Authors: Derek Ailes
“Earth. Wasteland. Humans on the near extinction list. What was once a flourishing race, replaced by a plague of flesh-eating zombies. The Zombie Apocalypse of 2014 was what they called it. Nobody knows what had caused the zombie plague, but it had happened fast; almost overnight. Friends killing friends, brothers killing brothers; the Civil War, but with zombies. Women, children; it didn’t matter. Nobody was immune to the zombie plague. A few survivors here and there, but cities and towns turned to ruins. Only one giant compound survived the zombie plague. Built almost in a month by the government around Washington DC, the compound housed the remaining remnants of the old world. Hundreds of guards on top of the walls killing zombies on sight. A post zombie apocalypse government now ruled what was left of the human race. A council was put in charge of protecting the remaining survivors of the United States. Every day, their scientists worked on a cure while others developed new ways of defending themselves from the constant attacks by the zombies trying to penetrate the walls around Washington, DC.
My name is Devlin, and I am a zombie hunter.”
August 15, 2028
Outskirts of Chicago, Illinois
“Chopper 1 approaching the rendezvous point,” the pilot said as the black helicopter approached the runway outside the abandoned airport.
“I don’t see anybody,” his copilot said.
“They were supposed to be here.”
A large missile was heading straight for the helicopter.
“Base, we are under attack!”
The missile hit the helicopter, destroying it on impact.
Somewhere Outside Washington, DC.
Devlin stood outside the bar in the abandoned town of Bloodfield. The layers of dust on the windows were thick, and he couldn’t tell if the bar was safe to enter. He looked around the street and could see no zombies nearby. He was thirsty and a bottle of whisky would clench his thirst, if there was any alcohol left in the bar. He knocked on the door and waited a few seconds for any sounds coming from within the bar. Satisfied that no zombies were lurking inside, he entered.
The bar was in shambles. Several of the chairs were lying on the ground missing legs. Somebody had used them to ward off a zombie attack at one point. The tables that were still standing were covered in a decade’s worth of dust. The floor was littered with skeletal remains of former zombie meals. The walls were covered in spider webs and without humans to maintain the building, it had been overtaken by insects and rodents.
He walked behind the counter where two more skeletal remains lay on the floor. He was in luck; there were still some unopened bottles of whisky and other assorted alcoholic beverages. He grabbed all the bottles and placed them in his leather sack. He laughed at the large deer head mounted on the wall behind the counter. A spider was sitting in its mouth staring at him.
“Here’s to us,” Devlin said and took a swig from the whisky bottle. The spider kept staring at him. He sat down on one of the bar stools and rested. He had been traveling for weeks now looking for supplies to take back to the compound. He traveled alone. He didn’t have to worry about anybody but himself, which came in handy when battling zombies. He was a zombie hunter, one of the best. He was Special Ops from back in the day when the enemy was from the Middle East, not your next door neighbor mutated by a zombie virus. His Special Ops training made him the ideal zombie hunter. He was faster than most which gave him a distinct advantage over a slow moving zombie.
A shadow caught his attention. Zombies always knew when a human was nearby. They would all flock to the area where they smelled human flesh. He pulled out his laser gun from his vest. Without looking backward, he shot the zombie through the window. It fell backward from a direct hit, glass showering the ground all around it. In one swig, he drank the rest of the whisky and threw the bottle into the mirror shattering it. He walked over to the door and looked outside. Several zombies were heading for the bar. He stood by the door with his laser gun ready. He was ready for a good old western showdown.
He kicked the door open and jumped out shooting the nearest zombie’s head off. Its body fell forward and its head rolled toward him. He looked down at the eyes which were still moving. He kicked the head to the side and walked toward the group of zombies that were slowly approaching. He grabbed a large weapon that was attached to his back and aimed it toward the group. He pressed the trigger and a u-shaped blade shot toward the zombies, slicing through two of the zombies’ heads. Like a boomerang, the blade came back and reconnected to the weapon. He aimed the weapon toward the other three zombies and pressed the trigger. The blade shot toward them and in one swoop sliced off their heads. The blade came back and reconnected. He smiled at his weapon, the bang blade. He loved the advanced weaponry the government had developed to battle the zombies. The blade from the weapon was razor sharp and shot out faster than the best baseball player could ever pitch.
He walked back into the bar and retrieved his leather sack. He checked every room in the bar. He found a couple more bottles of alcohol and a fully stocked first aid kit. He exited the bar and walked over to his motorcycle and placed his leather sack in the side car. The computer monitor on the panel was flashing. He had a message from the compound. He tapped the screen and the image of Marcus Kronze appeared. He was in his late sixties. He looked a lot older due to the stress of keeping the compound safe.
“Marcus, it has been a long time. How’s the council life?”
“Not good. We need to see you immediately. We have a special assignment for you. Top priority.”
“Top priority? You got my attention.”
“Devlin, get here as fast as you can.”
“Marcus, I’m on my way.”
The Compound, Washington D.C.
Devlin sat in the lobby outside the Council Chamber. Maria, the receptionist, tried not to stare at him. He was considered a legend among the inhabitants of the compound. He rescued a majority of the inhabitants from the outskirts since the plague had started. With his tattooed, ripped arms, and the spiked black hair with a touch of grey, he was the sexiest man she had ever seen. He wore a black uniform with the sleeves ripped off. He looked like a soldier always ready for his next mission.
The door to the chamber opened and Marcus walked out. He was dressed in a fancy white uniform standard for all the six council members. He shook Devlin’s right hand and signaled for him to follow him into the chamber. The chamber was located inside the White House. He walked into the chamber and admired the rustic feel. A painting of the last five presidents, from before the zombie outbreak, hung behind the council’s six chairs. Ironically, the first black president was the last president before being replaced by the council. There was no more Senate or House of Representatives; most of the members becoming victims of the zombie plague. There were no more pointless debates about what measures needed to be taken for the United States -- only action.
The six council members, three men and three women, all welcomed him.
“Let’s get right down to business. Time is of the essence,” Marcus said. “Earlier today we received word of a girl that had been bitten by a zombie two months ago and as of yesterday, she still hadn’t mutated into a zombie. Our scientists believe that her blood may be a cure for the zombie plague. We sent a helicopter to rendezvous with her and her colleagues outside of Chicago. The helicopter was destroyed by a missile.”
“The Dregs,” Devlin said.
The Dregs was a group of Mexican mercenaries that took over most of the areas of the United States. They controlled the outposts throughout the country, and the survivors lived in them under heavy rule. Many criminals lived in the outposts where crime was high, women were forced to live as sex slaves, people were addicted to drugs supplied by the Dregs, and children were the work force. These outposts were prone to zombie attacks.
“We want you to go to Chicago and find this girl and bring her back here. We have the last known coordinates of the helicopter before it crashed,” Marcus said.
“If the Dregs have her, then you know they will do whatever they can to find the cure,” Tamilia, the Arabian councilwoman, said.
“For a huge profit,” Gerald, the elderly black councilman, added.
“The Dregs already contacted us that they have her and will release her to us for complete control of this compound. They haven’t shown us any proof that they indeed have her, but it’s only a matter of time until they do,” Marcus said.
“Then, I better leave immediately,” Devlin said.
“Devlin, do whatever you deem necessary to bring her back alive,” Marcus said.
“Don’t worry. I’ll bring her back,” Devlin said and walked out of the chamber.
Devlin exited the White House and headed for his motorcycle. He drove away toward the ammunitions depot to replenish his supplies. If he was going to encounter the Dregs, he was going to need all the firepower he could transport.
Wastelands Outside Washington D.C.
Devlin drove through the ruins of Washington D.C. All the historical monuments and government complexes lay in ruins. Abandoned cars littered the roads making it hard for Devlin to maneuver. The government had resorted to dropping bombs on areas infected by the zombie plague. Places like New York, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, and Chicago were destroyed during the zombie purge. He had been working in Afghanistan when the zombie plague had begun. The government recalled troops back to the United States to battle the zombies. Within weeks, most of the population was gone, either from death or from becoming zombies.
The ruins reminded him of a time long past when people littered the streets buying pointless trinkets from vendors and walking back and forth to their boring day-to-day jobs.
People were zombies to begin with
. Not him, he was a soldier traveling from one place to another killing troublesome political leaders, terrorists and warlords. His life was one of action and still was even after the zombie apocalypse.
A lone zombie walked on the sidewalk in front of what used to be a fast food restaurant. He waived at it as he drove by. The zombie walked after him, but gave up quickly as he drove farther away. He drove west toward Chicago. He had a long journey ahead of him. His motorcycle ran on solar energy, so he never needed to refuel. The United States was finally able to end their dependence on foreign oil thanks to the zombie apocalypse. Scientists and engineers had developed several alternative ways of producing energy.
He pulled over. Something caught his eye in the distance. He grabbed his leather sack and pulled out his high vision binoculars. Ahead of him behind some parked cars was a group of zombies. They had a deer pinned down devouring it. Once the human supply ran out, the zombies turned to consuming any creature they encountered. He grabbed an energy grenade from his bag. He slowly walked over to the cars and threw the grenade into the crowd of zombies. It went off incinerating them.
He grabbed his bang blade and walked forward. He sensed there were other zombies lurking about. He spun around and pressed the trigger. The blade shot forward and sliced the head off of a zombie that tried to sneak up from behind him.
He could see zombies approaching from the distance. The blast from the energy grenade alerted them to his location. He ran for his motorcycle. He had to get out of there and fast. There were too many zombies for him to battle. He jumped on his motorcycle and headed forward. He pulled out his laser gun and shot a couple of the zombies’ heads off as he drove past. The other ones walked in the direction he was heading. He laughed as they disappeared behind him. It was starting to get dark and he needed to find a place to hold up for the night. He could see a small farm house up ahead which would be the perfect place to rest.
He pulled into the driveway of the farm house. The grass was as tall as he had ever seen. He checked the perimeter and didn’t see any zombies nearby. He knocked on the front door and listened for any noises. Satisfied that there were no zombies inside, he opened the door. Skeletal remains littered the floor including one of a cat. He laughed. Even the family pets weren’t safe from a zombie’s appetite. He pushed the skeletal remains off of the couch. He sat down and grabbed one of the jars of whisky from his leather sack. After about an hour of drinking, he walked into one of the bedrooms to take a nap. A skeleton lay on the floor next to a rifle. Judging from the imprint on the wall, whoever it was chose suicide.
That night he was haunted by a dream from when he was in Special Ops. It was 2014, and he had just returned to the states. New York had already been destroyed by bombs, and Chicago was going to be the next target. His team was there trying to save as many survivors as they could. The streets were overrun with zombies. They were shooting as many of them with machine guns as they could. The closer they got to Wrigleyville, the more zombies were wearing baseball jerseys. He always found it weird that he was killing zombies that he watched play baseball before going to Afghanistan. People were running for their lives as the zombies attacked. With all of the various wars he had been witnessed to, he had never seen as much carnage as he had seen in Chicago. A lady stood in the crowd and stared at him. A few seconds later she was struck by a taxi that was fleeing the carnage. As she landed on the ground, several zombies grabbed her and ripped away at her flesh.
Devlin awoke from the dream and stared at the window. Sunlight was shining through the decaying curtains. He grabbed his laser gun and headed for the living room. He looked out the living room window. Two zombies were pacing back and forth in the street. He could barely see them through the thick high grass. He hoped he could sneak out and kill them before any other zombies showed up.
He walked out the front door. The two zombies stopped and walked toward him. He shot the first one with his laser gun and the other with his bang blade. He looked down the road and several zombies were walking about. He reattached the bang blade to his uniform and grabbed his other laser gun. He climbed onto his motorcycle and headed down the road. He fired at the zombies with both of his laser guns. One-by-one, the zombies fell to the ground as he passed by. He gave the remaining zombies the middle finger and drove down the road leaving them behind.