Payback

This is the third and - for now - final entry in my zombie short stories. I wrote it back around the middle of 2011. As with the other works I have posted here, it has been through one edit but there will still be a few mistakes that managed to slip through. So sorry about that.

The main protagonist is a police officer, who I met several years ago. He wrote a book called 'The Wolf and the Sheepdog', which were a collection of short stories about various encounters he had during his years on the force.

My son Gary has ambitions to become a police officer himself in a few years time and I've always had the upmost respect for the men and women who patrol the streets and keep the rest of us law-abiding citizens safe. I know a lot of people hate cops, but I'm certainly not one of them.

As always, I hope you enjoy.

This is the third and - for now - final entry in my zombie short stories. I wrote it back around the middle of 2011. As with the other works I have posted here, it has been through one edit but there will still be a few mistakes that managed to slip through. So sorry about that.

The main protagonist is a police officer, who I met several years ago. He wrote a book called 'The Wolf and the Sheepdog', which were a collection of short stories about various encounters he had during his years on the force.

My son Gary has ambitions to become a police officer himself in a few years time and I've always had the upmost respect for the men and women who patrol the streets and keep the rest of us law-abiding citizens safe. I know a lot of people hate cops, but I'm certainly not one of them.

As always, I hope you enjoy.

Chris Van Deelen is the author of the Skirmisher Publishing LLC sourcebook Creatures of the Tropical Wastes sourcebook, co-author of its Wisdom from the Wastelands game supplement and contributor to the 'Sword of Kos: Hekaton' Anthology.

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March 27^th 6:50 PM

Officer John Jones finished scribbling the note and without fanfare placed it as well as the spare weapons and ammunition in the Harris’s car. He paused only long enough to take a final look around the large garage of Fire Station one before reaching the door that led to the outside.

Quietly, he pushed open the heavy door and again paused, checking the area around him. There were two zombies milling around the wreckage that had fallen when the airliner had clipped the top of the Delta hotel.

For a man as large as Jones, he could move with shocking speed and stealth. In seconds he had passed the zombies that were in the debris choked lot in front of the fire station. Neither of the two zombies standing with their backs turned to him noticed his departure. Thankfully they were not the deadly sprinters. Those undead creatures seemed to have preternatural senses and could home in on a mouse in a field, so it seemed when it came to tracking down the living.  

Once he was clear of the fire station John poured on the speed. He wasn’t concerned about the zombies; he could outrun any of them, including the sprinters. He just wanted to get to the Ivory tower, re-arm and then get home to his wife, Angela. It wasn’t all that far from the core, just over the hill and past the river. Still, with all the undead about, going on foot would be treacherous at best.

He glanced into the early evening sky. The view was marred by the smoke coming from the numerous fires burning uncontrolled throughout the core. The smell of smoke and death was thick in the rapidly cooling air, but it didn’t bother the officer. Deep down, he was a warrior, and he lived for the fight. The scars marring his body and hands were testament to that.  The fact that he made the streets safer for people like the Harris’s by channeling his warrior, well that was a happy side effect of feeding the beast’s need for violence.

It didn’t take long for him to reach the corner of 6^th avenue and 1^st street. He looked to the west and could see that there were a few shamblers milling around the entrance to the police station, but otherwise there was no sign of movement. A quick look over his shoulder showed him that he had attracted the attention of quite a number of shamblers, who were all moving inexorably towards him.

John smiled a warrior’s smile.  A moment later his baton was resting easily in his hand. He wanted to conserve his Glock 22’s ammunition for any sprinters or large groups that he might have to deal with. But shamblers? The Baton would come in quite handy.

With the casual grace of a hunting tiger, he walked through the small gathering of shamblers that had gathered in front of the entrance to the police station. One by one those who were standing in front of him dropped to the concrete of the sidewalk as he caved in their skulls with an ease that many would find frightening.

Seconds passed and he stood inside the entrance and with a grunt, he closed the door behind him. No point in allowing more of the undead into the building, as it stood he knew that he would have to face an unknown number of the undead inside. The building’s emergency lights were on and he could see quite well in the dimly lit interior of the entrance. The door barring the way into the rest of the building was completely smashed, and he had no trouble stepping through the wreckage and a moment later he was standing in front of the reception desk.

There were no signs of the duty officer who typically manned the desk. He leaned over and glanced behind, noting with detached interest amount of blood that was coating the seat and the communications panel.

 “Where are the bodies?” He wondered out loud.

No one answered, and he hadn’t expected any. He figured whoever had been killed behind the desk by the zombies simply rose and joined their ranks, although it did make him wonder why there weren’t any permanently dead zombies lying about. Maybe there were other officers inside the building, holed up someplace relatively secure. He shrugged at his mental musings.

After the Rising had begun, many of those who had been bitten were brought into the station and put behind bars. That had been a horrendous mistake, as those victims ended up dying and in turn rose to prey on the others that had been tossed in with them.

Jones knew that the station wasn’t as bad as the hospitals around the metropolis, but he fully understood that it wasn’t going to be a cakewalk either. To be on the safe side, he pulled his service Glock 22 from the holster on his hip and checked the chamber, ensuring a round was seated and ready. He held the pistol in his right hand and hefted the baton in his left. He wasn’t exactly ambidextrous, but he had trained in Kempo and was proficient using the batons in either hand.

His plan, other than getting his car and getting home to his wife, was to make it to either the armory or to the evidence locker. He needed to arm himself with as much as he could comfortably carry. Remington 870’s, more Glock 22’s, even the C8 automatic weapons Calgary’s SWAT used, and as much ammo as he could find.

That is, as long as his fellow officers hadn’t cleaned out all the weapons and ammunition first. Once the police fully understood what had been happening, the old rule of two magazines and one load for the shotguns had been tossed out the window.

Then again, as long as they hadn’t hit the evidence locker, he could easily arm himself with the wide variety of weapons that they had confiscated from the ne’er-do-wells over the past few months. And what a haul that had been.

The stench of death hung heavily in the air around him, despite the lack of bodies. The zombies had been here, and not all that long ago.

As he moved through the half lit halls of the station he marveled at some of the weapons he himself had brought in as evidence. A couple of M-4’s, one brand new AK-47, sawed off shot guns, more handguns than he could have imagined, even a HK MP4.

The halls were a mess. Paper and scattered debris were everywhere, almost completely obscuring the floors. Despite the mess, he could see where someone, or more likely something, had been walking. The garbage and debris was pushed to the side at un-even intervals, and he figured it had to have been made from a zombie.

To make matters even worse, bullet holes, scorch marks and other less identifiable markings marred the walls everywhere he looked. There was even an imprint of a body where someone had been slammed into the wall with such force that the drywall had given out. Bloody handprints were clearly visible even in the dim light where the victim had pulled itself from the wreckage.

Strangely though, there were no bodies as he passed the banks of elevators, straight for the stairwell. He knew that with the power out that he wouldn’t be able to use the conveyances, even with the building on emergency power.

From somewhere above he could hear the sound of gunfire. It wasn’t fully automatic or the softer single reports of a handgun. It had the deep throated roar of a shotgun. Well, that clinched it, he knew now that there had to be survivors inside the building after all.

John paused at the heavy door barring entrance to the stairs and listened, his senses on full. He could hear the faint sounds of shouts and more gunfire, although it seemed to be coming from the elevator shaft. He was quite sure that he was currently alone and hoped that it would stay that way.

Slowly he pushed open the door and when it was open only a few inches, he stopped and listened.

Silence. Even the gunfire from above seemed to have abated.

Figuring the way was clear, he pushed the heavy door open enough to pass through and then grabbed hold of the bar and let it close slowly and quietly behind him. No sense in alerting any hidden zombies to his presence. The sooner he made it to the armory or evidence locker, the better, and if he didn’t have to deal with any of the undead that would just be the icing on the cake.

The stairwell was an un-nerving mixture of red light and deep shadow. John knew all too well the danger that could be lurking around every corner, but it wasn’t like he was afraid – he relished a good fight and the warrior, the beast inside him had been satiated all too well over the past ten days.

Again, the big cop paused and listened. The only sound he could make out was the beating of his heart, slow and rhythmically beneath the breast of his Kevlar armor. John almost grinned as he thought that the stairwell was as silent as a tomb. There weren’t even any echoes of battle coming from the upper floors.

After a dozen heartbeats, he began a slow and quite descent into the bowels of the building. Both the Armory and the Evidence locker were in the basement, and from there he could make his way to the underground garage and take one of the patrol cars located there. All he would have to do then was navigate the wreckage and rubble in the streets to make it to his home.

Really, it would be a piece of cake!

John reached the lower level without encountering any of the zombies. Once again he paused and opened his senses to their fullest before he tried pushing on the bar that would give him access to the basement and from there hopefully the weapons and ammunition that would greatly increase his odds of getting out of the core.

He reached out with his left hand and used the baton to push down on the bar. The heavy door opened smoothly and he was just about to step into the red tinged light of the corridor when he heard a loud ruckus coming from the floor above.

John frowned, his brows furrowing as he listened. It was voices, and it sounded like a lot. He knew for a fact that it wasn’t the undead, as they didn’t talk. Groaned, snarled, and even screamed, yes, but shout and speak to another?

His frown deepened as he listened further. The voices were definitely coming his way, and they had to be damned loud if he could hear them clearly though not only the closed fire door but a level down. A million questions raced through his mind in a matter of seconds. Could it be more officers, his brothers and sisters in blue coming to rearm and hit the streets once again? Could it be civilians like those he had left at Fire station one with the same intentions?

Then he heard a single name shouted several times: S Dog.

John bit off a curse. S Dog was the leader of the 110’s, a gang that he had a long and very unpleasant history with. The latest was back in the fall where he hand run into S Dog in the parking lot of a Tim Horton’s and ended arresting the man, yet again. This time the arrest had stuck and with the help of a newsman from one of the local stations had even gained enough evidence to make sure that a lawsuit that S Dog had initiated against the Calgary police force and he in particular was dropped.

S Dog had a serious hate on for John, as even before that final arrest, he had broken the man’s jaw when he attempted to resist arrest and the scumbag had spent two weeks in the hospital, and then many months recuperating from the injuries that John had inflicted on him.

Ever since a pansy assed judge had granted the violent con bail just before the rising had begun, John had been watching his back very carefully. He knew the psychotic bastard was going to make a play against him, and frankly he had been surprised that it hadn’t come sooner. S Dog had lost a great deal of what the gangsters called ‘street cred’ and he was determined to get that and the misplaced respect back from his fellow thugs.

A huge predatory grin split his rugged features. If the stupid bastard wanted to try and get him now, he was more than welcome to try. John knew the Ivory tower like the back of his hand, so he had the home field advantage, despite the fact that it could be filled with zombies.

All he needed to do was get to the Evidence locker and armory before they did, rearm himself and deny the criminals the access to the same weapons they were most likely going to be trying to secure for themselves.

John stepped into the red lit corridor and quietly closed the door behind him. He took a quick look around to make sure that he was alone and that there were no zombies ready to try and eat his face. The corridor he stood in was just as empty as the ones above, and unlike the halls on the main level, there was little signs of combat or garbage anywhere, with the exception of a few scattered pieces of paper here and there.

It still bothered him greatly the lack of anything moving, the fact that there were no bodies to be seen. John mentally shrugged and figured he should be grateful that he hadn’t had to deal with any zombies since entering the building.

Not that the zombies he had dispatched thus far had been an issue, or for that matter even a challenge. He’d combated junkies and street thugs that were far more dangerous.

He had hoped that at least once by now he would have came across fellow officers, or some of the administration staff inside the building.  But the only sign of life was the sounds of combat that he had heard earlier.

Once he was re-armed, he would try to get to where his fellow officers were held up and do what he could to help them dispatch the undead. Then he would deal with the 110’s and S Dog once and for all, and if his luck held he would have backup in doing so.

He reached the end of the corridor and stood at a small intersection. He didn’t enter it; instead he stood just to the side and listened. There was no sound coming from either side of the intersection. That didn’t mean that there might not be undead nearby, it was scary how the creatures could wait so patiently and then ambush the unwary or inattentive.

John Jones was neither.

He had a choice to make. If he turned left, the corridor would lead him to the armory and the interior shooting range. There he could load up on spare Remington 870’s and ammunition - that is if his fellow officers hadn’t already cleaned it out. He could also grab Tasers, batons and similar gear, but honestly the Tasers would be all but useless against the undead.

The 110’s and their leader however, that was a different story.

Or he could turn to the right and hit the evidence locker. That could prove to be more difficult to get into, since it was always locked and there was an officer on duty to record all transactions, be it placing evidence in the lockdown or taking it out. If the station was un-manned he would need to get the keys to enter the room, which in on itself would be one hell of a task.

But then again he would have a larger choice of weapons to arm himself with.

He made his choice and after checking that the corridor was indeed clear, John jogged down towards the evidence locker. Even before he made it to the room, he could see that the duty station was un-manned. Cursing softly, John stood before the doorway and then noticed that it was ever so slightly ajar. Anyone checking from a distance, even a few feet away probably wouldn’t have noticed it.

As he reached out to open the door, he heard a loud crashing noise coming from the corridor he had just vacated. There were sounds of voices, cursing and laughter and he immediately knew that the 110’s and their leader had decided to go after the weapons, drugs and money stored in the evidence locker.

The now familiar predatory smile with no humor or warmth crept onto his face as he released that he was about to unleash the beast that slumbered inside. John gripped the handle and pulled the door open and stepped into the evidence locker. He closed the door behind him with an audible click as the locks engaged.

Knowing that he had at best only a handful of seconds before the gangers were on him, he ducked down so that he couldn’t be seen and went straight for the nearest shelf. There were a large number of weapons located on the shelf, all of them neatly tagged and in some cases bagged, the clips and ammunition removed.

Sure enough, there was the AK-47 he personally had brought in from a bust only a few weeks before, sitting untouched where he had last seen it. Next to it in a neatly labeled box were the ammunition, six fully loaded magazines plus several hundred rounds of hollow point and armor piercing ammunition. John was more than a little surprised to see that nothing had been taken from the room. Why that was the case was a mystery he would probably never unravel.

The sounds of the 110’s grew louder as he pulled the weapon and box off the shelf. With deft hands he ripped open the box and removed the ammunition magazines. He slapped one into the AK-47 and placed the extra clips into the pockets on his vest and the pouches on his tactical belt.

Still crouched, he slipped up to the duty station and waited. He could hear the laughter as the gangsters from the 110’s approached, thinking that they were in the clear and that they would be able to raid the arsenal for their own needs.

Personally, John would much rather have engaged the criminals hand to hand. He loved how alive he felt when he was in the midst of battle, one on one, man against man. But the odds were stacked against him, and there was no way that he could possibly go toe to toe with the men, as they too would be armed with a wide assortment of both firearms and melee weapons.

The warrior waited, his mind filled with anticipation. He heard the gangsters quickly approaching and then in a sudden burst of speed, he stood up from his crouch and leveled the AK-47, the barrel poking through the small opening in front of the duty desk. The look of surprise on the lead gangsters face was so comical that John actually burst out laughing as the adrenaline hit his system and he pulled the trigger of the weapon.

The three round burst of hollow points hit the gangster squarely in the chest and blew him off his feet. The young black man flew backwards in a spray of blood and gore, which covered the two men standing directly behind him.  The gangster, a man named Tyron Washington, or T W to his friends, was a man that John had dealt with on many occasions in the past. He was pure scum. A rapist, drug dealer and had gotten off from a murder 1 charge.

Payback is a bitch.

The gangster formerly known as T W screamed in pain as his life was ripped from his body and when he hit the two men standing behind; one instinctively grabbed at him and tried to prevent him from falling.

Both men hit the ground. The third man managed to twist his body out of the way and in the same motion he brought up a huge .44 revolver, something that Clint Eastwood would have carried in the old Dirty Harry movies.

John resisted using the famous line and instead adjusted his aim and squeezed the trigger again. Another trio of hollow point rounds burst from the barrel of the weapon in a gout of fire and kinetic energy. All three rounds hit the second gangster in the chest, knocking the man back. The revolver flew from his hands and he grunted in pain, but there was no sign of blood as he crumpled to the floor.

It was clear to John the man had been wearing body armor, and unlike the stupid fuck T W who clearly hadn’t worn any, the armor saved his life.

At least for the moment.

Still, if the gangster managed to make it out of the fire-fight alive, he would have bruising and possibly cracked and broken ribs from the impact. And it would hurt like a mother fucker!

John assessed the situation and could see that there were at least six more combatants in the hall behind the initial three. And to make matters worse, the leading phalanx of the gangsters were raising their weapons, a motley collection of pistols and illegal sub-machine guns and even one AR-15 carbine.

He dropped to the floor half a second before the rest of the gangsters opened up with their weapons. Round after round smashed into the safety glass and several found their way through the opening. The warrior knew that he could have stayed standing, that he could have moved off to the left or the right of the small opening, but he didn’t want to take the chance that the safety glass wouldn’t hold from such an onslaught of firepower.

Much to his amazement, the safety glass held up against the barrage. It was heavily cracked and looked like it would give out at any second, but for once something lived up to the manufacturer’s hype. He waited until the storm of lead abated somewhat before he stood again. The gangsters blew their load and most of them were in the middle of reloading their weapons as John stood.

John leveled the AK-47 and thumbed the selector from burst to full auto. He snarled as he emptied the clip into the closely packed group of gangsters. In the more analytical part of his mind, John was shaking his head at the stupidity of the gang members. They should have split up and at least tried to take cover, but no, they had to stick together.

All that much better for John. He knew that if they had even an iota of sense or knowledge of tactics they could eventually get him without taking too many casualties.

Thank god for idiots, he thought with a grim smile as his finger squeezed the trigger. The heavy Russian assault rifle bucked in his hands as it spit lead at the closely grouped targets. Some of the rounds found flesh and bone; other rounds were stopped by the armor the 110’s were wearing under their baggy jackets and hoodies.

As the firing pin clicked on an empty chamber, the warrior dropped down behind the counter once again. He could feel the sweat trickling down his face and neck, running down the valley that was his spine to pool at the top of his pants, just above the belt. He deftly let the empty magazine drop from the weapon and grabbed another one, this one filled with the armor piercing cop killer rounds.

Body armor or no, the gangsters were about to die, one and all.

He had seen quite a few of the gangsters drop to the ground, whether from wounds or doing the only thing that they could to defend themselves from the onslaught, John didn’t know. He could here a cacophony of screams of rage and pain coming from the group.

The warrior smiled as he slapped the magazine home and pulled the cocking mechanism to chamber a round.  As he leveled the weapon once again, the barrel pushed through the small opening, and his only clear view of the gangsters, several of the 110’s were attempting to raise their own weapons or get to their feet.

The remaining gangsters died in a handful of seconds as the heavy armor piercing rounds spit out by the Russian assault rifle tore through the Kevlar they wore into the soft flesh and hard bone of their bodies.

All in all, the battle against the 110’s was over in less than half a minute. John knew what was about to happen all too well. Those he hadn’t killed with headshots would be rising soon and, although slow and generally weak, the zombies would present another obstacle to his survival.

John slung the AK-47 over his shoulder and withdrew his Glock 22 service automatic. He pulled back the slide to make sure that there was a round chambered and then he stepped into the corridor. He chided himself for being so anal, considering only a few minutes ago he had done the same thing, but he had to be 100% sure.

The air was thick with the haze of spent cordite and the stench of not only the propellant but the coppery tinge of blood assaulted his nose. John breathed through his mouth to lessen the attack on his olfactory senses. He quickly and without emotion put a single .40 caliber round into the skull of each of the nine gangsters, not bothering to check to see if they were breathing or had already passed through the dark curtain to the other side.

The deed complete, he ejected the spent magazine and put it in his belt and then shoved a fully loaded magazine into the empty well. He carefully controlled his breathing and his mind as he weighed his options. He couldn’t let his actions of the past few minutes eat away at him. He knew very well that it was the 110’s or him. They had come down with the clear intent of killing anyone they found while they raided the armory and the evidence lockers.

The thought of all the weapons and equipment that they could have made off with, as well as the crimes they would have perpetuated with the arsenal was a slight balm on his emotions. He did what was right and he would live with it.

It’s not like he had much of a choice, after all. 

What to do, what to do, John thought to himself. There was no way that the other 110’s would have missed the sound of gunfire. Hell, if he could hear the sounds of combat coming from the upper levels of the station, the 110’s would have to be completely deaf not to have heard the firefight that just occurred.

Realistically, John figured he had three choices. Play a game of hide and seek and take out as many of the 110’s as he could, gather all the weapons and ammunition that he could possibly carry to keep it out of the hands of the gangsters, or finally somehow make it past the criminals and locate the other survivors that were engaged with either the zombies or other ne’er-do-wells that somehow had managed to make it into the building.

“Fuck it,” John said out loud. He turned towards the evidence locker and pulled the door closed behind him. The locks engaged with an audible click and he knew that the room was secured, at least for the time being.

He knew the layout of the building almost as intimately as the house he shared with his wife. That was one thing that he had over the 110’s and their leader S Dog. The only portions of the building they had ever seen would have been the areas not generally open to the public, where criminals were brought in for their due process.

John moved quickly. He tore down the corridor, moving in the dim emergency lighting more from memory than actual sight. In seconds he hit the exit to the locker room and slammed the door behind him.

And not a moment too soon. As he entered the room he could hear the shouts coming from further down the corridor, where the other members of the 110’s had just entered the sub-level. It wouldn’t be long before they found the bodies of their fallen comrades and would be on the hunt for the lone officer responsible for their deaths.

Red light illuminated the large locker room as John took in the scene. It was a mess. Lockers stood open, many had their contents strewn on the cement floor. There were bits and pieces of clothing laying haphazardly all around him.

The worst part was the sight of large black splotches that were visible all around. The now familiar tang of copper, the scent of spilled blood was unmistakable. Clearly there had been at least one fight in the room, if not multiple pitched battles. As his mind took in the scene of near pure chaos, it struck him once again that there were no bodies to be seen anywhere.

Silently John pulled the heavy police baton from his belt and held it in his left hand, the Glock 22 gripped tightly in his right. He didn’t like the look of the locker room and figured that despite the fact he couldn’t see any bodies, he wasn’t alone. His warrior senses told him that he was in mortal danger and that death was ready to lash out in an attempt to claim him at any second.

If there was one thing that John had learned over the years working the means streets of Calgary was that he always trusted his instincts. They had kept him alive more than he could count. To ignore his senses just once was to invite certain death.

The problem was that danger would be coming from two locations. Somewhere inside the large locker room was death, and it was also following him in the shape of the 110’s coming down the corridor behind the closed door. Maybe they would stop and investigate the other doors and hallways that John had passed; maybe they were trying to get into the evidence locker at that very moment.

It wasn’t something that he could count on and he wasn’t about to stake his life on it. He growled low in his throat as he studied the locker room. There were too many places that a zombie could be lying in wait, too many blind corners that he couldn’t see around.

And of course there was the emergency lighting. It was red and didn’t hamper his night vision in the least, but it wasn’t as good as he would have liked. Still, he had to get through the room and make it out into the building, where he could put his superior knowledge of the building’s layout to good use.

As quickly as he dared he moved through the locker room, trying to stay as far away from the blind corners as best he could.

Still, it wasn’t enough. Just as he made it to the end of the locker room and was about to leave through the other door, hands moving with the speed of a striking cobra shot out from the dimness and latched onto his left arm.

John, despite relying fully on his instincts, was caught off guard. With a snarl of fright, John managed to pull his arm away from the zombie, just as the creature’s blood flecked teeth would have bit through the sleeve of his shirt and into the unprotected flesh beneath. The zombie’s grip was broken and John had the sense to step away from the attacker.

The undead was a former patrol officer, and was still dressed in his uniform. It wasn’t possible for John to make out what had killed the man due to the low light, and at that moment, he didn’t actually care. The undead cop stepped forward and lashed out with both arms, the hands twisted into gore covered claws as the creature tried to slash at John’s unprotected face.

Fucking great, John thought. A fucking sprinter! Knowing full well that his life was in serious jeopardy, John unleashed the beast. He allowed the warrior to take over and put his mind on auto-pilot. Adrenaline flooded his bloodstream, and the world seemed to slow down to a crawl around him.

With a twist of his hip, John brought up his left leg, the knee rising well past his waist and he pistoned the leg out, catching the undead police officer in the short ribs. The blow from his heavy boot caved in ribs and would have dropped a living man in a heartbeat.

But of course the man was no longer living and was completely impervious to pain.

The blow, however, did knock the cop backwards and it hit one of the low lying wooden benches that were situated in between the rows of lockers. The zombie fell backwards with an audible grunt and it sat there for a heartbeat, staring up at the warrior.

John closed the distance between him and the sprinter and lashed out once again with his heavy boot. This time the toe of the boot caught the zombie under the chin and snapped the head back with so much force it almost snapped the zombie’s neck. It snarled in rage and tried to grab at his leg, but he quickly pulled it back, relying on the sidekick’s quick return to prevent him from getting bit once again.

After the miss, the Zombie grabbed the bench and tried to pull itself up into a standing position, but the adrenaline fueled warrior wasn’t about to let that happen. He swung the police baton far over his head and brought it down with all his considerable might onto the top of the zombie’s skull. The bone caved in like so much papier-mâché and the zombie slumped to the floor of the locker room, dead.

His body still pumped up on adrenaline, his senses seemed to have increased exponentially as he scanned the remainder of the room, searching for potential targets. It seemed to be clear and his instincts told him that the danger had passed.

At least until the 110’s caught up with him.

As he passed several of the open lockers, John silently searched the storage spaces for extra handguns and ammunition. Most of the lockers were empty with the exception of uniforms, armor and personal effects, but luck was on the warrior’s side. In a pair of lockers that were half closed he found another pair of Glock 22’s and a total of seven extra magazines. He shoved the spare pistols into his belt and shoved the magazines into an empty pouch hanging from his tactical vest.

John finally made it across the locker room and entered the underground parking garage. Usually the garage was bustling with the comings and goings of officers, staff, deliveries and the like, but it was all but deserted and completely silent.

There were only a handful of patrol cars still parked here and there and other than a single UPS truck that was backed up to one of the loading docks; he had never seen the underground garage so empty. As he made his way through the garage, the adrenaline dump that had saved his life earlier began to wear off. Usually coming down from such a rush took a great deal out of him, but he had been living on adrenaline so much over the past ten days he barely noticed the effects.

A moment’s indecision caused him to stop in his tracks. In the deep silence of the underground garage he could hear his heart hammering against his chest, one of the side effects of coming down from an adrenaline rush. He stood on the oil stained concrete floor and looked between the elevators, the stairs next to them and the loading docks, uncertain of which route to take.

He quickly dismissed the elevators, knowing that they would be locked open on whatever floor they had last been at when the power had gone out. At least that narrowed his choice. “Fuck it,” John finally said after several long seconds.

A laugh escaped the officer. Fuck it was clearly his way of choosing when it came down to it. The things the mind came up with in times of distress.

Crossing the floor, he glanced into the open door of the UPS delivery truck and noticed that the keys were still inside the ignition. A strange thought crossed his mind as he realized that even in the police station, if the driver’s supervisor ever found out about such a breach, the driver would soon discover what it was like to be unemployed. He shook away the thought, knowing just how irrelevant it was and gracefully jumped onto the loading dock’s ledge and entered the receiver’s office.

Seconds later, he was racing down the dimly lit corridor to another stairwell that would take him back up to the ground level of the station. The silence, broken only by his footfalls, was oppressive. In moments he was at the stairs, taking them two at a time. He only paused long enough at the main landing to listen at the door.

There was no sound from the other side. Maybe the remaining 110’s had decided to check on their nine friends who went to raid the evidence locker, or maybe for some reason unknown to him they had decided to go higher into the station.

Fucking criminals, he thought. John decided that he would head into the upper levels and try to locate the survivors he had heard fighting for their lives only a few minutes before. Maybe the danger had passed, maybe they were dead. Either way he needed to check it out.

As he reached the landing for the third floor John finally discovered his first corpse. The body was of a civilian contractor, one of the people hired to work in the administration division of the police force. It was clear that she had been dead a long time, as her flesh was a sallow grey in color and there was blood and flesh coating her lips and chin. A single hole was present in her forehead, but a much larger exit wound was visible even in the poor lighting. Blood and brain matter coated the wall at eye level, just above the corpse.

When he hit the forth floor, his nose could make out the distinct smell of cordite and there was a slight haze to the dim red light. He crouched and inspected the door that entered the forth floor and noticed that it was pock marked with bullet holes. With great caution, he placed his left hand on the handle bar and carefully pushed the door open several inches. He waited and listened but couldn’t detect any sound coming from the hallway beyond.

With the 110’s and zombies moving around the building he knew that any survivors that he encountered might be more likely to shoot first and ask questions later so he opted to err on the side of caution. If there were 110’s in the corridor, no matter how unlikely that was, he didn’t want to announce his presence and get shot as the result.

The hallway behind the door was bathed in blackness. The emergency lights that illuminated the rest of the building were out. He bit back a curse, knowing that if there were any people watching, he had just announced his presence to them.

“Hey,” John called out, deciding to risk it. “Anyone there?”

Silence.

John slid the baton back into his belt and removed his flashlight. Flicking the small light on, he pushed the door open just enough so that he could squeeze through. He ran the beam of the light around the hallway just past the opening of the door. The smell of spent cordite and the haze was even thicker inside the corridor than it was in the stairs. Several feet in, he could see the bodies of several civilians, and from the looks of the remains they had been zombies.

“Hey, anyone in the hall, check your fire!” John called out and paused once again. He waited for a count of thirty before stepping fully into the corridor. If there had been any survivors, or zombies for that matter, the sound of his voice would have alerted them.

When the stairwell door closed behind him, he carefully stepped over the bodies. He watched them for any sign of un-life or movement, but they had all been dispatched with shots to the head. Whoever had defended the hallway had expended a lot of ammunition. He really couldn’t blame them, with the Rising a lot of people had thrown out trigger control due to fear or simple inexperience.

Turning around, he flashed his light up to where the emergency light should have been and discovered that it had literally been ripped down. Wires and a torn bracket were all that remained and when he shone the light on the ground beneath, there was no sign of the wreckage.

“What the hell?” John wondered out loud.

With the flashlight held in his left hand, the Glock 22 still gripped tightly in his right, John stepped down the hallway. At every door he paused and played the light across the contents. Most of the offices he encountered were a mess. Paper and personal belongings scattered everywhere, and some showed signs of combat. Blood, spent brass casings and shotgun shells littered the floors liberally.

And there were bodies everywhere. Most were dressed in civilian garb, clearly in varying states of decay, but more than a few were wearing the uniform of the city police. Every single corpse he passed had wounds visible on their heads, or were simply missing their skulls entirely. It was one hell of a mess, something out of the darkest, most twisted imaginations of Hades itself.

One thing was abundantly clear however. The survivors had put up one hell of a fight.  As he went deeper into the forth floor, the hallway he had entered was still shrouded in darkness. Ahead of him, he could make out the faint traces of light coming from an intersection. He knew that the offices down that hall had windows, so the light he was seeing was the waning light of the dying day.

The closer John got to the intersection, the clearer the air became. There was far less spent propellant and the bodies were fewer. Still, all the emergency lights had been forcibly removed, and that just didn’t make any sense.

Just as he made it to the intersection, a figure stepped into view. The man was dressed from head to toe in black TAC gear and held a C8 at the ready.  He had several Glock 22’s attached to his tactical vest and there was a Remington 870 shotgun slung over his shoulder. The two men stood there and stared at one another for a single heartbeat and then the officer in the TAC gear lowered the rifle. “Holy fuck, I thought I was the only one left!”

John shook his head and grinned. “Likewise. I heard the firefight earlier, I had to come up and check it out.”

The officer nodded and raised his night vision goggles. “Jones, isn’t it?”

John nodded. “Yeah, it’s me, you are?” He asked, not recognizing the sweat and dirt streaked face of the man standing before him.  Then again that wasn’t much of a surprise. There were upwards of two thousand three hundred officers on payroll in the city, and it was just not possible for John to have met every single one of them, even the members of the TAC squads.

“MacLean, Tony MacLean,”

“I thought there were more people.” John said.

Tony was a man in his late twenties and stood at about five ten, and probably weighed in around one hundred and ninety pounds. He had clear grey eyes and a fair complexion under the dirt and grime. The man shook his head. “I’m all that’s left. Somehow the fuckers managed to get inside and they swarmed us. I had three civilian contractors with me but the Zack’s got them.”  It was then that he noticed the AK-47 slung over John’s shoulder. “Looks like someone hit the evidence locker.”

John nodded. “Figured I’d get armed before I took off. I need to get home to my wife and then we need to get out of Dodge.” He nodded towards the weaponry the TAC officer was carrying. “See you’re pretty well armed.”

Tony tilted his head to one side. “I took the weapons from those who didn’t need them any longer. Say, have you heard about the evacuation? All survivors are to relocate to the airport. The feds are evacuating the city. They’ve given it up for lost.”

“You need to know,” John said, his voice solemn. “The station’s been invaded by 110’s.”

The TAC officer rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “Oh just fucking great. Bad enough that we have to deal with the walking dead, but now we’ve got gang bangers in here?”

“Well, less than before. I took out nine of the fuckers down near the evidence locker.”  He glanced back over his shoulder and then asked; “What happened to the emergency lighting anyhow?”

“Strangest shit I’ve ever seen, one of the Zack’s, fast fucker, just reached up and ripped the lights down. Tossed them into the offices as she passed.” Tony informed him.

“Sounds like a Sprinter. Seen too many of them over the past several hours.”

Tony grimaced. “Yeah, moved like a junkie overdosed on speed. Finally got her about a dozen feet back from the intersection. Heard about them from other survivors but had yet to encounter one until just before you arrived.”

“Well, lets get the fuck out of here. I don’t know if there are any other survivors in the building, but at least we can cover each other’s back. Let’s head down to the garage, grab a patrol car and leave this place.”

“I’ve been cooped up here far too long and it’s clear that things are not going to get any better, the longer we stay here.” Tony agreed. He looked at the other officer. “Did you hear that huge commotion outside a while back? I swear to god something must have hit the core.”

John nodded. “Saw it first had. Half the core’s on fire. A Jet airliner hit the Delta hotel just down the street. The survivors in Fire Station one damn near bought the farm when it crashed.”

Tony managed to pale even further. “Fuck me gently. It’s that bad then?”

A sarcastic smirk crossed John’s rugged and worn features. “You don’t know the half of it Tony. And now that the 110’s have decided to come calling, this day just keeps getting better and better.”

Together the two police officers made their way down the benighted hall and found the stairwell once again. John hesitated before he opened the door and turned back to face the TAC officer. “Alright, Tony, let’s double-time it to the garage, kill any of those 110 gang banging mother fuckers we find. Once we’re there, I’ll check the numbers on the cruisers that are still in the garage and you grab the keys.

It was the rules that once the cars were returned to the garage, the ignition keys were stored inside the main office and doled out as needed. The odds were in their favor that this practice was still in effect and that the cars he had seen only a few minutes before would still be there.

Tony nodded and then realized that John couldn’t see him. He vocalized his agreement and the burly officer opened the door to the stairwell, the Glock 22 resting in his scarred fist. Inside the red lit stairs he was relieved to see that there were no signs of the zombies, or the gangsters for that matter.

Together the two of them practically leaped from landing to landing, moving so fast that their booted feet hardly had time to gain traction before they were off once again. Just as they reached the second floor landing, the door burst open before them and one of the 110’s, dressed in the typical baggy pants, jacket and hoodie. He was openly armed with a Remington 870, clearly having looted it from the police armory. The young black man looked up in shocked surprise as John landed only a couple of feet from his position.

“Holy fuck, it’s RC!” The gangster blurted and tried to bring the shotgun up. John allowed the warrior to take control, knowing that he had less than a second to react. Without consciously thinking, John slashed down with his left hand, knocking the barrel of the shotgun down and to the right, while his right hand punched the Glock 22 out and without finesse, he pulled the trigger three times, pumping .40 caliber rounds into the chest of the young gangster.

Shouts of fright and anger echoed out from behind the dying gangster just as his fingers reflexively squeezed on the trigger of the Remington. With a deafening roar, the weapon disgorged its payload of buckshot into the concrete floor and stairs. Shot and chips of concrete careened off the surface, ricocheting wildly in the confined area. John winched in pain as several of the pellets peppered the side and back of his leg and more impacted on his armored torso.

Despite death having claimed young gangsters body, but had not reanimated it, the man was somehow still on his feet. Several more members of the 110’s were in the hall behind him and were bringing their own weapons to bear, so John did the only thing he could think of – he spun on his heels and nailed the dead gangster with a beautifully executed spinning back kick, the heel of his right foot catching the gangster squarely in the solar plexus, knocking the corpse back into his former friends.

“Go!” He screamed at the other officer as he grabbed hold of the still open door and forced it closed. The TAC officer didn’t need to be told twice, he continued his leaping bounds down the stairs. John followed a second later, knowing that it would take the gangsters a few precious seconds to disentangle themselves from the corpse of their former member.

John fervently wished that the man he had just killed had been S Dog but the gods of battle were not on his side this day. If he had killed the leader of the gangsters, one of two things would most likely happen. They would either split up to go their own separate ways, or serious infighting would begin between the man’s lieutenants for control of the criminal empire.

If such a fucked up band of bullies, miscreants and animals could be considered a criminal empire.

As they reached the garage level, they could hear the door swing open and round after round being pumped through the portal, hoping to catch the two officers unawares. John silently cursed the gangsters, that they would insult him in such a way, believing that he would be so stupid as to stick around like that. As he shoved open the door and entered the massive garage, he could hear them shouting to one another. One voice was clear above the din, and he recognized it instantly. “We’re coming for you RC, and payback’s going to be a mother fucker!”

The garage appeared to be almost exactly the same with two major exceptions. First, the large garage door was open to the rapidly darkening night sky, allowing not only the cool night air to enter into the underground level, but there were several of the walking dead now roaming around.

Before John could speak, Tony raised his C8 and began to cut the zombies down with carefully placed bursts from the weapon. The 5.56 rounds made short work of the undead creature’s skulls, blowing them to so much rotting flesh and bone, dropping the un-natural creatures to the oil stained concrete floor of the garage.

Even through the closed door, John could hear the rapidly approaching footsteps echoing loudly off the walls of the confined space. He took a precious few seconds to scan the area around him and his steely gaze fell upon the fire hose and axe that was located only a few feet to the left of the door.

He let go of the door handle and stepped up to the axe that was resting behind a pane of glass. With the butt of his Glock, he smashed out the glass and pulled the axe off the hooks, and a second later, he shoved the heavy wooden handle of the implement between the push bar and the wall.

He had effectively locked the door, buying at least half a minute, if not longer. Turning away from his handy work, he noticed that Tony had dropped all the visible zombies and was in the midst of changing magazines for the C8. A second later there was a loud commotion from behind the closed door and the axe rattled loudly as the gangsters attempted to push their way through. “Open up mother fucker!”

Ignoring the inane command, John called over to Tony; let’s do this,” he took off towards the office that was located about half way down the garage, where all the keys would be stored for the few cars that were still located in the structure. Tony tore off towards the nearest of the vehicles and just as John reached the door; several loud reports came from the entrance to the stairwell. The fuckers were trying to shoot their way into the garage!

Thankfully the entrance to the office was unlocked and John hesitated only for a second before he stepped in, checking to make sure that there were no unexpected surprises waiting for him. The room was empty. He stepped over to the lockbox and unceremoniously blew the latch off with his Glock. He opened it to reveal several keys placed on pegs with corresponding numbers located above each.

A moment later Tony called out a number and John cursed. The keys were not on the peg. “No go!” he shouted back, grimacing and growing both angry and more than a little fearful. Again Tony called out a squad car number and again the keys were missing. Snarling in frustration, John replied with a negative.

Third time was the charm however, and the number that Tony called out matched the keys on the pegboard. He snatched the keys from the board and tore out of the office as if the devil himself was hot on his tail. As he closed the distance, he first holstered his Glock and then un-slung the AK-47 from his shoulder and held it in his hands.

Tony was standing by the passenger side of the car and John unlocked the driver’s door and unceremoniously dumped the assault rifle on the floor of the passenger side and then unlocked the door. Tony got in and slammed the door as the car roared to life. Before he even had a chance to close the door, John tore out of the parking stall and roared towards the open exit leading to the street.

Using the vehicles momentum and speed to close the door, they shot past the stairwell exit, just as the gangsters managed to pump enough rounds through the barrier to open it. He turned in time to see S Dog standing at the threshold, a C8 held in his hands. The gang’s leader snarled in hatred as he spotted his nemesis and raised the weapon. For a fraction of a second the two men’s eyes locked across the distance and they fed on one another’s hatred for the other. The gaze was quickly broken and S Dog pulled the trigger.

Tongues of flame erupted from the barrel of the rifle and 5.56 rounds smashed into the side and roof of the squad car. The glass on the rear passenger side window starred and cracked, but somehow held fast against the impact of the rounds. A portion of the light bar on the roof of the vehicle was blown clear in a tinkling of plastic and shards of metal.

John was doing almost sixty when he hit the foot of the ramp and shot out of the underground garage. A single zombie stood on the ramps exit. It was dressed in a filth encrusted police uniform and was running a keycard through the reader that opened the main gate leading to the parking garage. When it heard the sound of the cruiser, it turned and moved in an unsteady gait, to see what the commotion was all about. Snarling a curse, John tried to pull to the side but there simply wasn’t enough room and he clipped the undead creature with the left front bumper. The zombie careened off the vehicle and was bodily slammed into the concrete wall. It hit with a bone shattering thump and slumped to the ramp, unmoving.

The impact almost caused John to lose control of the vehicle, but skill and desperation won out. He managed to straighten the wheel and a second later they were out of the garage and moving towards the still closed gate of the topside parking lot.

Pressing the gas pedal to the floor, John aimed the police cruiser at the exact center of the gate, knowing that the weight and momentum would make short work of the somewhat flimsy barrier. With the rending sound of metal being torn asunder, they were out of the parking lot and onto the heavily shadowed street.

“Well,” Tony said, looking back towards the enclosed parking lot. “I guess that explains how the doors got opened.”

“Yeah, fucking weird.” John commented. He hit the brakes, instantly dropping the speed of the cruiser. The roads around the station were fairly clear, but there were a lot of undead, all seeming coming from the west. Movement caught his attention and he glanced over to the East, and he was rather surprised to see that the C-train was actually on the move.  As he watched, it accelerated away from the City Hall station and smashed several vehicles off the tracks.

Tony glanced nervously around the vehicle. The undead were approaching from all directions, and there were a large number of sprinters coming in fast from the West.  “Jones, we better not stick around here much longer.”

The big cop nodded. He leaned forward and watched as ash fell like snow from the burning wreckage that had once been the core of the metropolis. Without further comment, he depressed the accelerator and carefully weaved his way in and out of the ambulatory corpses that were coming out of every building around them.

“What a fucking nightmare,” Tony said sardonically. “I mean, it was bad enough when the dead started getting back up but look at this place. It look’s like a fucking battlefield.” The TAC officer waved his hand around the ruins of the core as they made their way south from the police headquarters.

“Yeah.” Was all that John could think of saying. He continued to maneuver the cruiser through the throngs of corpses that just seemed to grow in number. Amazingly enough, the undead were ignoring the car, all of the creatures moving inexorably towards the center of the city.

John glanced through the rear view mirror and snarled. “Jesus H. Christ!”

Turning around in his seat to peer through the rear window, Tony blurted out; “What is it?” Then he noticed the flashing lights from a pair of cruisers pulling into the street from the headquarters garage. “Maybe it’s more of our people?” He said hopefully but not really believing it.

“No way, it’s going to be S Dog and the surviving members of his posse.” Cursing loudly, John pounded his palm on the steering wheel. “I knew I should have taken all the keys!”

“Hindsight’s 20-20,” Tony muttered.

Throwing caution to the wind, John stamped down on the accelerator and continued to drive through the ever increasing number of undead. Several times he clipped or knocked one of the zombies out of the way as they came closer and closer to the underpass that would bring them out of the core and into the edge of the business section and the residential portion of the city center.

Just when he figured they would be in the clear he saw that the southbound lane leading through the underpass was completely blocked by several smoldering vehicles, while the northbound lane was filled with a mass of undead.

John immediately dropped the speed of the cruiser and fought with the wheel. The cruiser’s tires screamed as they bit into the asphalt for traction and he barely managed to keep the vehicle under his control, although in the process he smashed through several zombies who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

With concerted effort, Tony held onto the dashboard and door with both hands and somehow managed to refrain from cursing the other cop’s driving abilities. There was a tremendous jolt and the sound of metal tearing free as the rear end of the cruiser fishtailed into a parked pickup. The rear bumper of the pickup was torn free and it was caught, locked in an obscene embrace with the rear bumper of the cruiser. As John gained speed, the extra bumper spewed a thick shower of sparks for several dozen feet before it finally broke free and clattered nosily eventually coming to rest, half on the curb, half on the street.

The streets ahead were not quite as full of the walking dead as they had been to the West, but the zombies present still made for hazardous driving, and John sure as hell wouldn’t have wanted to be on foot. He peered through the rear view mirror once again and could see that the two pursuing cruisers were still coming, but their progress was being hampered even more by mass of zombies.

Reverting his attention to the street ahead, John accelerated, gaining speed once again. Thankfully the street became more and more negotiable the further he drove, with the number of zombies dropping off significantly as well as the number of abandoned vehicles that littered the streets.

As they approached the next underpass, John bled off the speed of the vehicle and came up to it at a near crawl. He was relieved to see that both lanes were clear of vehicles, although there was a congregation of zombies, milling about almost like smokers on a break outside their office. Again he looked into the rear view mirror and could see that the 110’s in their stolen cruisers were slowly but steadily gaining ground, having to negotiate their way through the mass of undead. He noticed the flash of gunfire coming from the vehicles, but if they were shooting at him, the rounds never came close. Most likely they were shooting at the undead that were impeding their progress.

“What me to take several of them out?” Tony asked, looking at the mass of zombies. As if attracted by his words, the zombies turned to focus their attention on the cruiser. Together, they raised their arms and began to approach the car.

“Nah, save your ammo.” John answered. He wiped his grime encrusted face with one hand and turned into the underpass and increased the vehicles speed ever so slightly. He forced the cruiser in-between the undead creatures, knocking several aside and actually running two of the zombies over. The creatures beat at the vehicle ineffectually with their rot encrusted fists in frustration but couldn’t get at the living humans.

In seconds they were through the undead mob and continued south on Macleod trail.  The street was almost deserted, with the exception of a few cars, some parked neatly along the curb, others left in the street, the doors left open and forgotten by the drivers who clearly fled in a panic.

Several blocks passed in utter silence when Tony finally spoke up. “Where are you going, anyhow?”

John didn’t hesitate for a second. “Home, going to get my wife and then see if we can’t get out of the city and head west. We’ve got a cabin in the mountains near Black Diamond.”  He wrestled his eyes from the road for a moment to stare at the younger man sitting beside him. “How about you?”

Tony sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his brown eyes. “Families out in Toronto got no one here. Any problem with me tagging along?”

“Not at all, no way would I abandon a fellow cop to this hellhole.  I can’t say that it’s going to be all that comfortable, but you’re welcome to come.” John told the other man as he slowed down to make his way past a wreck that was located at the intersection of MacLeod and 25^th avenue. Several zombies were milling around the wrecks, one even had an arm that was still partially attached to a shoulder blade, the creature contentedly chewing on the muscle and flesh.

Choking back bile, Tony turned away from the scene as John got passed the accident. The road going up what was known as cemetery hill was completely clear of any vehicles or other obstructions, although he could see a number of figures moving through the trees of Union Cemetery to his left.

Finally passed, the cruiser picked up speed easily as it ascended the road that curved up the hill. Even from his position in the driver’s seat, John could see several zombies standing along the fence line to his right, their hands outstretched as if the very act could halt their progress. In his mind’s eye he could see the C-train tunnel that ran under the cemetery and came out on the south side of MacLeod would be filled with the zombies. He fervently hoped no one was stupid or desperate enough to have attempted to go through that location.

When the cruiser crested the hill, he slowed down. The road could be clear, or it could be filled with abandoned cars or there could be another wreck and he didn’t want to fly into it unawares. Fortunately for them, with the exception of a city bus and a pair of sedans that were pulled off to the side, the street was clear of impediments.

It was then that he noticed just how quickly the two cruisers manned by S dog and the 110’s had gained ground. Biting back yet another curse, John pushed down the accelerator and the cruiser jumped like an electrocuted jack rabbit and sped down the hill.

As he pulled up to the bus and the two sedans, he saw that there were about two car lengths separating the bus from the cars. He hit the brakes and quickly pulled in the space, settling the cruiser so that it was half on the sidewalk with the nose pointing towards the street. “Duck down, but keep your C8 at the ready.” John ordered the TAC officer as he killed the lights and turned off the engine.

John crouched down but kept his head at the same level as the edge of the door. Only a few seconds later the two cruisers stolen by the 110’s roared passed and continued to travel down the all but deserted road. He waited almost half a minute before he finally sat up, watching intently as the tail-lights of the two vehicles grew more and more distant. It was then that he noticed the two vehicles slowed and turned right onto 42^nd avenue.

A chill of fear ran down his spine. Even Tony noticed it. “What’s wrong?”

The big cop shook his head. “Probably nothing, just coincidence. They turned down the same street that I was about to head down.” But John knew differently. It wasn’t pure happenstance that the gangsters would choose that particular road to travel on. He had always figured they knew where he lived and he knew, just knew that they were going for his home.

And his wife.

The cruiser roared to life and he threw it into gear, throwing caution to the wind. The car roared into the street, moving so fast that John nearly lost control of the vehicle, but he quickly brought it under his expert control.

Again Tony was forced to hold onto the dash and door for his very life as the speedometer surpassed the 90 mile an hour mark. Back when there had been law and order, such speed would normally have come with not only a stiff fine but the loss of the vehicle, but John didn’t care. He was worried sick about his wife and didn’t even want to imagine what the 110’s had planned for her.  

Fighting back the unfamiliar emotion of panic, John unexpectedly hit the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road. For several long heartbeats he sat in the driver’s seat, pondering his options. He figured that there was a pretty good chance that S dog might have left one of the two patrol cruisers sitting in ambush for him along the main road that led to his home.

“Fuck it.” The big officer said out loud. 

Tony eyed him curiously. “Got a plan?”

“Yeah, I do. They’re going to be expecting me to head straight home. Angela’s there, hunkered down and ready for a siege, so they’re going to have one hell of a time getting at her. But they’re not expecting me to take a different route, not the way we were heading.” He turned to face the TAC officer and caught the man’s eyes with his. “Ready for a fight?”

“Against those pricks? Fuck yeah!” He said, almost enthusiastically. “By the way, R C? What’s that?”

John chuckled darkly. “I’ve got quite the reputation with the street thugs and gangsters across the city. It stands for Robo Cop.”

The TAC officer’s eyes widened slightly. “You’re Robo Cop? Shit man, even we know who you are, just didn’t make the connection!”

John shrugged, dropping the subject. Checking over his shoulder out of habit, he accelerated and pulled back onto the deserted street. Instead of turning onto 42^nd like he had originally planned, John drove the vehicle further south on MacLeod trail until he hit the intersection of 50^th avenue, where he turned west. On his way he had seen no traffic and there were few moving bodies on the sidewalks or the road itself. He knew that they were undead, as if it had been any survivors, they’d be staying hidden.

Like the downtown core, the power along MacLeod trail was spotty at best. Some of the streets were well lit, while others had plunged into near total darkness, lit only by the surrounding areas that had power. It was surreal to look at, John never having seen it like this before.

He pushed the thoughts aside and concentrated on the road and on getting to his wife. He continued to drive as fast as he could safely down 50^th, swerving around abandoned vehicles and the occasional zombie until he hit Elbow drive, then he turned north. Despite the danger, he turned off the cruisers headlights, plunging the street before him into darkness. The vast majority of the vehicles on the road had daytime running lights, but out of necessity the police cruisers were equipped with lights that could be turned off when needed. After all, the police didn’t like to announce their presence when they were hunting for fugitives, and lights were one sure fire way of doing just that.

Unlike MacLeod trail, this section of the city was completely without power. It made for interesting driving, to say the least.  Fortunately there was still enough ambient light from the burning section of the core to give them sufficient illumination to travel without too much risk to the vehicle.

He and his wife shared a beautiful house that was on Riverdale Ave, almost next door to Stanley Park. John figured that the 110’s would be waiting for him on either 4A St. or 5^th St. and most likely wouldn’t be expecting him to be coming from the West, although by now they were probably wondering why he hadn’t appeared yet.

When he hit the circle at Lansdowne Ave. he pulled the cruiser off to the side of the road and put it in park. “We’re going to hoof it from here, you ready?”

It was very clear that Tony didn’t relish the idea of making his way through the darkened neighborhood on foot, but he really didn’t have any choice in the matter. He simply nodded his acquiesces.

“Don’t use your any of your weapons unless you have to, we don’t want to alert the fuckers that we’re coming.”

That didn’t sit well with Tony at all. “And what the fuck are we supposed to use, harsh language?”

“Your Baton or a knife. They work amazingly well, believe me, I’ve taken enough of the fuckers down that way to know firsthand.”

“If we get mobbed, I’m using my firearms.”

Reluctantly, John nodded. “Agreed. I’ve also seen how quickly a couple of zombies can grow into a mob. It’s fucking scary.”  He opened the door and stepped out into the night.

The smell of uncontrolled fires hung heavily on the air and barely managed to cover up the stench of death. John knew that there were undead around, even if he couldn’t see them. He rallied his already stretched nerves and pulled out his ever present baton, although he left his service piece holstered and his recently acquired AK-47 slung across his back.

Together he and Tony began the short walk to his home. It was only a few blocks away, and he hoped that he would get there in time before S Dog and the surviving members of the 110’s managed to get past Angela’s defenses and into the house.

After they had travelled two blocks and were near the corner of 5A street, he paused long enough to look around. Sure enough, they had ended up attracting an entourage of zombie followers. None of the creatures following were of the deadly sprinter variety, thank god, but he quickly counted over a dozen of the creatures.

Tony took in the sight and audibly swallowed. “Fuck me, that’s a lot.”

John shrugged. “Let’s cut through that yard,” he pointed with the baton to a beautifully manicured yard in front of a large house that had to be worth a million or more. “We’ll hit the riverbank and come up from the back. We might be able to take anyone trying to break into my house by surprise. They’re probably going to concentrating on gaining access, although if they’re smart they’ll have at least one lookout, so we need to stay quiet and keep hidden.”

A moment later there was a loud growling and both men turned to see a middle aged man dressed in a red t-shirt, blue jeans and black work boots running towards them, his hands outstretched and a maniac grin stretching his lips away from bloody teeth.

Cursing, Tony began to raise his C8 but John put a hand on the weapon and pushed it down. “I’ve got him.”  The big cop stepped between Tony and the oncoming sprinter and he crouched low, holding his baton out in front.

The sprinter never slowed, he was so focused on what would become his next meal. Just as he reached John, the warrior lashed out with the baton and smashed it across the zombie’s left knee. The leg gave out with a resounding crack in the quiet night and the creature fell forward. John stood and moved lithely away from the creature, but as he reared back, the zombie lashed out as it fell and caught John across the cheek, the filth encrusted nails gouging deep furrows across his nose and face.

Adrenaline surged through the warrior’s blood and time slowed down around him and the TAC officer. He felt a growl of his own building up to a near roar as it forced its way through his diaphragm and throat.

The zombie snarled back in defiance and lunged at him, seeing that his prey was off balance from the strike.  Once living hands went straight for John’s throat and would have closed upon the flesh if it hadn’t been for Tony.  The sprinter was moving faster than any living target John had ever faced in the past, and he had faced a lot of opponents during his decade as a police officer.

Tony’s baton lashed out of the darkness and would have connected solidly with the sprinter’s right temple, but it ducked at the last instant. Instead of crushing the relatively weak bone at the temple, the baton brushed across the undead creature’s head, barely clipping the top of the skull. If the attack had any effect other than to give John the half second he needed to get out of the range of the zombie’s grasping hands, it didn’t show.

Still slightly off balance, John continued to back away from the sprinter. He had no idea if any of the undead that had been following were close enough to pose a threat, so he had to deal with the creature in front of him quickly, and without using a firearm. The baton in his hand whipped out from the side and came crashing down with a bone splintering crack on the zombie’s outstretched arm. The sprinter didn’t even groan when he lost use of the limb. It dropped to his side, but the other arm was still intent on latching onto the living being before him.

From behind the zombie, John saw Tony staying close on its heels, the baton raised. Fearing that the creature might sense the incoming attack, John faked a lunge at its other good arm, forcing the undead creature to attempt to parry, keeping its focus entirely on him.

It worked.

Tony got close enough that he could see the maggots crawling through the undead creature’s lanky and filthy hair. The baton crashed down on top of the zombie’s skull, caving it in. The sprinter shuddered once, turned to look at Tony with a questioning look and then slumped to the ground.

Feeling the rage borne from combat still simmering inside him, John used the baton with frightening force. Soon all that was left of the zombie’s skull were fragments of bone, chunks of rotting brain matter and congealed blood. Panting, John wiped the gore from the baton and stood.

“Christ, man, you better get that looked at,” Tony gasped out when he got a good look at John’s face. Blood flowed thickly from the torn flesh across his cheek and nose. Tentatively, John reached up and touched the wound.

He didn’t feel a thing.

“Later,” he muttered. “We’ll get Angela first and then deal with this.” He dared to take a quick look around and quickly noticed that the small group of undead had grown significantly. There had to be upwards of twenty of the foul creatures coming at them from all sides.

Wiping away the blood from his face as best he could, John took off towards the house once again. He paused only long enough to make sure that the way to the backyard was clear before he jogged along side the house. Tony was tight on his heels, and the TAC officer kept looking over his shoulder for signs of the undead. The twenty or so were still moving towards them, but they had greatly increased the distance between them and the zombies. Ahead of them the back yard had a gate, which stood partially ajar.

Upon reaching the gate, John paused long enough to give the area a cursory inspection. It appeared that the back yard was clear. “Tony, close the gate behind us. It’s clear that these undead mother fuckers are too stupid to use something as simple as a door handle, so if we can slow them down, all that much better.

Tony nodded his agreement and waited for John to enter the back. The large man moved stealthily towards the riverbank. Tony closed and latched the gate before following. Most of the homes had fences but they ended at the river, so getting around the obstructions would prove to be little more than a slightly inconvenient annoyance.

Crouching along the river, John scanned the scene. He didn’t see any tell tail signs of light coming from the two story house that he shared with his wife, but that didn’t concern him. She knew how to take care of herself. The shadows were almost completely impenetrable to his sight, but he was still able to make out the forms of trees and the back porch. The outline of the house was also quite visible.

It was then that he noticed the shifting of shadows along the back of the building. The shadows were darker smudges against the darkness of the night, and he could tell just by the way that they moved that it was the 110’s. Zombies never moved that gracefully, not even the sprinters. As he watched, he could make out three figures moving along the darkened exterior of his home.

Again John felt his blood begin to boil. The fuckers dared have the audacity to strike at him where he lived. It was the last mistake that any of them would ever make John silently promised the intruders.

Turning, he brought his face next to Tony’s ear. “I’m going to take them out, quickly and noisily. No point in trying to be subtle right now. I just want you to watch my back and make sure none of those undead assholes get the drop on me. Hell, make sure that none of S Dog’s crew gets a chance to get the drop on me.”

“You got it.” Tony said back, his voice barely audible over the sound of the river rushing along only a few feet from where they crouched.

John dipped his hand in the freezing water and brought it up to his face. The ice cold liquid was like fire on the cuts along his cheek and nose, but at the same time it felt good. He did his best to wipe away as much as he could before he padded his face dry on the sleeve of his shirt.

He turned once again to watch as the three intruders crouched near the back entrance, clearly watching the back yard for signs of the undead or more likely for him. They weren’t being too subtle though, John could smell the smoke of marijuana on the breeze and he could see the glowing red tip of a roach being passed between two of the watchers.  The light wasn’t very bright, but it was enough for John to pinpoint their exact location.

He patted the TAC officer on the shoulder and then crab walked along the side of the fence, pausing every few steps to make sure that the gangsters hadn’t noticed him. The young men were completely oblivious to his presence, although he could see that at least one of the gangsters kept scanning the back yard.

John paused and considered reversing his trail to go back to Tony. He considered using the TAC officer as a distraction, but he had to wonder if they hadn’t already breached his sanctum, his castle, his home. Maybe they already managed to gain access to his home from the front door, and were just waiting for someone to let them in, he didn’t know.

He paused once again at the corner of the house and waited while the one gangster on watch stood up and scanned the surrounding area. As silent as a ghost, John slipped the baton back into the belt loop and in the same motion; he pulled his Glock 22 from the holster.

When the gangster looked away and then crouched with his friends, his hand out for the joint, John inched forward. He was about seven feet away from the 110’s when he heard a slight cough and one of the young men quietly snickered.

“Stupid fuck,” the same man said lowly. “That’s some prime shit and you’re coughing?”

Ignoring the banter, John raised the Glock 22 in a smooth motion and pumped three rounds into the trio of gangsters. The report of the police issue firearm was shockingly loud in the near absolute silence of the night.

Dismay turned into cries of pain and fear as the .40 caliber rounds punched through the clothing the gangsters wore and tore flesh and bone asunder. Not one of the rounds fired turned into a killing shot, as John simply couldn’t see well enough to ensure that they were killed outright. Headshots were simply out of the question.  Still, aiming for the center of mass was more than adequate.

The warrior crossed the remaining six feet of distance and the Glock 22 fired three more times, forever stilling the wounded gangsters. He knew that he didn’t have much time so he bellowed out into the night: “Angela, it’s me! I’m coming in.”  John dug into the pockets of his pants and withdrew a key ring. Acting on feel, he found the right key and inserted it into the lock and opened the door.

“Angela?” He shouted into shadow draped interior of their house.

Nothing.

John took several steps into the building, his hand moving on pure instinct going for the light switch on the wall next to the door. He flicked the light switch before he even knew what he was doing. Again, nothing. The room remained bathed in blackness. Then he noticed the barely visible reddish glow coming from the entrance to the living room. He knew that his wife must have built a fire earlier in the day and the light was coming from the dying embers.

Four more steps brought him fully into the kitchen. No sounds came from anywhere inside the two story house. What the fuck? He wondered. Angela had promised that she wouldn’t leave the house. He knew that she would wait for him. When she heard his voice, she should have called out.

Then the realization hit him.

“Step into the living room mother fucker,” a harsh and familiar voice cut through the darkness like a sword.

John stood there, seething in unquenched rage. “Don’t fucking touch her.”

“Oh, what are you going to do RC?” The voice mocked. “Arrest me?”

“If you have so much as harmed a hair on her head,” John growled, his voice so full of menace it was palpable.

“This skinny white bitch?” The voice from the darkness laughed. “I like my bitches with some meat on their ass.” There was a pause for a second and John could hear movement from the living room. “But my boys here, they’re twisted fuckers, they like the skinny bitches. They’ll treat her just fine before they cut her fucking throat. Now get the fuck in here!”

The six words were bitten off one at a time, the command and threat painfully clear.

John began to comply when S Dog spoke once again. “On second thought RC, why don’t you toss those two pieces you’re carrying in ahead of time, and toss that baton you like to break fucking skulls with.”

Fuming, John tossed the handgun into the living room, then he un-slung the AK-47 and tossed it as well, much to the delight of one of the gangsters still with S Dog. Lastly, he pulled the Baton from his belt and threw it in so that it landed with a loud wood on wood thud as it hit the hardwood floor.

“That’s a good piggy,” S Dog taunted. “Now, step into the room slowly mother fucker. One false move and your bitch is going to get a bullet to the brain.”

It was all that John could do to keep himself from rushing into the room and trying to get at S Dog and his cronies. He was still dressed in his body armor and it might be enough to turn the rounds carried by the criminals, but what then?  Doing so would in all likelihood get Angela killed. He would just have to play it by the numbers and bide his time.

Slowly, deliberately, he stepped from the kitchen into the expansive living room. It was dimly lit in the living room, the slight reddish glow he had noticed earlier coming from the fireplace. Clearly Angela had used it to provide not only light but heat to try and dispel the night’s chill. But the dim glow was enough so that he noticed that S Dog and the two men with him were all wearing night vision gear. John briefly wondered why the three he had killed outside weren’t similarly equipped. 

One of the two gangsters still with S Dog bent down to retrieve the weapons that John had tossed in. He nodded in approval as he slipped the Glock 22 into his belt and hefted the AK-47. John forced his gaze away from the armed gangster to see his wife sitting in his favorite leather armchair, her legs and arms unbound, but S Dog stood next to her, a huge automatic held against her temple.  

Angela was a tall woman, standing at nearly six feet in height, only a few inches shorter than John’s six three. Her auburn hair was neatly trimmed and kept shoulder length, and she had a very pretty face, one that most men would call attractive, if not outright beautiful. She was dressed in a heavy white sweater and blue jeans, and had big furry slippers on her feet.

John’s gaze caught his wife’s. There was fear clearly visible in her big brown eyes, but at the same time he saw the defiance in them. He could read in her gaze that she wanted him to mess the gangsters up far worse than he ever had before. John nodded his head to her, showing that he got the unspoken message, loud and clear.

“You really fucked up my gang, didn’t ya?” S Dog snarled, the taunting and mocking tone all but gone.

John stood there, staring, not rising to the bait.

The 110’s leader shrugged his shoulder. “No fucking matter. Bunch of slack jawed pussies anyhow, amazed any of them lived as long as they had.  You kill the three in the back yard.” He stated, not making it a question.

Again, John just stood there, his eyes never leaving S Dog’s face.

S Dog growled and grabbed Angela’s hair with his free hand, and dug the barrel of the heavy automatic into the soft flesh of her temple with the other. She groaned in suppressed pain, and S Dog sneered. “You’re pissing me off mother fucker.”

Fear for his wife turned his blood cold. “Yeah, I fucking killed them!”

The leader of the 110’s released Angela’s hair and eased back on the handgun, but the barrel never wavered. “So, here’s the way it’s going to play out,” S Dog said in a casual voice. “You’re going to strip down to your bare ass and then you’re going to walk out into the street.”

Unsure if he heard correctly, John blinked and then cocked his head to the side. “Say what?”

S Dog looked to the ceiling, clearly rolling his eyes behind the night vision goggles he was wearing. “I said, you’re going to take off all your fucking cloths and you’re going to walk into the fucking street. We’re going to watch as the mother fucking zombies tear your fucking white ass apart and then my boys are going to fuck your bitch. Maybe we’ll keep her alive long enough for you to drag your undead ass back into here and finish her off.”

The beast inside John was screaming to be let loose. If it wasn’t for Angela sitting there, the muzzle of the powerful automatic only a fraction of an inch from her skull, he would have taken a chance and would have attacked. He felt the adrenaline for what had to be the hundredth time in the past ten days rush into his bloodstream. Still, he just stood there, not making any movements.

To emphasize his order, S Dog cocked the automatic’s hammer and harshly pressed the barrel into Angela’s temple. “I’m going to count to three, and if you haven’t started stripping, I’m going to decorate the wall with your lovely bitch’s brains.”

John’s fuming gaze looked directly into S Dog’s night vision goggles, somehow the two men’s eyes locked together despite the equipment.

“One.”

John felt his leg muscles begin to tighten, ready to leap.

“Two.”

“John, just do what he said!” Angela’s clear voice broke through the tension, the fear and pain crystal clear.

With a snarled curse, John relaxed. He was still pumped up on adrenaline but he knew that he was at a standstill, incapable of doing anything except what he was ordered to do. He reached up and began to unclip the buckles that held his ballistic armor in place. He knew that S Dog or one of his surviving cronies would probably put a round into his chest or stomach, but he didn’t dare make a move to try and stop them.

Wolf whistles erupted from the two men standing next to S Dog. It was clear that his two surviving gang members were enjoying this little act of payback. When the final buckle was unclipped, he dropped the armor to the floor. Much to his shock, not one of the three gangsters pulled the trigger.

“Come on now RC,” S Dog prompted, the barrel of the weapon pulling away from Angela’s head to wave at him. “The rest of it.”

A brief plan formed in John’s head, seeing that the leader of the 110’s was becoming distracted. If he could somehow signal Angela without the gangster knowing it, maybe she could help. After all, the stupid fools hadn’t bothered to tie her up, figuring that she was nothing more than some helpless woman who relied on her husband to protect her.

He actually grinned. How wrong they were.

“What the fuck is so funny, RC?” S Dog asked, confused by the sudden grin on John’s blood stained face.

As John was about to answer, a shot rang out from the kitchen behind him. The gangster on the left of Angela’s head snapped back, the night vision gear shattering as the heavy round punched home. The man dropped the AK-47 he had taken and his hands reached up to his face, a scream coming from his mouth.

Without hesitation, Angela’s arm snaked out and she grabbed S Dog’s arm by the wrist and savagely twisted it. The gangster cried out in surprise and pain and the huge automatic boomed deafeningly in the living room. John felt the displaced air as the round passed only inches from his head to bury itself in the wall behind him.

It was at that exact moment that he let the beast loose, allowed the warrior that relished combat with all its soul to take over. He closed the distance between himself and S Dog in less than a single heartbeat, his massive and scarred hands going out to grab hold of the hand and wrist that held the automatic weapon. With a savage twist of his arms, augmented by his hips, he wrenched S Dog’s arm almost out of the socket, snapping the wrist. Miraculously, S Dog still maintained his grip on the handgun. At the same time he executed a perfect roundhouse kick and caught the gangster standing off to S Dog’s side in the short ribs.

Almost in perfect union, the two men screamed out in pain. A second shot boomed out from the direction of the kitchen and the gangster who was holding his face doubled over, blood pouring from his mouth as the round punched through his stomach, burrowing deep into the man’s intestinal tract.

Lips pulled back from a snarl that would put a wolf to shame, John wrenched even harder, tearing muscle and tendon. Finally S Dog’s fingers opened in a spasm and he dropped the heavy automatic handgun. Releasing his hold, John turned his scarred hand into a fist and backhanded S Dog, causing the gang leader to stumble back.

As he fought, Angela was out of the chair like she had been propelled from a cannon. She instantly dropped to all fours and searched the dimly lit floor for the handgun that S Dog had been forced to drop. She found the weapon as a third shot rang true from the kitchen, catching the same gangster in the chest. The man burbled through blood flecked lips as he collapsed first to his knees and then face first onto the floor.

John closed the distance between himself and S Dog and grabbed the night vision goggles from the gangsters head and tossed them aside as the gang leader gibbered in agony, his good hand holding his ruined right arm. John then grabbed the man with both hands by the collar. It was something that the vast majority of true martial artists would never do, especially against someone who was trained in one of the myriad of forms that were available to learn. John didn’t care; he was going to show S Dog the error of his ways.

Despite the pain John had inflicted with the kick to his ribs, the other gangster managed to bring his weapon up and was about to pull the trigger when S Dog’s massive automatic roared, the sound like that of a dragon bellowing its rage in the living room. The heavy cop killer round punched through the left side of the gangster, ripping out a fist sized chunk of flesh and muscle.

He dropped with nary a word.

With savage strength fueled by fear, pain and pure rage, John smashed his forehead into S Dog’s nose. Cartilage collapsed beneath the assault and blood sprayed down the front of John’s face and shirt. Still holding S Dog in his steel like grip, John smashed his head into the man’s face twice more before the gangster collapsed to the floor, unconscious from the brutal assault.

A moment later, Tony entered the living room from the kitchen entrance. He took a quick look around and nodded in satisfaction. “Good Job, John.”

It was like someone had pulled a plug, John felt the rage and fear drain from him as he surveyed the scene. Angela was already on her feet and rushed to embrace him. He closed his eyes as she fell into his arms as she had a million times before. She held him, just breathing. Finally after what felt like an eternity but only a few second had passed he whispered; “I love you, with all my soul. Did these assholes hurt you in any way?”

She pulled back her head so she could look at him and shook her head. “I love you too, baby. No, they didn’t have enough time.”

“How’d they get in?” He asked?

Angela looked very sheepish. “I fell asleep while waiting for you.  They picked the lock and were on me before I knew what was happening.”

He was about to speak when a groan reached his ears. Scowling, feeling the anger returning, he looked down at the prone form of S Dog, seeing that the man was beginning to stir. He quickly stole a kiss and let his wife go.

Tentatively she reached up and touched the ragged torn flesh on his cheek and nose. He winced as she touched, but felt comforted at the same time. “I’ll tell you about it later,” he breathed.

Looking back at Tony and then to his wife he pointed down to the gangsters. “C’mon we’ve got work to do.”

***

Although horribly wounded, the two gangsters that were with S Dog were still alive, however even if they had been given a chance to receive the care afforded by Calgary’s best trauma wards, they wouldn’t have a chance of survival.

The two men were lying on the floor of the basement recreation room that had been John’s pride and joy for so many years. Fortunately for him, they had been undergoing renovations when the Rising had begun and the floor was covered in plastic tarps. Several bare light bulbs hung from wires, but they were using Coleman lanterns for illumination due to lack of power.

S Dog was manacled by his wrists to the bare support beam. John had taken great delight in using his handcuffs for the task. He was starting to stir as John finished cutting away his underwear, leaving the man completely naked. S Dog’s eyes snapped open and he screamed in agony, his arms held above his head, the ruined right arm jutting out from his shoulder in a very un-natural manner.

Stoically, John stood before him, his blood splattered face a stony mask. “Seems tables have turned, mother fucker.”

Despite the pain, S Dog took a deep breath and then took in his surroundings. Tears began to pour from his eyes in huge drops and he tried to sniff, but cried out in pain. “I’m sorry,” he managed to mumble.

John crossed his arms as Angela and Tony came to stand next to him, their eyes never leaving the face of the gangster. “I don’t care.”

S Dog’s puffy eyes grew wide. “You can’t do this to me man! You’re a cop!”

With a shake of his head, John answered. “I haven’t been a cop since you broke into my house and threatened to kill me and my wife.”

“But there are laws!”  The gangster cried out in mounting terror.

“Not any longer,” John said, his voice even. “Government is all but gone; fuckers like you are trying to take control of the streets. The Rising made took care of all forms of law and order.”

“Please, RC, let me go!”

“Nope.” He glanced down at the two gangsters, knowing that it was only a matter of time before they passed on.  “See, you were going to make me go out into the streets naked and you were going to watch me die. Then you were going to rape my wife. I can’t let that go unpunished.”

“We was only kidding man!” The gangster wailed.

“No, you weren’t.” John stated flatly. “So, here’s what’s going to happen. Your two friends are going to die, and then they’re going to rise. It’s the new law of nature. You’re going to be alive and when they do return from the dead, they’re going to be really hungry.”

S Dog’s eyes widened in pure horror. “No, Please! I’m begging you, don’t do this to me! Just kill me quick! Please!”

“I have to wonder how many of your victims pleaded like that with you before you killed them.” John said his voice still flat and emotionless. He put his arm around Angela’s shoulders and turned away. Tony was right on his heals. Together, the three of them walked over to the stairs that led to the main floor of the house.

S Dog’s wail of pure anguish reached his ears and he paused long enough to look back at the gangster. He caught the man’s eyes and held them with his steel gaze and spoke a single word…

“Payback.”

End