Taking A Stand (edited)

There was more than he'd anticipated. But behind the cell doors, it didn't matter if there was one or a hundred, all he needed was one stab and they'd be another body on the floor.

When they stormed the corridor, all the shouts went quiet and with a little persuasion he got all the… Infected? He wasn't quite sure what to call them, but whatever it was sure seemed infectious.

It wasn't quite as exciting as it seemed after he killed the first few, it became more tedious than anything else; a simple matter of timing and moving. After he'd killed most of the first bunch, he called to the other inmates to attract more. Which worked, although to a lesser degree than the first.

But something did happen while he was killing off the second batch of these newly dubbed 'infected'.

"Ahh!" he heard Eric shout. He turned back to see Eric frozen with his improvised weapon pointed at their dead inmate, who now appeared less dead and crawling over towards Eric.

Levi, although already beginning to grasp the scale of what might be unfolding, was staggered by the implications. It was one thing for transmission of body fluids via bites to cause these infected, at least that had been his working theory. But it was a whole nother thing if a man, who by all measures appeared to have no wound, transformed after death. Turning something he'd labelled catastrophic but manageable, into something of civilisation-ending proportions.

But now wasn't the time to dwell on those thoughts. Once he'd escaped his cell, and any immediate danger, could he then spend a moment to let sink in the potential scale it might develop into.

Eric didn't need his help to put their cellmate to rest, turns out they weren't as intimidating if they could only use one leg and crawled. He'd fumbled his first few attempts at killing it out of sheer nerves, but after he was confident he wouldn't get hurt, he finished the job.

After the brief interlude, he went back to finishing the second wave. Succinctly finishing the wave before calling out to the inmates for another lure. When all the shouting began, it appeared to be some kind of trigger as numerous gunshots sounded making all the inmates go silent. The shots continued sporadically before it came to an abrupt halt.

Levi was unsure what to make of it when he saw the metal cell door swing open, the mound of bodies against the door tumbling into the room. Relief lit his face when he saw the open door. As much as he played it cool if they couldn't get someone to open the doors, there was very little they could do but sit and wait until help came. But in times like this releasing a few cellbirds wasn't likely going to be top of the list of priorities. But it didn't matter anymore. They got out.

Stepping over the impressive mound piled outside, he met several fearful gazes. It didn't surprise him, he held a bloody bone in his hand, and the corpses spoke for themselves.

He didn't stand on ceremony and walked over to a pistol, a Glock 22, beside a dead officer, picking it up. He checked the mag and cleared the chamber before slipping it into his waistband. Then walked to the corpse and pilfered any magazines before detaching a utility belt and strapping it to himself, the Glock 22 finding a new home in the holster.

This seemed to spark the inmates into action as they began to scavenge for any firearms or weapons nearby. Levi on the other hand, cased the area and then began to check the bodies in front of his cell.

Most of them were officers, and non-combat office personnel with a few civilians mixed between. Levi began by dragging them one by one, stripping them of all clothes or items, then checking for any visible marks. This got him a few weird looks, but the pile of small firearms and other equipment kept the others from thinking too much about it.

On most bodies, there almost always was a bite mark of some sort. With some, it was obvious, with succinct bite marks that broke the skin, or large areas gnawed away. But for others, all he found were small marks or scratches.

The ones he was the most concerned with though were the couple he'd found nothing, or at least nothing besides gunshots. That spoke of transmission through other modes besides body fluids. It could be in the air, water, some foodstuff, or any other number of things. So from now on he'd have to be careful about what he drank or ate.

"What are you doing?" a mousy teenager, asked Levi. She had auburn hair, and stared up at him with innocent eyes.

He'd noticed her hovering near him while he checked the bodies, and didn't know why. But with her looking skittish, whenever any of the other more rough-looking inmates looked over it soon became clear.

"That's none of your business darlin'," replied Levi, getting to his feet. He dusted himself off, turned away and walked away towards the exit. The girl paled at that and watched him walk away.

"Hey, where the fuck you goin'!" shouted, a slim-built man with olive skin, making the girl jump and scamper after Levi.

"Away from this shithole," Levi laughed, ignoring the girl who now walked a distance behind him.

The man went to shout again, only to stop when he saw a stocky man of darker complexion walk in the same direction. "Why the fuck are you following him?" he asked out.

"Looks like he knows what he's doing," the man responded, pointing over at the mound of stripped dead bodies while continuing on. The Mexican man clicked his tongue before he joined in with the succession of other prisoners that had already begun to follow.

—

It was eerie. The halls were quiet, despite the evidence of violence littered everywhere. He found no resistance, most of them likely attracted by the prisoners earlier. Vibrant splatters of red and bullet holes covered the walls, the sterile lighting illuminating the eerie reminders of death that decorated the halls.

He heard the first growls from a door ahead, the force of the infected within making the door strain. "Leave it to me. Don't move on your own and don't make noise," Levi said, to the ragtag group that followed him.

They carried a variety of weapons including pistols, table legs or police batons. But they had yet to see any action.

Noise rocked Levi as the door opened, and an infected came lunging at him. He let the creature fall and slammed his foot down on its head, dark blood splashing across the room. He heard a muffled scream, but ignored it, instead focussing on the three infected who now turned from eating in the corner. Levi took the initiative and ran at them before they could react, kicking an oaken table over at them knocking all three backwards and pinning two behind it.

He went for the one that wasn't pinned and scrambling to get to its feet. He whipped his foot and connected with its head, sending it back to the floor. Crushing its head, before he turned and dodged backwards from the two infected that had pushed away the table. The first ran straight at him, and he sidestepped and swept its feet. The other infected seemed different and it stumbled towards him.

One kick sent the stumbler backwards, and he turned and dealt with the other. It still hadn't got up and one well-placed stomp ended its life.

This new stumbling variant interested him. He watched it struggle to get back to its feet and wondered why it differed so much from its sprinting counterparts. When it got to its feet, Levi baited it into the hallway and walked over to the inmates who stood gawking. "Y'all can deal with this one."

Nobody looked keen to take on the task, but two men stepped forward towards the creature. The smaller one, an athletic dark-skinned man, launched a haymaker with a baton sending the infected stumbling backwards. The larger man followed up and smashed a table leg against its skull knocking it to the ground.

Once it was down, some of the other men ran forward and they all began bombarding its body with whatever weapons they'd scrounged. They bludgeoned it, their grunts of exertion sounding as they, exhausted, lost themselves in the adrenaline.

Levi sighed and shook his head. "Enough." he raised his voice, making the attackers stop brutalising the corpse that had long since stopped moving. There were a few sobering breaths when they met his icy gaze and observed their own handiwork. Several looked unwell after the fact.

"Well, that was a mess. But I'm not gonna hold that one against you. Everyone gets a bit excited when they first pop their cherry," Levi told the group, his tone genial.

"I hadn't realised I'd have an entourage earlier so let me clear this up now. You're following me. I'm gonna do what I want, and if you have a problem with that you can fuck off now," he stated, the eyes staring back at him affronted, but nobody moved.

"Now that we've got that established, If you're gonna follow me, y'all at least need to show you can hold your own. And you did… But what I saw ain't gonna cut it," Levi continued, the geniality now gone. "Don't. Lose. Your. Fucking. Head."

"That takes time though, but always remember it," he said, his voice returning to normal. "A couple of things though. Aim for the head, the only place that seems to kill them. They have no agility, use it against them. They can be maimed to impede mobility. Okay, any questions?" Nobody spoke.

"Great, we continue on. We're searching for survivors. They might have information on the weapons lockup, but more important, on what's happening." Levi finished and led the uneasy group deeper into the station.

—

How had things gone bad so fast? It was only this morning that I was laughing and joking with Johnson. But why was he now coughing through his feverish delirium, in my arms?

Is this god's punishment for humanity's sins? Cause if not god, what in the world could create such abominations?

It started as a few unusual cases throughout the week, some unexplained homicides that looked more like animal maulings. However, within a few days, it got worse. But, all it took was one day for everything to turn to hell.

Screams began pouring through the radio: attacks in the hospitals, attacks in the schools and attacks in the parks, with each officer having an account more spine-tingling than the next.

Some made it back. Some didn't. But those who returned all said the same thing. That this was something supernatural. Anything other than a headshot was useless and from the bandaged bitemarks, it was clear this information didn't come free.

The sheer magnitude of what was occurring was beyond everyone's belief. And when the illness began to plague those bitten, we were wrenched further into despair.

Those afflicted suffered a slow death. One that dragged out over many hours. And soon, our already understaffed ranks thinned. Our dead comrades kept in a storage room until we figured out a better solution; the hospital's hotspots of combat.

That should have sent warning signals–after all, the link was evident. Perhaps it was the fact that reports swamped our lines. But probably it was because they were our friends. Our comrades. Our wedding guests. Our family.

It was already too late by the time we made the link between the bite and the infection. We already had a room full of bodies back at the station. There was no guide on how to handle a horde of revived comrades. And even more, there was no guide on how to stop a grieving friend from opening the door and opening the gates of hell.

And hell it was. Only a scream that soon disappeared alarmed us that something was amiss before the station flooded with a tide of our dead comrades. It was hard enough to concentrate and hit the target of the head when it was a stranger running towards you. But when it was your comrade–somebody you knew, it became much harder.

A hesitation crept into every decision, dulling reactions and making a perilous situation more dangerous. It would be difficult even to call what happened a struggle. It was a massacre. A simple one-sided massacre.

Caught unprepared, forced to fight several dozens at proximity, where firearms were disadvantaged. We lasted only minutes, Johnson getting bitten in the chaos. Leaving us stuck inside a room barricaded by whatever we could find, the sounds of our other comrades dying beyond the walls.

If we couldn't escape, this would be our tomb. There was no food and no water within the conference room, and if the infected didn't kill us, the slow grasp of dehydration and starvation would.

Alphonso was our last hope. We'd heard the commotion of the prisoners and decided to make an opening to give Alphonso a shot at opening the holding cells. To give us the distraction we needed to give us a slim chance to escape.

Sure it was cold, but they were criminals anyway. I didn't care much for them in normal times, much less now. Besides, if we didn't escape, I doubted our chances of getting rescued, not with the other precincts dealing with the same situation all over the city. But for now, all we could do was wait and hope.

My hand grasped Johnson's as his incoherent ramblings continued. I knew what I had to do, but at least he could have his last moments. As soon as he drew his last breath, I'd no longer have a reason to put it off. It might make me selfish, but I was man enough to admit that I couldn't. Not while he was alive. Not while he was staring at me, eyes filled with hope.

After all, who knew, maybe he could make it through. Maybe he was different. But I think deep down I knew–he wasn't different. But I couldn't take that hope away from him. I didn't have the strength. But at the very least, I would let him continue to hope until he passed, that much I'd do. It didn't matter how much Mccluskey glowered from across the room.

"You hear that," Mccluskey said, moving forward, pressing his ear against the wall. I gave him a look of confusion; it'd been quiet for a while now. But I heard a faint sound—a muffled shouting through the wall.

"Let… Closer… Closer… Fire…" was all I could make out through the wall. Before, I heard an almighty succession of gunshots—making my eyes go wide. Mccluskey's and my eyes met and we both looked towards the door in hope.

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