dog for someone to step in, so..."

It usually ended up with the cops running back to their squad car for some Purrell hand sanitizer, especially when Mitch would start coughing and trying to touch them, which was good, because he'd definitely do some time if they discovered the second bag hiding in his feces.

"Hello, Baby, been a while since I've needed you, but it looks like you might get to play today," Mitch said softly to the AK-47 as he carefully unwrapped it and wiped a few specs of feces off it. It had a folding wire stock, which was nice and made it fit in the bags easier. He put in a clip of 30 and packed the other four in his jacket.

"Thank you, Manuel!" Mitch said again, as he did most times getting Baby out. Most of Manuel's gang bangers couldn't shoot worth beans, though they brandished their pistols and Uzis with dramatic flare. When dealing with certain higher level suppliers, Manuel liked to have a few people who actually could shoot, and didn't lose their heads if it came to shooting. Mitch was one of those. Once or twice Manuel had tried to use Mitch for other purposes in his organization, but his people skills, or better said his lack of them, didn’t suit him for sales, and he wasn’t very trustworthy with a large supply of product, and though he had the skills necessary for enforcement duties, his slight stature just didn’t intimidate people in need of intimidating. So Mitch was left to be a mule mostly, and sometimes back-up fire power. It suited him fine.

“Let’s go see what we find, Baby,” Mitch told the gun as he walked out of the control station. It was getting on towards dusk by the time he had done everything, but the blood stains, and yes, even a blood trail, were still clear enough, especially with the growing fires from the town sending glistening reflections off the drops. He followed it down River Street, keeping to the brush and trees along the river, almost to the edge of town before catching sight of a small mob, maybe fifteen to twenty people.

They were a strange sight, mostly older folks, dressed in dirty Church clothes. They were heading towards the Casey’s and McDonalds on where highway 15 turned into Center Street. Mitch knew it because it used to be a drop-off point on his route, until Jose, a cook at McDonalds and his pick up man there, got a little greedy and decided he needed more than his fair share of the goods, and hence had to be “retired”. It was too bad because Jose was cool and always gave him a bag full of Big Macs as well. Since then he had to make do with stale buns and half-eaten Happy Meals from the dumpster. The street lights, and all the building lights, blinking out brought Mitch’s focus back to the now.

As the odd mob got closer to the doors they started wailing and howling something horrible. Mitch switched the safety off Baby and set her to semi-auto, taking a knee behind a newspaper machine.

The door to Casey’s opened and a tall, muscular blond dude stepped out, “’Ey you buggers! What’s the meaning of this?” He took an involuntary step back towards the building. “Good Gawd, you stink like bloody Hell!”

As one the mob sprang on the man and started to bite and rend him to pieces. Mitch saw an arterial spurt as an old woman bit through the man’s throat. “Guess full-auto is required tonight, Dear,” he told Baby, switching to it as he stood. Holding Baby at chest height, he emptied the clip into the crowd, spraying left and right. Glass shattered as the bullets ripped through the bodies, knocking them to the ground and plunging into the windows. He saw an exquisite head explosion as a bullet hit perfectly in the lower back skull of an old guy.

A few seconds later a pile of writhing bodies lay on the ground. Mitch stepped forward to survey his work. Then, the bodies slowly started getting up, all but the headless one, even the young guy with a weird accent, his throat freshly ripped out, and a new gaping bullet hole through his chest. They turned as one and looked at Mitch for a moment.

“What the …?” Mitch said bewildered. Maybe Diego was playing with him and had switched a green demon pill for the yellow smiley faces, but this looked and felt real. He turned around and ran towards the river, switching out for a new clip as he ran.

 

What light the sinking sun was giving was good enough to let them see the outside environment, but the pace the night was approaching was faster than what Ken would usually like. He knew that he wasn’t the bravest out of all his friends here, but then again… His bravery issue was usually outshined by Locke here anyway. But even they were unprepared to face the group of people waiting for, or more like stumbling towards them in a very cryptic manner.

“Those are… puritans?” Locke whispered to Ken as they were at the back of the group. Although they were in the late teens and descended from very different bloodlines, they both shared a common trait: their height. They could still see what was ahead, but it also meant that they usually let the tall guys do the talking. Not to mention that Kyle here had always been ‘the man’ of the group. Not that Ken had any complains. “They don’t look so well…”

Ken put his finger across his lips, telling Locke to shut up for a while as he looked on. Kyle was cursing about their smell in front of the group before an old woman, suddenly jumped forward and before the others could react, took a deep bite at his shoulder. As Kyle let out a scream trying to push the old woman away, all the other men and women moved in and grabbed him and making him their dinner…

High pitched scream was everywhere…

“Jesus Christ!!”

“They just killed Kyle!”

Ken was frozen on the ground as the people started to consume flesh in front of him; his eyes were fixed on the cannibals and their eyes… His mind in a blank state. Suddenly, he felt a strong drag, and then he saw Locke trying to haul him back into the restaurant. He saw terror in his eyes, and in his face. Then the spell broke as his awareness of his surrounding slowly returned. As he turned back and looked at the ravenous mass, he could see one of them had made its way into the restaurant, and was extending his claw towards him…

And he saw the saliva and the yellow teeth, and the degenerated face as the man’s lifeless eyes glowing red…
Then the whole world started to sound like broken glasses accompanied by the roars or gunshots. He should be familiar with those sounds because he always accompanied Locke in his shooting practice, but it sounded like an army had started shooting, and they weren’t that far either. And through the fickle finger of fate, one of the flying bullets hit the man at the back and he immediately fall to the ground.

Locke managed to drag Ken one final time before all the fireworks started and pushed themselves both to the ground. Before they knew it, it had all ended. Hopefully. Ken gave out a sigh of relief, since he had heard no movement. So he turned around and patted on Locke’s back, a sign telling him that everything was alright now. Locke too, turned around and both of them sat up right, just managed to see the silhouette of a man, standing before a burning red sun, wielding what seemed to be a… machine gun? Locke easily identified the weapon as an AK-47, but Ken wasn’t well-versed in the arts of gunfoo, so he had no idea what weapon that was.

Then there was a twitch.

Ken’s lips twitched.

Then the men and women who were shot, got back on their feet. Even Kyle, who was dead, gave rise as they show them their back. The two friends could see the hole through their body, and the flesh and blood falling everywhere. Ken and Locke covered each other’s mouth so that they wouldn’t make a sound as their eyes remained wide-opened, and the ‘living dead’ shuffled their feet towards the man outside the restaurant as he ran…

Ken gulped as the masses turned and switched target, and in a few moments, the restaurant looked like one of those abandoned barn in the middle of nowhere… “Come on, Locke.” Ken whispered to his friend as he stood up, looking at the broken glass and bodies on the ground. The others in the restaurant who survived also stood up. One of the girls were bloodied, but it seemed she was paralyzed from her pain by the horror…

He remembered she was Kyle’s girlfriend. One of the girls walked towards her, seemingly trying to comfort her. Suddenly, Ken and Locke saw a familiar colour in her eyes… And the girlfriend took a bite at her neck.

Before they group could do anything Ken saw some movement at the edge of his vision. And to his horror, he saw the man that was supposed to be dead reaching out his claws at him again as it crawled on the floor, his eyes still red… “WTF is going on?!” He heard a loud and angry scream coming out from Locke’s throat as he gave the man’s head a forceful kick, and his head took flight like a football, and splattered into a million pieces… Locke’s thick work boots were covered in blood.

Ken looked at Locke in disbelief, but… those people were already dead… But… Then Ken looked at the girls, who were too busy in trying to separate the two girls. He turned around, just in time to see the staff members of the McDonald’s stood up from behind their counter. The other guys were still recovering from the initial shock… “Let’s get out of here…” Ken told the others as he moved towards the door, not forgetting to get a half broken chair as he walked out together with Locke, who was holding a steel pole that was dislodged by the shooting..

He wasn’t cold blooded, but deep inside of him knew that… If they don’t get out now, this would be the end of their nightmare. “Oi, where are you going? Ken, Locke, come back!”

“We have to go now! Get to the bus!” Ken shouted at the others as his boots stepped on the sticky pool of dark red, yes, dark blood. It was here where Kyle was killed… and had become one of them… “Locke, do you trust me?” Ken asked his friend as he looked around the area. Except the headless body outside, nothing else out here had the sign of moving about, which was good.

Locke eyed at Ken. “Heh, mum told me that you always have the better brain.”

“Thanks.” Ken muttered as both of them walked away from the restaurant and towards the parking lot.

 

"This can't be happening! This just way can't be happening!" Mitch muuttered to himself as he ran down the darkened street. But in fact, it really did seem to be happening. Sure, he had had some horrifyingly realistic dreams and trips, sometimes "post traumatic stress flashbacks" as the hot little shrink at the V.A. called them, but everything about this experience was just so real. The ringing in his ears and the numbness in his shoulder from squeezing off a full clip, the way that tall dude's blood spouted from his neck, and the way the old fart's head just blew apart. It was all so damn real.

"Think Mitch, think!" He told himself. He had to have training for this situation, the Army had trained him for every conceivable situation, from how to fold socks and correctly put them in his duffle, to cleaning his rifle without the cleaning kit, and more useful things like night infiltrations and what to do if one experiences a low range nuclear blast.

Mitch kept thinking as he ran down an alley, the crowd now a little ways behind him, but he couldn't think of any training the Army had given him on what to do if the enemy got back up after you killed him. But wait, there were those Al-Qaida in Iraq Rat-Bastards, the ones that smoked Smith, even after two direct blasts from an Abrahms in the ruins of the house they were holed up in. They had been wearing body armor and were so pumped full of stuff that the whole squad had to empty clips into them before they finally figured out that they were dead. That was the only thing that made sense, that this mob of old farts had body armor on and were flying high on some really wacked out good stuff, but that didn't really make much sense either.

Mitch didn't give himself very good odds at hitting them all with head shots before enough if them reached him to take him down. Luckily, they weren't very fast and Mitch could run all night. He was still trying to think of a better idea when a sheriff pick-up truck rounded the corner and squealed to a halt. A fat older deputy opened the door and pointed a shot gun at Mitch. "Hold it there, son, and drop your weapon!" he yelled.

"Like hell," Mitch grunted, and kept running, taking care not to point Baby at the deputy. Even so, the man aimed at him. Mitch dropped and rolled just before the deputy pulled the trigger. Ears ringing a bit more than before, he got up and started zig zagging as fast as he could into the dark. The deputy got off two more shots, Mitch felt a tug at his jacket that could have been one of the slugs, then he heard the deputy yell again, with a touch of fear in his voice, "You folks there, hold up a minute!" Then three more shotgun blasts, then a wailing and munching sound that was starting to get all to familar.

At least it gave Mitch a chance to break contact with the mob. He turned into a dark alley, climbed up a
on a dumpster, then used the pipes to get himself up on the roof of a Block Buster video store. The multiple fires did a fair substitute for street lights. He could see the Casey's/McDonalds where this freakish dream had started. The tour bus lights turned in and he could see people rushing into it.

He suddenly noticed that it was getting pretty hard to breath and put his hand to his jacket. It came away sticky. One of the slugs must have hit him, but first it went through his pill cases. A few pills were maybe salvageable, but most had been pulverized and turned to mush mixed with his blood. He paled at the thought of not having a suffucient supply.

"No way man! You gotta be effin kidding me!" He wailed. "What am I gonna do now?"

 

The first thing Ken did when he was back on the bus after its lights were switched on was to secure one of the first aid kits from one of the compartment on top of their seats. The young man quickly opened the slightly bulky kit and took a quick scan of what was inside as he opened it back on his seat. Several rolls of sterile dressings, bandages, saline, antiseptic spray, scissors, tweezers, gloves, a torch… Hmm, and what was that? Alcohol and a lighter? He grinned as he closed the kit as he stuffed the kit into his black mountain backpack after he removed things that he figured he won’t be using much from now on.

Like those magazines they swiped for entertainment on the road. Same with the cards. He quickly put on his black jumper as well.

As soon as he finished his preparation, Locke came up the bus with most of the student bodies as he ushered them from the McDonald’s, together with its living staff. Some were bloodied, some were still in trauma, some were dragged, some had fear in their eyes… but then, at least the driver still alive. Too noisy for his taste as he ignored their complaints and their cry of fear as well as their pain so he ignored them as he got his items ready. Locked grabbed one of the girl by her arm as he walked her towards Ken, who was at the back of the bus.

“We’re going into town, we have to get the cops… D*** it! Why isn’t 911 responding?!” The bus driver grumpily got back to his seat as he locked the door and closed the doors of the bus. He started the bus as the engine roared to life.

Out of the original sixteen students, three of them would have to stay behind… As dead bodies. Or not so dead bodies depending “Where’s Aileen and Sarah?” Locke asked one of the girls. She looked at him, and she cried… “Don’t tell me…” Locke’s face paled as Ken pushed him out of side, took another first aid kit from the compartment and opened the kit. Ken’s eyes focused at his friend here who was still recovering from the shock that her friend had obviously, had just been eaten... None other by one of her other girlfriends. Oh, the irony.

“How can you be so calm, Ken?!” The girl caught the young man’s shoulders as her wide eyes stared at him. “Aileen had just eaten Sarah! And Kyle… Kyle…” Ken continued, unfazed, as he checked her face, neck, arms. She had a few scratches here and there, but basically she would live… as long as this is not like the kind of zombies shown in TV where they were raised from the dead by some kind of virus that would make the Black Plague looked like a joke. He quickly sprayed her wounds with the antiseptic spray and bandaged her hands, which suffered the most scratches and wounds. And hopefully that would stop the bleeding as well.

Locke looked at Ken and the girl, before shoving het clutches off Ken’s arms. “Stop it, May.” And her eyes shifted to Locke before she sniffed and started to cry. At the same time, the bus started to run on the road again, but everyone’s face basically paled even more. Even the rowdy bunch in front had stopped their pointless bickering as they saw the people wandering aimlessly beside the road…

“Shit.” Ken heard Locke muttered under his breath.

Ken hadn’t completely recovered from the shock that he was almost dinner yet, that was why he was so cold… That was how Ken reacted to the trauma. It looked like Ken won’t be getting any warmer anytime soon. Luckily, the road itself was mostly clear for a straight travel to the city, with most of its buildings lighted. They could see it from here… and once they got to the city, they would be saved, wouldn’t they? At least that was the plan in everyone’s mind…

Suddenly, the bus driver gave out a huge yell. “Brace yourselves!” And Ken instinctively held to the chairs next to him, and before he knew it, he was already laying horizontally on a pair of seats on the bus. Or rather, he was on the ‘ceiling’ of the bus, then slammed back on a nearby seat. The bus seemed to ram into something, or a lot of something, and swerved off the road and had a few turns before back into its original position. And by God’s blessing, or by pure luck, or whatever, he was mostly unscathed… Damn it, he even got his backpack next to him. He wasn’t even sure what was real anymore…

“Ken, you alright?” Ken’s eyes focused again. It was Locke… He seemed to be mostly alright, but May seemed to had been knocked out by the concussion. Ken shook his head, gathering his senses as the platinum-haired boy looked at his companion with worry in his eyes. “Stay with me Ken, I don’t want to lose you here. At least… Not like Kyle or the others.”

“I’m alright.” Ken gave his friend and appreciative nod as they stood up from their crouching position.

“Hey, everyone’s OK back there?” The bus driver yelled at them. Seemed like he survived… Almost everyone was OK by some strange miracle as they stood back up on their feet. Actually, Ken was expecting bruises, cries and something. But apparently, everyone was fine. Just fine. “OK, I am going to open the door… and then everyone run towards the city. Ready…”

And then the doors too, miraculously opened… Everyone was getting out, but then, there was a high-pitch scream as soon as the bus-driver opened his door and got out. And the same thing happened as the first student stepped out from the bus… There was another scream. Ken and Locke took a peek, and it was clear that there were some people waiting just outside the entrance of the bus… They both looked at each other, and then looked at the window at the back of the bus. And they nodded. “This way everyone!” Locke shouted as he pulled the handle hard beside the back window as he gave it a good nice kick, and the window fell off onto the green pasture.…

Bless whatever association for this safety feature.

“Let’s get out of here!” Locke yelled as he grabbed his metal pole and his backpack right next to Ken’s from the McDonald’s as he jumped down onto the green grass. Ken followed suit as jumped with his backpack in him. They’ll need everything in their backpack. At least that was what the Survival Guide back in Australia taught them when they were still kids. The next person that followed them was… May? She dropped down from the bus like a rag doll instead of jumping. But as she dragged herself on her feet, the familiar red lights came out from her eyes as she moaned, her hand extended…

“Shit.” Ken cursed as he dragged Locke by the arm and both of them ran into the night, as zombie May stumbled towards them. As they looked back, they saw a few more of their companions jumped off the bus and ran towards another direction that differed than theirs as they ignored zombie May. Yes, he had just used that word… He didn’t know what words could describe these… these… walking-dead better.

Zombies.

They really didn’t have time for anything else but run, but running towards where? Ken actually noticed that the closer they got to the city, more of them appeared… Hoped that the others noticed it.

 

Mitch took a few deep breaths, “Calm yourself down dude, it will all be okay, maybe,” he told himself. First things first. He took a deeper breath, then held it, puffing his cheeks out but not letting any air out. No wet farting sounds came from his chest. Good, at least he didn’t have a sucking chest wound, those were really nasty. He fished a large bandage out of his first aid kit and stuck it up under his shirt. There would be time to do a better job of it later, hopefully.

“Man, I really need a couple blues right now,” he said, looking at the seven intact pills he had left. The problem was, coated with blood as they were, in the flickering fire light they all looked black. He tried to rinse them off with some water with his canteen, but one of the pills fell to the gravel roof. “Damn it!” Even on his knees he couldn’t find the pill. “Oh well, there’s probably a few blues in here,” he said, downing all of the six remaining pills. “It’ll get better soon,” he told himself. But what was going on? Maybe this was another all out terrorist attack, like 9-11 or the Mumbai thing. But those old farts sure didn’t look like the typical Al-Qaida operatives. Maybe they were a cult, the Mormons maybe? But where were the two young guys in white shirts on bicycles? Maybe they were Scientologists? They had lots of weird drugs. What was it that Fugged-up Fred had told him, after he broke out of that Narconom place his parents dragged him to. Oh yeah, that the Scientologists were plotting with Al-Qaida to take over the U.S. Scienqaidagy he called it. That had to be what was going on, it was the only thing that made any sense.

A loud engine noise was coming up the street. He got up and saw the tour bus speeding up to the mob, which had finished with the deputy. It plowed into them, tossing bodies several yards before crashing. Some people got out the front, but they were quickly overwhelmed by the mob, who had mostly gotten up again after being run over by the bus. Whatever drugs they were on, they were pretty damn powerful, did make them move a bit slow though. Some smarter people were coming out the back emergency exit, but then one of the women in the group turned on two guys. Looks like the Scienqaidagists had sleeper cells just about everywhere. He aimed at the woman’s head and blew it off. Then took out two more of the original mob who were coming for the people at the back of the bus.

"Hey, over here!" He yelled at the people, "I'll cover you as best I can."

He hoped he would have enough bullets.

 

“Run! Don’t look back!” Ken felt Locke gave him a push towards a general direction as they ran together. He wasn’t oblivious to the fact that he had just heard gunshots echoing in the night, although he wasn’t sure where it came from, that was for sure. Locke, who had familiarity with weapons before, could discern where the shots were coming from. It only took him a few seconds to find the way. As he overtook Ken, Locke grabbed Ken’s wrist and ran towards the source of the gunshots.

Two more shots were fired before a voice rang through the sky. To the two running friends, it sounded like the angel’s horn. "Hey, over here! I'll cover you as best I can." Locke grabbed at the pole on his right hand as he continued to lead Ken with his left hand. Ken could only follow him as they ran towards a few blocks of buildings quickly becoming visible. If he had the brains, Locke had the instincts.

As they ran, Ken had noticed the man standing on the roof of one of the shorter building with a gun in hand. But before he could say anything more, they quickly entered an alley. They saw a green dumpster with a cover, and pipes scaling up the walls. They looked at each other before nodding at each other again. Being friends for so long had given them some kind of ‘link’ with each other. Sometimes, their actions complement each other so well that talking seemed to be a waste of time. They supported each other as they climbed over the dumpster, then pushed and pulled each other until they reached the rooftop, together with the unknown shooter.

As they managed to get to the rooftop, Ken felt all the energy he used to escape from the ordeal had suddenly left him as he collapsed on the hard ground, gasping for air. Although he was pretty athletic himself, he had never felt so… so… tired, both physically and mentally. Then the face of Kyle, Aileen, Sarah and May resurfaced… It was hopeless… Then he looked up, and saw Locke’s worried face. “I’m alright… Really, I’m alright…”

“Dad had always told me what war was like, and how you could lose your friends anytime on the warzone.” Locke stared at Ken’s eyes as he patted his shoulder and gave him a weak grin. “This, was as worse- no, worst than the war he told me. At least his dead comrades wouldn’t come back from the dead trying to take a bite off him.”

Ken nodded, before turning towards the man who had just saved their lives as he stood up. He felt slightly refreshed at his friend’s gentle words. “Thanks mate. If it wasn’t for you, we’d be dead… or worse.”

 

Mitch tried his best to give every one in the group a fighting chance. A few people might have made it off into the night, but most of them were taken down by what was left of the mob. Only two guys seemed to have an idea about how to actually save themselves, and they ran towards him. He kept up a good rate of fire keeping them from being lunch, making about a 60 % hit ratio. When those two guys were almost to the Block Buster, about eight of the mob took particular interest in them and lurched after them.

The guys made it up the dumpster and were pulling themselves over the wall when the five of the mob that were left also started climbing up the dumpster. They said something to him, but his ears were ringing from the continuous shooting. Mitch switched to full auto and let loose. One last member of the mob was clambering up the pipes when the clip ran out. Mitch dropped Baby and whipped out his machete, bringing it down on a wrist that was just over the wall of the roof and cutting it off, but the other hand had a grip too. Mitch cocked his arms for a double handed swing and looked into the burning red eyes of a younger guy, redder than any bad trip or hangover eyes. As the guy swung his body over the ledge, Mitch swung with all his mite. The blade of his machete connected pretty dang near perfectly with the guy's neck, and the head flew off in a spectacular arch. The body dropped down onto the dumpster, but there was no great arterial spurt, weird.

Mitch sheathed the machete. Picked up Baby and looked her over. "You okay girl?" She seemed to be, and he put his last clip into her. He scanned the alley, then walked the perimeter of the roof. The members of the mob were either dead or gone into the night after the other's on the bus who might have gotten away. Body parts littered the street as well. A gentle breeze blew the lingering smoke from his firing away.

The two guys were looking at him. "Sorry dudes, I didn't catch what you said," he told them. They looked cool, but several of the people from the bus had turned on each other for no apparent reason, so while he didn't point Baby directly at them, he held her pointing in their general direction, and he left the safety off.

 

“Geesh! Give up already!” Locke complained as his grip on the metal tightened as he noticed that some of the things started to climb over the dumpster with great difficulty as their hands trying to grab over something wildly. Their intention? Only a fool need to ask after what had just happened. They were looking for dinner. Ken knew that, at this stage, he was probably more of a liability to his friend as they pulled back over the edge of the building.

Ken’s eyes were cold as he observed continuously at the situation. He noticed a few things about these creatures… Destroy the head will kill it permanently, but he wasn’t sure what the extent needed. Well, crushing it into smithereens seemed to work quite well. Just before the first creature could latch itself over and climb up, the man walked over and started loosing hell’s fury on the living corpses. Bullets took flight again, but the clips ran out as they heard the clicking noises…

Then he whipped out his machete as he kept his gun close (Locke: “I want one too!”) and gave one last swipe as he reached out. They could momentarily see something flew in an arc as they heard one final noise, the noise of something fallen into a hard surface. The man sheathed his blade as he quickly turned over them and reloaded. As the already frigid wind blew, they could feel the man’s mistrust…

"Sorry dudes, I didn't catch what you said,"

But hell. Ken understand that it was only normal to not to trust another man, woman or even child. Locke lowered his weapon down as a gesture of peace. Hey, the man got a gun and a machete, what do you expect? Not to mention he looked great already, with the way he just handled himself.

“We’re just saying thank you, mate.” Locke continued the conversation. “We’re not one of… those things. We are…” Just as he was about to continue his conversation, the sounds of something fluttering entered his ears. Both Ken and Locke turned to the general direction away from the city and looked up into the dark sky… They saw a multitude of lights in the sky…

“UFOs? No… Helicopters?” Ken muttered to himself…

 

"Quick dudes, hide!" Mitch told the two guys as the helicopters started sweeping the streets and roofs with their search lights. He half shooed and half dragged them over to the large air conditioning unit at the corner of the roof and ducked down just as a beam of light went across their roof. The two guys were just a little too stunned to do anything but go along with him, but he could see their questioning looks.

"It's just like we always knew it would be. They always said we were crazy, but who's crazy today?" Mitch explained. "You see, those are the Black Helicopters coming in for the second wave. The U.N. is in it with the Scienqaidagists. Those crazy people who attacked the McDonalds and the bus were the first wave. They must have been brainwashed and been on some pretty powerful drugs to take so much killing, but now that they've got the mayhem started, Venezuelan and Nicaraguan troops are coming in on the Black Helicopters to take control of the post offices, schools, and malls. Then they'll round every body up and put a UPC tattoo on your forehead. Now believe me, you'd much rather die than end up like that. I bet they snuck some helicopter landing ships up the Mississippi, and I wouldn't be surprised if Obama has given orders for the Air Force to stand down and let them in our air space unmolested. So, we gotta have a plan."

He sized the two dudes up. They were both a bit bigger than he was, pretty young too. The brown haired kid looked a bit shaken up, but it was probably his first combat experience, and he was holding up okay. "Here, take these for now," he said, handing the bigger guy his machete and the brown haired kid his hunting knife. "The machete is effective, I don't know about the knife. Maybe if you get a lucky stab through the eye sockets." The helicopters were still in the area, but focusing their search pattern a little to the west. Mitch peaked over the roof and could see the deputy's pick-up truck, it's lights still flashing, about two blocks down the street. "That deputy had a shotgun, and he'll definitely have a side-arm, if we're lucky some big macho thing like a .44 Magnum, but even if it's just a standard Glock that won't be bad. I'm down to one clip, so I need to ammo up. I don't know this town too well, usually I just make my drop at the McDs then head down the river, but they've got to have a gun shop or two. If not, the Wal-Mart will have something, though I doubt if they have the 7.92 Baby needs."

The helicopters were coming back towards their area. "Okay, let's go before they shine their lights on our roof again," Mitch got up to go, then started hacking, a bit of blood trickling from his mouth. "Or maybe, you guys go and I'll cover you again." he said, woozily sitting back down against the air conditioner.

 

Locke was going to instinctively wave at the helicopter, but before he could do so, Mitch forcefully dragged both of them over to the air conditioning unit at the corner. Locke tried to push him away, being uncomfortable with being dragged like that, but Mitch was stronger than him. As for Ken, he was given a much better treatment than Locke as he played along. He was obviously no match for the man’s strength: if Locke couldn’t free himself, he saved himself of trying to do so and set himself up for failure.
Before they could reason with the man, he let their arms go and then started blabbering about ‘scienqiadagist’ (whatever it is) and this whole conspiracy theory about people being brainwashed, rounding up all the American citizens and that THEIR president had just let the invasion happen. Ken scanned the man just as he scanned them before handing them some weapons. A knife and machete.

Locke gave the man a nod as he took the big blade, but was obviously trying hard not to think about anything the man had just said. Ken, on the other hand, took the liberty of thinking everything the man had just said and from his own observations as he received the knife. “I personally don’t believe that drugs, any drugs could raise the dead. Kyle… Kyle was dead. But he joined the rest of the living dead as they chased their prey… I hope the man was alright.”

Ken closed his eyes as he tried to recall everything that just happened right after the attack on the McDonald’s. “Aileen must have been dead in McD’s after the gunfire. I remember seeing blood on her blouse… And May… May’s neck snapped while we were still in the bus. I think I heard something snapped, being so close to her…” And with all those memories, his vision cleared a bit more every time he tried to remember finer details. The blood, the wound and the crimson red eyes.

Ken shook his head as he opened his eyes again. This was no time for reminiscence. They listened to the man’s plan, and agreed somewhat. Well, they need the weapon… Locke put his mountain bag down next to the man as he cracked his shoulders and neck. “I’ll go. I’m a better athlete than Ken, and I can run faster. Not to mention that Ken isn’t really a combatant.”

“Wait!” Ken called out as he put his bag down as well. He quickly transferred some of Locke’s things into his bags, which made his even more bulkier and heavier. His instincts told him that they will need everything they can from now on… And he was reluctant to leave anything to waste. “Take your bag with you. Just dump anything you can find into the bad and run back…”

Locke gave both of them a nod as he played around with the machete. “Wish me luck.” He gave them a thumbs up as he made his way down from the roof, from the dumpster.

At the same time, Ken turned to the man as he gave him his hand. “Cover him and I’ll take a look at your wound as we do this.” He looked at Mitch’s bloodied shirt. He had only noticed that this man was probably wounded more heavily than he himself had realized. Well, as long as it wasn’t from one of those things, he would be thankful.

 

"Yeah, that sounds like a good plan," Mitch said, taking out his first aid pack. He leaned up against the ledge of the roof and unbuttoned his jacket. It looked like a slug from the deputies shotgun had gone through his pocket full of pills. There were bits of broken plastic stuck into his skin. In one sense he was lucky that the slug, it's force diminished by breaking three bottles full of pills, had then hit on top of a rib, probably breaking it, before flying off into the night. If it had struck between ribs it might easily have gone through into his lung. Mitch puffed out his cheeks and blew just to be sure. "Nope, even if my rib is broken, at least there ain't a hole in my lung. Nothing a lot of anti-septic and a few blues won't cure. Try to get most of the little plastic shards out of my skin if you can, okay?"

Mitch turned his attention to scanning the street as the blond kid started to climb down off the roof.

 

As soon as the man positioned himself against the ledge of the jagged bricks and unbuttoned his jackets, Ken aptly took the first aid pack that he handed him. He took a quick look at the things inside, and it had most of the items he needed for the small operation. He wasn’t going to comment on what he meant by the ‘blues’. Although he was at his late teen, he wasn’t as clueless as some had thought. He had his own… issues, that he had to deal with back in Perth. Especially with Locke who was very prone in getting into troubles in the ‘grey area’, and some of them were pretty ugly.

He took out the small flash light from his pocket that he had taken from his own first-aid kit before the whole mess with the bus began and turned it on. It was one of those LED ones and it did a splendid job as it light up the area of the cuts and wounds. It had stopped bleeding, but glass shards had imbedded themselves on the surface of the wounds. Some of them quite deep, but thankfully most of them were scattered in a way that stitches weren’t needed.

The lucky bastard.

“Right, let’s do this.” Ken put the end of the mini torch into his mouth and secured it with his teeth while his two hands started to work on the man’s wounds. He quickly cleaned the wounds as he used the cotton found in the kit after he soaked it with some alcohol. The dried blood made way as small, sandy glass shards were brushed away. He applied the same cotton with alcohol for a few times before moving to the second part. He looked at the man. “Hang on, this is going to sting a bit.”

He then took out the plastic tweezers and quickly pick out the glass shards with skill. By the time he finished with all the shards, stopping the blood with some sterile of his own and started to dress the wounds after spraying it with an antiseptic spray, Locke had also made his way to the deputy’s vehicle.

The light of the truck was still on, but even from a distance he could already see the headlights smeared with a tint of red. He didn’t have to consult with Ken to know what that red was. With his eyebrows locked, he moved towards the truck cautiously. He was expecting a dead ‘deputy’ somewhere, but there weren’t any dead, or not so dead bodies, prowling around. He took a quick scan around the area, but there wasn’t any weapons lying around to be found.

He quickly took a glance towards the truck, making sure it was pretty empty inside and that there was nothing below before making a run towards the truck. As he opened the door of the truck and reached into the driver’s seat, he quickly checked for anything that he could use, or could not use, and throw them all into the bag. He noticed that there was a gun in the compartment opposite of the passenger’s seat, and with a glee, he quickly pocketed it along with the boxes of ammo next to the gun, clips and a reloader. He also noticed slugs for the shotgun and he threw them all into the bag. He also took a small hand-held radio from the pickup.

When he finished salvaging and was going to leave, he noticed red spheres glowing in the dark of the night approaching from the sides away from the building. He cursed as he zipped his bag and got out of the car. His machete in one hand and the new gun on the other, he ran for dear life as the zombies started to return in full force…

 

"Aah!" Mitch winced as the kid was working on him, then bit his lip. Seemed like the kid knew what he was doing. "Thanks, good work." The other kid had been scrounging the pick-up, and started running back to the building. Mitch soon saw why.

"Dang, where are these guys coming from? Five, ten, fifteen, maybe twenty more of them. Least they don't have any weapons." He settled down and took aim. "I'm gonna wait till they're a little closer. I only have 30 rounds left, so each one is gonna have to count." he told the kid.

 

Dull, dull, dull. I wish someone, anyone, would dial 911 even if it is only a cat in a tree.

That is what dispatch Officer Korben had been thinking just four hours ago, four hours that seemed like a lifetime.

Kathy Korben, or 'Kato' as she was affectionately known on the Dubuque police force, had been stuck at a desk job for the past three years since graduating at the top of her class at the academy. Anti-discrimination policies guaranteed women equal opportunity to work in the department but that did not stop the good old boys from keeping her off the front lines and far from harm's way. This unwanted protectiveness had seemed cute at first but it wore thin quickly as Kato began to fear she would see less danger as a police woman than she had waiting tables in a dress for five years at the Dubuque Family Restaurant.

And on a good night of tips the pay had been better waiting tables at the home of the best steak dinner in town as well. Not to mention the perks of running with the restaurant and casino owner's sons, getting free drinks on the gambling boats and even being allowed to pilot the boat a few times. But high school fun money eventually gives way to the need for a more adult career, and looking back now at age 27 she had no regrets about leaving a dead-end job in food service in search of an exciting career in law enforcement.

Excitement? Ha!

The only time she had even left the station was a night shift over a year ago when all three of the male officers on the night shift had been on calls and a terrified woman called 911 needing immediate assistance. The woman had been confused and off her medication, but Kathy enjoyed the mere possibility of danger.

Since then there had been plenty of evenings when she had dispatched the night shift officers on three simultaneous calls, but that FOURTH call which would give her a chance to leave the station had been elusive. Dubuque had it's share of crime and drugs, like any Midwestern town, especially ones on the river for some reason. But a crime capital it was not. They didn't even have a police chopper--a mild source of shame for the Dubuque boys in blue who had to place a request for assistance to Cedar Rapids PD on the rare occasion when they were in critical need of air support.

This was her life, and without Bobby to keep her sane she might have given in to the peer pressure from the boys and resigned. Sargent Stracker was the most unlikely mentor and advocate she could imagine. For all appearances he should have been the most sexist of the lot. He was a throwback to an older generation of lawmen, with his trademark non-standard-issue dual chrome-plated 44 revolvers on each hip he might have fit right in back in the wild West.

Bobby typically handled all the violent calls, and it had been just over an hour since he had hopped in his custom modified Dodge Ram police truck and headed out to the highway in response to respond to a hysterical 911 call that she hadn't fully understood. Something about a drunken mob rioting over food or something. Might have made sense if it had been drunken college students blowing off steam in East Dubuque across the river, but the Sargent had taken the call without raising an eyebrow. Bobby had a presence, an aura, that could make a group of thirty people take pause and back down from just one of his steely eyed stares.

Within twenty minutes two more calls had come in from separate corners of town and Kathy had begun hoping desperately for that elusive FOURTH emergency call, and possible escape from her desk-prison.

In these three-call evenings she had developed an almost superstitious routine of needlessly checking to make sure the phones worked, but this time when she picked up the handset she got a tone she didn't recognize. It wasn't a dial tone, or a busy signal. It was that computerized gibberish that fax machines make. That made no sense at all, since 911 lines were on guaranteed no-fail circuits with triple-redundant backups.

It was then she realized that she hadn't heard any of the patrols check in, and she began to wonder where Bobby might be. His vehicle GPS tracker displayed it's current position on her workstation--she had a brief glimpse of the red dot representing his unit still out at the highway McDonald's on the outskirts of town--when her monitor screen suddenly and mysteriously scrambled before going black.

At that point all the lights in the station went out.

"I need to get to Bobby," she thought aloud, "he will know what is going on and what to do about it." Sargent Stracker had never really embraced the digital tools of modern law enforcement, and he would surely be right at home in this circumstance for which she realized with a shudder that she had little experience or training.

She felt her way through the dark station toward the front door, grabbing her purse, a mobile dispatch radio, and her standard-issue Beretta 9mm along the way.

 

Locke wandered whether his luck had finally ran out after out running the first batch of zombies that had suddenly just a[[eared out of the blue. To be more precise, the first man-zombie that reached its hand out had been severed with one, quick slash from his machete. There was no red blood spurting out, and the dead man didn’t even groan as it continued to pursue the young man in the dark of the night, its eyes burning ever brighter.

He quickly gathered his guts as he looked at both his left and right as he continued running. These zombies seemed to be forming a circle, trying to trap him in the middle… It was a strange thought. He wasn’t a fan of zombie movie (Ken was), but in most of them, the zombies were stupid, concentrating only at the food in front of them as they give chase. Hopefully, it was just a coincidence. But with their speed, he should be back on the roof way before they could catch up with him. He could feel the weight over his shoulder as he continued to run as fast as he could. The zombies wasted no time in trying to get to him, but he wasted no time either in trying to get away. Luckily, they couldn’t run.

Ken could only watch the zombies appeared without any warning at all. He looked at the man as he positioned himself for another round of firing. He was a good shooter, and Ken could tell. Although he himself had never fired a shot, but he was mostly there when Locke was practicing in the firing range. He understood the urgency… And for once, he wished that he could do something – anything.

“I’ll be at the back and I’ll pull him up as soon as he’s in the alley.” Ken gave the man a nod as he jogged to where they had first climbed up to the roof. At the same time, Locke almost reached the alley, with zombies following him at the back…

 

Mitch started shooting. There were now more enemy than he had rounds left. Though they still had no weapons, they were trying to encircle the blond kid. Mitch took careful aim and broke a hole for him to run through. The kid was almost to the alley, and his friend was waiting to help him up the wall, Mitch fired his last round, popping a head apart, when a cop car, lights and sirens out, squealed around the corner. Mitch thought for a moment how this would look to a cop. Sniper on a roof shooting at unarmed civilians. He ducked down and shimmied back to the air conditioner. Maybe the cop hadn't seen anything yet.

 

"Over here!" Ken yelled as he waved at Locke, completely oblivious to the fact that a car had just arrived at the scene. Sure, the blue and red light as well as the blaring siren should had drawn some attention from the boy but he had his closest friend running from a bunch of flesh-ripping, man-eating freaks on his tail. He had all his concentration in giving support to Locke at the back of the building.

Locke, still had his adrenaline pumping, sped down the dark alley with his two feet as the zombies were quick to follow him. He had a minute or two before the zombies could swarm in on him... 30 seconds to get up the dumpster, 30 seconds to get up the pipes and get over the walls. Seriously, all the training he had endured hadn't prepared him for this. Sure, he had always ignored his dad's crazy ravings about the NWO. He didn't resist because he was having fun with all the trainings anyway. Who in school had his agility? Who in school had his hand-eye coordination? Heck, who in school had ever got the chance to play with a gun?

"Ken!" He yelled as he looked up into the roof and saw his brown haired friend waving at him. He quickly jumped up the dumpster, another step on the pipe before grabbing the arms of his friend as he climbed over the edge...

 

Kathy reached the outskirts of town with cherries flashing and siren wailing. She felt a little self-conscious using the strobe on the patrol car to turn lights green. But as she pulled unto the lot between McDonalds and the Tractor Supply Company, she couldn't believe her eyes. There was an obviously drunken and disorderly crowd scattered throughout the parking lot. She could see the police truck up ahead, with the driver door ajar. The Sarge was nowhere to be seen. A group of people seemed to be circling around one man toward one side of the lot. Then suddenly she saw the heads jerk backward and three of the thugs drop to the ground. Their intended victim hopped through the gap in the circle and disappeared down a short alley. Were those gunshots? She turned off the sirens to kill the masking noise.

Rolling down the window seemed risky, and so she pulled the PA handset up to her lips and spoke through the patrol car's loudspeaker.

"Attention mob, this is officer Kato... Erm... Officer Korbin of the Dubuque Police Department, cease hostilities and stand against the wall!"

The mob turned slowly to face the lights of her patrol cruiser. They thrashed their arms toward the bright light. It was then she noticed several of them were covered in blood.

"Oh for the love of Fred," she exclaimed, "this is one of those flash-mob internet performances!". She had read about events planned and executed over the Internet. Without backup her best protocol would be to identify and video tape but not actively arrest.

It was then she noticed a silver revolver on the pavement, with what looked like red on the grip. The mob was shuffling toward beer patrol car, doing their best 'zombie' impersonation.

Kathy could think of much less creative ways to watt an evening than pretending to be a ghoul. Kathy shook her head.

As the crowd came closer to her car and began slapping on ten hood and quarter panels, she noticed movement on one of the rooftops. Most likely filming everything. A 'zombie walk' she recalled, they call this kind of impromptu performance art a zombie walk.

Now where was Sarge and what would he be doing that he lost his 44?