Chapter 8: Within Walls

Phoenix Air Base - USA

The makeshift conference hall descended into yet another awkward stillness, following the hour-long scientific exposition by Dr Elizabeth Harlem for the eighteenth time this month. From the very day the military boys spotted her out on the barren wasteland, her life switched into a wildly different sort of turmoil than the one outside. The high-stakes rescue operation of one of the world's best virologists had to be chaperoned with soaring expectations. A cure for the incurable virus, to quote the exact words of General Phil Klezmer.

But out of all the presentations she delivered, this one stood different. Not because of her poor presentation skills somehow obtaining a professional steadiness and stature suddenly, but for the man who listened to her words-- Mr. Dale Caruthers.

Dale was a senior in the university Elizabeth did her graduation in. Their fields and interests were as different as a dry desert could be from a fresh waterfall, but what was meant to happen had to happen. Fate brought the two together on a group project, and soon, the hot athletic Astrophysics dude, was passionately in love with the brilliant, beautiful genius from Virology. The news spread like wildfire throughout the university, but as time went on, the two had to diverge ways, knowing one staying with another could only shatter their dreams. A mutual agreement made of love so that their loved one could achieve their best.

But here they were, time playing its games again.

"So, Lizzie, what you're saying is that we need a zombie—alive?" Dale concluded on a confusing note, not solely because he was confounded whether zombies were alive or not, but also how they were supposed to apprehend and contain one of them. At first, it was almost impossible to kill one of these, and now they are evolving and hunting in packs. It would be a suicide mission to venture outside the walls and capture one among them. But Elizabeth was right … she always was. If they were to find an antidote for the whole zombification stuff, one of the first things they needed was a zombie. To test things on, to know whether it will work the way they want to. But how?

"Yeah, you're right, Mr. Caruthers. We need one. Alive." Elizabeth's response made Dale realize that years had passed since they passed uni. Mr. Caruthers, that's how Lizzie wanted to address him. Not even Dale, not her unique, sweetest variation of the term 'darling', but Mr. Caruthers.

But forgotten in the lost memories that soared across the silent chamber was another man who survived the horrors humanity always had coming.

Brad Marconi remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout the entire session. He couldn't survive a day without someone appreciating how sarcastic he was, and his silence went unnoticed on a day when all that noticeable was love. But there was also something eerie to his quietness that the conflicted lovers in the room failed to see.

A low grunt was how it began. Brad fell off his seat, sinking his fingers deep into the concrete. He tried his best to remain calm, but a piercing headache was all he could feel. Like sharp needles prodding every inch of his skull, he screamed in pain, which grew crisper and crisper with every moment. His vision blurred. A shining light enough to send him into a seizure overthrew the dim, melancholic lighting of the hall. Teeth clenched, nails digging into the rugged floor—it didn't take them long to realize they were in trouble.

"Brad, are you okay?" Dale slowly sauntered towards Elizabeth, standing between her and his old friend. He was no longer a friend, he knew that within his logic, but his heart told him otherwise, "Brad, look at me." But it was too late. Brad Marconi was only a shadow, deep inside a carnivore, if not lost forever. Dale placed his hands on the holster, sensing the gun inside, preparing for the worst case. There was only one way out of the hall, and it wasn't an easy one. If there was any way he could contain his old friend within the makeshift chamber and defend his old lover until they escape the room, he would have done that. But when Brad looked straight into his eyes—when the monster looked straight into his eyes, he knew it was hopeless.

His movements had to be quick. Dale clutched the hands of his old lover, shaking her out of the stillness that took over her. The moment Brad leapt at them from the top of the table, Dale took his gun outside the holster and squeezed the trigger as tight as he could. But the firearm hesitated to let out its true might, forcing Dale to push Elizabeth aside towards the door, and engage in hand-to-hand combat with the beast. He lunged the monster away with his elbows, added with a kick to the thighs to send him further away from the two of them.

Before Dale could retain his fighting stance, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulders. Canines sank deep into his flesh, almost scratching against his bones. He yelled in anguish and threw a punch to its right chin, sending it crashing against the whiteboard that Elizabeth used until then.

If the creature were to rebound one last time into a fistfight, that would have marked the end of life within the walls. But Elizabeth got hold of the firearm, which had slipped past the chairs, and reloaded it yet another time. This time, whatever Brad had transformed into did not stand a chance. The fire scorched him to the very core, not leaving an inch of his body free. It was rage that took the form of fire from Elizabeth's palms. After all, love knew no bounds from the day it crashed on the shores of societal life. Murder was the least of crimes committed in the name of love.

As the burning monster crashed against the floor on the other end of the room, Lizzie threw the gun away, raising Dale from the ground. She clasped him around the hips to ensure he wasn't harmed when she shouldered him out of the room. Though the bite hurt him with such vehemence, Caruthers felt good holding her tight like the old days, "I got your zombie for you. That wasn't so hard, was it?" He gave her a slight smile despite the pain, trying his best to extract that precious pleasantness from her facade that he hadn't seen for long. God, she is still beautiful.

Elysée Palace: France

No matter how many times Andre cracked and popped his neck, the soreness remained, unwilling to leave him at ease. For the past few weeks, his sleep schedule had been messed up, and everything was going south in a hurry. He was in desperate need of a break, but the horrendous circumstances barely left him any space to breathe. Nothing is ever going to be the same.

But at the very least, the narcissist has shown slight symptoms of letting down his humongous ego. There was absolutely no way the presidential house could keep the mindless creatures at bay all on its own. The helpless soldiers lay down their lives every day, listening to the mad ramblings of an old man. Antoine Quessmann was never a good President, but the apocalyptic event had driven him even more nuts. If they were all going to die any sooner than they were supposed to, there would only be one person to blame.

Peace of mind-- Andre whispered as he turned the doorknobs to the top-floor guest room.

Although it took a great deal of patience and immense self-control to serve under an ignorant psychopath, it left Andre with the luxury of a furnished chamber and ample sustenance while hundreds roamed the streets in terror. Humankind after all, has always wanted a place to return to. Something to call their own, somewhere to belong.

The guest room wasn't his home, essentially ... but it played out all the necessary functions: a place to stay, relax and sleep, though the latter procedures weren't at their best.

"Hey, big belly! Having fun?" He spoke while turning to the couch as he tossed his official coat and ID onto the mattress. He had always loved taunting her from the very night they met each other. It wasn't a Christmas night or a Halloween, but only the tiresome evening of a regular workday. But love crept its way in, and destiny converged the two together in the grand calculus of the universe. They were often misunderstood as a duo of mischievous siblings rather than a bickering couple. But their senseless squabbles only bound them together even more, never even leaving a crack in their unbreakable bond.

"Dinner outside?" Andre smirked as he searched through the contents of his shoulder bag, "Honey, haven't you heard the news yet? Turns out, zombies are roaming the streets. If anything's getting served out there, it's us." He giggled at the uncomfortable joke, picking up the reports on the Phoenix Camp and walking off to the fridge. A ton of files to study overnight diminished his morale in a split-second, but the notion of having her by his side eased his conscious a little. "Sweetie, you can't skip your dinners every day." He spoke as he carried the supplies for the night to the dining room.

"Come on now, don't be lazy. We can't teach our offspring bad manners, remember?" He spoke into the darkness of the empty cabin. After all, how could a couple of framed photographs react to all his little quips like his lost beloved?

Outside Phoenix Camp Wall: USA

"To the barracks." Margo roared, her voice crisp and scary. They had run so far, and yet, a single misstep would have left them meals for the undead. The barracks were the only spot that could protect them from the massive, bloodthirsty cluster. It was only a few meters ahead of them, but Clint and Jules could already feel their legs failing them. The shock of the plane crashing down into the woods, the notion of Elena possessing a zombie legion … it was too much for them to handle. And Margo being able to wade and rescue them from a giant gathering of the mindless, while being one among them, was a fact they did not know whether to be scared or comforted about.

"Why don't these things walk funny?" It was Jules who raised his concern. Obviously, the lies that the popular media speculate about the events that are yet to happen and even the ones that had happened often confuse the regular viewers into doubting their surrounding reality. As the trio darted further into the woods, they spotted the metallic door, able to save their lives. The distance between the footsteps grew wider and wider until a point they were almost hurdling their way through the rugged earth. The flesh-eating mindless beasts almost grabbed them by their clothes and pushed them back into the mushy dirt land many times, but life gave them another chance.

"Close the doors!" Clint screamed as he barely made it inside the barracks. Jules and Jessup were already inside, both being comparatively better athletes than Clint ever was. A severed hand joined the three behind the sealed doors.

*****

"You can't be right. Phil would never do that. He can't." Clint almost protested within the darkness and emptiness that surrounded them. He was sure Phil could never do that. A biological weapon? Warfare?

Domination? That can never be what Phil stands for. At least, not the Phil he knew. He could never do that!

But Margo's face remained intact. She led them down the sealed doors through the darkness, careful with each step of hers. Any of these hallways could hide one of the undead, and she wasn't ready to take the chance. Her conscience remaining without flaws wasn't something on which she could solely rely. If it ever affected one of her two accomplices, that could only end up with her having to kill them. And she wasn't prepared to lose another.

She ceased and shifted towards the two in front of another sealed door, "You don't have to believe me, Clint, but you will have to believe them. In fact, I'm quite sure you will be convinced without even a trace of doubt the moment I open these doors." And he was. How could he not believe his own blood? It was all he wished to see from the very moment he returned to this godforsaken planet. He embraced both of his sons tightly within his arms, not willing to let go yet another time. But he couldn't help but think, who are we even fighting against anymore?

Written By: Chaco_Stephen