Airport Terminal

May 29, 2009

Airport terminal

The airport departure lounge was quiet. The passengers huddled together in small groups, talking in hushed tones, while the TV’s were muted but still tuned to the news stations as they showed scene after scene of civilizations collapse.

As they sat there under the watchful eyes of the armed guards a PA announcement cut through the near silence “All level 2 response teams report to the Departure Short Term Parking”. With that several guards moved quickly though the terminal and away from the passengers.

With a low roar a large 747 landed heavily on the long empty runway and began to taxi slowly toward the terminal. As it turned off of the end of the runway into a taxi lane the gate agent picked up the phone and dialed a number. After a brief moment listening to the phone, she set it down, called over the other ticket agent and they both walked away from the desk and through a side door.

Again the PA system kicked in “All armed personnel report to the Departure Short Term Parking. All armed personnel report to the Departure Short Term Parking immediately!” The remaining guards looked at each other, and sensing the panic that had crept into the announcer’s voice toward the end of the announcement, they ran toward the parking deck.

As the guards ran off into the terminal the passengers looked nervously out into the empty terminal and across the runway where the 747 was still making its way toward them. Those who strained their ears could make out the occasional ‘pop’ sound of distant gunfire as it echoed down the empty halls.

After several nerve wracking minutes, in which all the passengers could hear the distinctive sound of gunfire drawing closer and the occasional drawn out scream, the PA system cut in “Oh God! They’re everywhere! If you can hear me, please, please, come to the announcement booth, their right outside the door. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God” Suddenly the sound of smashing glass and splintering wood screeched out over the PA “NOOO, Help me, HELP ME!” The announcer, still screaming began to fade as he moved away from the mike “You bastards! Stop, Sto…” he was suddenly cut off as the sound of a heavy object falling to the ground filled the speakers. As they listened, the passengers could hear the announcer as he choked, until finally silence. Then a low moan issued out over the PA.

“OK everyone, we need to get on the plane, it’s almost here!” A passenger had stood up, visibly shaken from what he had just heard, but now, more than ever, determined to get on the plane. “Everyone, get in line, take only what you need, we need to get on this thing as soon as we can, if you have a large bag, leave it”.

People began to form a line at the gate, taking a few supplies from their bags and peering out at the runway as the plane drew closer.

“Hey, the guards are coming back, it’s ok guys, I think they’ve taken care of it!” a passenger called out, as several guards rounded the distant corner of the connecting terminal.

“Uhh, no. I don’t think they did sort it out” another passenger commented as more figure rounded the corner. Looking at the oncoming group they could see the blood across their clothes, and the shambling steps they took toward them.

The first passenger tried to reassure the now panicking group “Look the planes almost here, as long as we board fast were going to be safe, look you can even see the captain waving at us…” As the passengers watched they could see into the plane’s cockpit, where the two pilots were not at the controls, but were pressed up against the door. Suddenly they were thrown away from it and two figures lurched in, the first bloomed with blood as the captain unloaded the cockpit pistol into its chest. Without stopping, the figure reached out, grasped the captain’s throat and pulled. Blood sprayed out across the cabin as the Captain tried to staunch the flow, covering instruments and then the cockpit windows as he spun and fell to the ground.

Several passengers cried out as the scene was obscured and the entire line of people began to move away from the oncoming aircraft. Turning they found the zombies were almost in the departures lounge having sped up their slow lurching when they saw the group. The passengers ran toward the middle of the room, sheer panic taking over. Several ran to the side door but found it locked from the other side and as they turned to see the first zombies reach out toward the group, the plane hit the terminal.

The screech of tearing metal filled the air as the unchecked plane ripped through the wall, shattering glass windows and throwing passengers and zombies against each. Even as they were crushed into walls and support pillars the zombies reached out for the passengers, tearing at their flesh as the passengers screamed out, now crushed against the very things they were supposed to be fleeing from. As the plane’s wings barreled into the terminal the remaining fuel detonated, roaring flame filled the entire terminal, incinerating zombies and passengers alike.

The fire raged for days, burning most of the terminal out and collapsing the connecting bridges to the central building. As the fires roar began to die out the low guttural moans took over, echoing across the deserted airport PA system until finally the backup generators ran out of fuel, and with a final static hiss, they faded to silence.


Lone Outpost

May 6, 2009

Desert ValleyThe crackle of gunfire filled the dry desert air around the high walled camp. Spaced sparsely apart the wall guards sat in their chairs, taking careful aim at the immense flood of undead surrounding their small camp and filling the valley as far as the eye could see.

With only two days warning the group had found the three deserted buildings, and begun cutting the surrounding trees down and making them into ramshackle walls. No one had fully believed the runners breathless account of what was coming their way but months of running and fighting had taught them to believe in anything. They believed as the first crested the hill line and stumbled toward the camp, quickly followed by tens, then hundreds, then thousands more.

Mike leaned back in his chair and yelled for more ammo, his hands were leaden from holding the gun and the constant recoil of the rifle. He rubbed his eyes as one of the runner kids ran up the barricade and dropped a single clip next to his feet and swiftly scooped up the empty clips.
“One clip? That’s it?”

“Sorry Mike, Barlo says were down to the last thousand rounds, you have to make the shots count”

Mike growled as the kid ran off, slammed the new clip home and took careful aim into the pressed pack of bodies below him. Holding his breath for the shot he could hear shouts going up behind him over the constant moaning of the zombie horde.

Pulling the trigger and smiling as pieces of brain, hair and skull flew into the dry air; he turned in time to see Leslie struggling to free her leg from the outstretched hand of a zombie as it pulled itself over the barricades lip. As she struggled, hitting it with the butt of her rifle, Mike could see the sea of zombies had risen higher near her section of the wall. He cursed, realizing that she had forgotten her training and had been shooting the closest targets, creating a ramp for the next in line to climb.

Smashing its skull in with the butt of her gun, Mike watched as she struggled to force a new clip in place as another zombie pulled itself up and clamped its jaws down on her leg. “Kill it!” she screamed “Kill it! Kill it with fire!” Mikes eyes widened as one of the runners ran toward the zombie, tore the cap off of a flare, and jammed it into its eye socket. The zombie shuddered and fell back into the horde, lifeless. Mike drew a breath of relief as Leslie, and another shooter held the line as the runner started to push the lifeless bodies away from the wall with an old flag pole.

His relief quickly turned to terror as he saw the first wisps of smoke drift up from below the runner’s feet. The runner immediately let go of the flag pole, screaming for help and ran back toward the center of the camp and scooped up one of the water buckets, but it was too late. Flames, started from the flare, spread along the barricade, igniting the dry clothes of the closely packed horde. As he watched the flames began to spread around and away from the camp, jumping from zombie to zombie and filling the sky with thick black smoke.

Mike turned back to the horde, screamed his rage at what he now knew was inevitable and started to fire wildly into the press of bodies and flames. As the last round tore into a zombie, he jumped up from his chair and ran down toward the center of the camp, arriving in time to see Leslie’s wall collapse from the heat and press of bodies on the other side.

Zombies poured through the opening, flames rising from their bodies and outstretched hands as they made their way toward the small group of survivors. Mike pulled his rifle to his shoulder, took aim and pulled the trigger. The empty ‘click’ rang hollow in his ears as realization he had no escape from the undead, and that he had not saved a round for himself.

Listen to the details

November 18, 2008

“HaHa! Yeah! come on then, COME ON! Chaz, gimmie one of those bottles, I’m gonna light the fuckers on fire!”

Chaz looked at Barry “Are you sure Baz? Isn’t that like, murder or something?”

Chaz grabbed the bottle from him, and started to stuff an old rag into the top “Nah, they said it was OK on the news, they got no feeling or somethin. Anyway, cops are too busy up at the stadium, who gives a rats eh?”

Facing the two shuffling undead Chaz lit the rag and hurled the flaming bottle at them. It struck the first one directly in the face, shattering and engulfing them in flames.

“Yeah, burn you freaks! Burn!”

As the flames swirled around the two zombies, they continued their advance on the boys, arms outstretched jaws hanging open.

“Shit, why don’t they stop?” said Chaz, turning to Barry, who was no longer by his side. Turning Chaz looked around the alley, “Baz? Where you go mate? You’re not scared are ya?”. Reaching down he picked up his beer can and turned back to watch the bonfire. As he turned the first zombie had closed the gap to less than ten feet. Shocked, Chaz dropped his beer and turned to run, kicking into the gas can at his feet. As he stumbled and the zombies bore down on him the gas fumes ignited around him. The flames clung to his jacket and hair. Screaming he dropped to the ground, trying to put the flames out. As he rolled over he saw the first zombie, glass embedded face melting from the heat, reach out and grab his throat.

His shrill screams quickly stopped as the zombies tore into him.

Behind a trash can nearby Baz quietly wet himself and prayed they wouldn’t see him.

Weapon of Choice – Part 1

July 9, 2008

“Watch this Marcy, COME HERE AND BURN FOUL FIENDS!” and with that Pete scooped up a large pink super soaker leaning against the wall and pushed open the front door.

He sprayed the first zombie with a strong stream of gasoline from the soaker, igniting the stream as he fired. As the first zombie lit up like a walking bonfire, he started spraying the second with the stream of fire. Suddenly and with a loud WHOOMPH, the nozzle melted away allowing the flame to ignite the compression tank, which exploded and engulfed Pete in a red fireball.

While Pete rolled on the floor trying to extinguish the flames engulfing him, Marcy screamed as the Zombies, unbothered by the flames, reached toward her.