until people start needing a break. Then we’ll rotate until the job’s done.” Keith said loud enough to be heard by everyone.
At first, several people in hunters camouflage refused to fire, knowing there had been legal and political backlash to euthanizing the infected with what the administration had deemed Illegal Weapons, (a dangerous term as all firearms in the hands of the public were considered illegal under Marshal Rule.) The gathered men had no such reservations after Keith fired and hit the closest zombie in the leg. It fell to its knees, but continued to moan and drag itself toward the thin red line. Its head then exploded in the opening salvo as the others let loose their bullets. They kept the pace, firing from the bridge the entire night in an orchestrated chaos that eventually drew the entire town to watch as if this were the first Battle of Bull Run. With any luck, this time the spectators wouldn’t be running away at the end of the battle, right behind the retreating soldiers.
Before sunri se the militiamen managed to pile more than two thousand bodies at the bottom of the hill. The teaming river of corpses didn’t stop until it was full light, and only one sniper remained to fire through the exhaustion, picking off the stragglers. No one spoke, the entire experience so weird, so foreign to any them that they couldn't speak, even if they’d had something to say. Those who’d fought in Vietnam, Desert Storm: Part One & Two, and in Afghanistan had trouble with what they’d been forced to do, the foul taste of shooting what had once been Americans burned into their mouths with so much cordite. One man, who wore a Vietnam service ribbon on his hat couldn't even bring himself to take a pinch from his open tin of Copenhagen. He just sat there, holding the can and lid, looking at the half pinched leaf inside as his hands shook with frayed nerves. What was already in his mouth hadn't been removed for hours, his face gaunt with shock.
"There were women and children down there." Keith whispered almost too softly for Ethan to hear, leaning on the overpass’ railing. Whether or not Keith intended for Ethan to hear him wasn’t certain.
"There's always going to be women and children, Keith. They're just as dead as the men and they'll kill you just as fast. C’mon, let’s eat, we have to clear the rest of the town before long."
"Why so soon?" Keith asked. “Most of ‘em are locked in basements or closets and shit.”
“And how long before all this gunfire makes them try to escape? Or before one of them causes a new outbreak in the middle of the night? This isn’t lawful, its survival. I have to survive long enough to track down my family. They’ll send an email or call soon enough. I can’t just run towards Oklahoma and hope I run into them.” Ethan handed Keith another energy drink. They were both too worn out to take an accurate shot anyhow, why not add some caffeine jitters to their mix of anxiety and fear?
Putting the side-by-side in gear Ethan headed towards the local VA hall that was doubling as the North Armory, the police station holding that function in the South. "Get a couple hours, okay? This is all going to get a lot worse before it gets better. You ever see the show 'Jericho'?"
"No. Never heard of it.”
"Well, I have it on a bootleg Hajji-Copy at the house, bought it for fifteen bucks in Iraq. I strongly suggest you watch it."
"This isn't TV, Ethan."
"Isn't it?" Ethan stopped the vehicle. "Look around you, man. The world has crumbled at your feet. England is gone. France is gone. Russia is gone. China is gone. Iraq is blessedly gone. Japan is gone. Australia is gone..." Keith's eyes were twitching with pent up
At first, several people in hunters camouflage refused to fire, knowing there had been legal and political backlash to euthanizing the infected with what the administration had deemed Illegal Weapons, (a dangerous term as all firearms in the hands of the public were considered illegal under Marshal Rule.) The gathered men had no such reservations after Keith fired and hit the closest zombie in the leg. It fell to its knees, but continued to moan and drag itself toward the thin red line. Its head then exploded in the opening salvo as the others let loose their bullets. They kept the pace, firing from the bridge the entire night in an orchestrated chaos that eventually drew the entire town to watch as if this were the first Battle of Bull Run. With any luck, this time the spectators wouldn’t be running away at the end of the battle, right behind the retreating soldiers.
Before sunri se the militiamen managed to pile more than two thousand bodies at the bottom of the hill. The teaming river of corpses didn’t stop until it was full light, and only one sniper remained to fire through the exhaustion, picking off the stragglers. No one spoke, the entire experience so weird, so foreign to any them that they couldn't speak, even if they’d had something to say. Those who’d fought in Vietnam, Desert Storm: Part One & Two, and in Afghanistan had trouble with what they’d been forced to do, the foul taste of shooting what had once been Americans burned into their mouths with so much cordite. One man, who wore a Vietnam service ribbon on his hat couldn't even bring himself to take a pinch from his open tin of Copenhagen. He just sat there, holding the can and lid, looking at the half pinched leaf inside as his hands shook with frayed nerves. What was already in his mouth hadn't been removed for hours, his face gaunt with shock.
"There were women and children down there." Keith whispered almost too softly for Ethan to hear, leaning on the overpass’ railing. Whether or not Keith intended for Ethan to hear him wasn’t certain.
"There's always going to be women and children, Keith. They're just as dead as the men and they'll kill you just as fast. C’mon, let’s eat, we have to clear the rest of the town before long."
"Why so soon?" Keith asked. “Most of ‘em are locked in basements or closets and shit.”
“And how long before all this gunfire makes them try to escape? Or before one of them causes a new outbreak in the middle of the night? This isn’t lawful, its survival. I have to survive long enough to track down my family. They’ll send an email or call soon enough. I can’t just run towards Oklahoma and hope I run into them.” Ethan handed Keith another energy drink. They were both too worn out to take an accurate shot anyhow, why not add some caffeine jitters to their mix of anxiety and fear?
Putting the side-by-side in gear Ethan headed towards the local VA hall that was doubling as the North Armory, the police station holding that function in the South. "Get a couple hours, okay? This is all going to get a lot worse before it gets better. You ever see the show 'Jericho'?"
"No. Never heard of it.”
"Well, I have it on a bootleg Hajji-Copy at the house, bought it for fifteen bucks in Iraq. I strongly suggest you watch it."
"This isn't TV, Ethan."
"Isn't it?" Ethan stopped the vehicle. "Look around you, man. The world has crumbled at your feet. England is gone. France is gone. Russia is gone. China is gone. Iraq is blessedly gone. Japan is gone. Australia is gone..." Keith's eyes were twitching with pent up
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