Medora Wars by Wick Welker

acrid smell immediately filled his mouth and nose. Gagging, he felt humid air brush his ankles, and fill his clothes as he stepped in. Turning a short corner, he saw why the man before him had fled from the plane. Standing on a walkway that overlooked a large cargo area below, he saw a herd of people. Men and women had been crammed tightly together into the confined area and didn’t speak. They could only moan while gurgling blood and saliva from their mouths. Most of them had no clothes, and many of them were missing limbs or other body parts. He saw a woman whose entire back scalp was missing, along with both her ears. She jerked her head back, showing a gaping black hole where her nose once was. Another man’s face had become droopy, with skin becoming so loose that Malik could see the white of the man’s cheek bones peeking through where the skin of his lower eyelids had dropped down to his jaw line. Malik looked at the crowd as they began jumping up at his direction. It was a small sea of writhing bodies that could no longer be called human.
    “Do you see them, Malik?” Atash approached from behind. “They are the tool to bring about our great scourge.”
    Right then Malik felt a shudder through the plane and heard the propellers turning on from the outside. “Someone has been very busy,” Malik said.
    “My brothers,” Atash said, walking along the walkway behind the other men, “let us continue forward, no longer marveling at the weapons below us. We must take our seats for flight. We have a delivery for this fallen city.”

 
     
    Chapter Four: Mexico City
     
    “Bajen las armas!” Elise shouted as policemen advanced toward the crowd, firing bullets at any one who moved at them. One policeman hid behind the podium and shot at two infected men who wore body armor. They were crouched over a large man, gnawing on his thighs. Some of the bullets hit them in their backs, which only made them jerk from the impact as they continued feeding.
    One of the terrorists from beyond the border of the crowd took notice of gunfire and sprayed the stage with bullets, hitting the policeman behind the podium in his abdomen. Falling to his knees, he grabbed his side, and lifted his palm to see dark blood dripping from it. In a panic, he rolled off the stage, and landed on the short steps down in front.
    “Take cover under the stage!” Sheffield yelled at the bleeding cop as he tried to see around his blocked view of the podium. There was no response as he saw a man in a tank-top break away from the main crowd and shuffle over to where the cop lay. “Back off!” Sheffield yelled, raising his gun. As the man came closer, he saw his shoulder had been entirely opened up, exposing stringy muscle, with blood showering down his arm. The infected man picked up speed with a drunken gait and fell to the ground where the cop had fallen, disappearing behind the front of the stage.
    “Let’s get out of here!” Elise yelled at Sheffield as she got to her feet. Armed men still surrounded the area and created a border that they couldn’t escape through without being shot.
    The central crowd in front of the stage had become a riot of punches and lunging bodies. One person fought off an infected woman only to be swarmed from behind by a smaller group that had just been turned into crazed cannibals soon after being bit.
    It’s moving fast , Elise thought, just as fast as in D.C . As the crowd spilled out around toppled folding chairs and camera equipment, more people tried running out of the building—only to be shot down. The masked guards stood patiently, smiling as the crowd turned into an infected mass of bodies.
    “They’re waiting until everyone is infected.” Elise pointed to the men and tugged at Sheffield’s elbow.
    Sheffield put his arm around Elise and crouched down with her so that they were back behind the stage. “I think we’ve gotta wait,” he said. “Those guards are going to have to leave soon or they’ll