After Genocide: The Dead Live Again (2 page)

              The temperature dropped another five degrees from its original status in the early morning, and the time advanced. I grab the magnum revolver and check it, all six rounds are still there. 

              Pam pulls out the shotgun and loads it with shotgun shells, she looks at me and I look at her, “Do want the revolver?” I ask. Pam stared at me and lifted her leave eyebrow and say “Why?”

“Because I prefer to use shotgun more than anything,” I reply. It almost looks like she hesitates for a split second, as if trying to guess why I is asking her for it but in the end she agrees, “Sounds like a deal.” 

              We close the doors and I walk to the passenger side and we traded weapons, “Okay, so now what?” she asks.

“It looks like we have to turn the pump on from the inside,” I say.

“Wait, you want us to go inside?”

“Well yeah, I mean it is the only way. It’s that or we can walk through this fog? Take your pick?” I ask. 

“Lead the way,” Pam agreed. Pam gives me a look about the dog in the back seat, “Blade, take care of the car,” I order.

I walk forward, making the entrance doors of the Fiesta my goal, and Pam follows closely. We walk carefully until we get close, we stop, double check our weapons, and look at each other, “You ready,” I ask.

“Yeah,” she replies but I can see it in her face, the fear of those things as she called them earlier. True they were scary, besides it is not long since my first encounter with them, or is it? Carefully grabbing the door handle I try to pull it, there is the sound of rubber hitting and the bell that normally chimes with glee and peacefully is now heard like a siren throughout the store. If a mutant thing is here it would have heard the sound.  

              Slowly I open the door completely, Pam still behind me, aiming the revolver; the lights are on, but there is a large amount of blood on the counter, scattered through the floor, and some of the freezer doors are open, and the glass appears broken. 

“Wow, what a mess,” I say.

“Yeah, it’s like some animal came here and just mauled everybody,” Pam agrees. 

              The store now beginning to smell of decay and death, how an animal smells after three days out in the summer heat. The stench of blood mixed with feces takes effect as well. Pam covers her nose with one hand and holds the gun in the other. There is a strange feeling now coming over me, the feeling of being stalked crosses my mind. In the deep distance, we are being watched by a predator, quietly moving, trying not to make a sound to disturb us. It has a taste for human flesh, it smells our blood and it wants our fresh meat. 

              I walk towards an aisle full of gum and other candy bars, then it happens. I hear a snarl so I turned back, pulled my shotgun in place and prepare to fire. The creature beat me to it knocking the shotgun off my hands and pushed me back. My shotgun flew a few feet to the aisle across, the creature comes at me, its sharp claws, it’s messed up skin, teeth wanting to chew at my flesh. It tries to slash me, but I move back, then it tries the same attack again. I grab anything I can find to throw at it, potato chips, candy bars, beer bottles, soda cans, but it only made the creature angrier. 

              The creature roared at me then it tried to slash me again, it missed, and I gave it a kick in the gut and I did a spin kick and sent it a few feet back. The creature managed to get back on its feet quickly then it leaped at me and made me fall to the floor, it tries to take a bite out of my head, and I put my legs on its stomach and send it flying back. Pam looking for a clear shot, “Pam don’t just stand there shoot it, shoot it!” I yelled. Pam holding the magnum fires one shot to the neck, the loud bang goes out the way a firework sounds through the January sky.

“No, shoot it in the head!” I yell, and Pam aims the heavy magnum with her hand then puts another underneath to help balance. Her arm begins to get sore instantly and weak, but she takes another shot and this time hits the arm. 

              I manage to reach my knife and stab it at the creature in the chest, my original aim to the head missed. The creature now still coming strong against me and Pam walks closer now as I struggle to remove my knife from its chest. Pam aims again as she get closer then fires one last round. A loud thump sound is heard as the head fills with one hold as the .45 round goes through the creature’s skull. The body falls on mine, weak and cold, I relax now breathing better; then remove my knife and find my shotgun.  

              Pam looks then apologizes for not being able to help earlier. I dismiss her apology, it’s not her fault for sure; she just needs better training after all who is prepared for this genocide.

“Thank you,” she says.

“No need to thank me yet,” I say then I hop over the counter and turn the pumps on and put an amount of fifty dollars’ worth in fuel.

“Okay, this is our ticket out of this place” I say. Pam and I walk out of the store and I open the car’s gas cap, select Unleaded Fuel and began to pump the gas.

“What is going to happen now?” asks Pam.

“We are going to find an old friend of mine, hopefully he still lives where he lived perhaps he has more answers.”

Ch.2: The Truth?

             
Pam and I get inside the car, I start the engine, shifted the gear to drive and we begin to exit the store‘s parking lot. We head out to the main road, pass a red light, and continue driving straight. The city of Elsa is deserted almost, it is quiet not even the birds’ sing today. I tune the radio and switch through the stations, Pam tries to hear anything but just some static then a radio transmission; the electronic whirring and static makes it hard to pinpoint the voice. It comes and goes in echoes.

“Help,”—static break—“the mall,”—breaks again,--“survivors,”—another break and the last piece before going out—“McAllen Texas.”

Along the way I begin to reduce speed on the vehicle, we came closer to my friend’s house.

“So what is your friends’ name?” Pam lets out a question.

“Joe Walle, but he prefers to be called “Six.” 

“Six? As in the number six?”

“Indeed.” I nod.  

“That is like a weird nickname,” she says. “Yeah, according to him he get that name with a reputation while training in the Marines,” I reply.

“Like what that he could do everything by six or something,” she jokes and we share a small laugh. At least she is concentrating on the now.

I continue driving and Pam lets out another question, “You two know each other pretty well?”

“Yeah, we have been best friends since fifth grade,” I reply. 

              We enter the driveway of the neighborhood where Six lived, there is a Red Hummer H-1 there park so I could figure out that we have some company. I park the car beside the hummer.

“Either your friend is rich or somebody beat us here?” I look towards her, “It’s probably a friend; Six usually preferred a Mitsubishi Eclipse.” 

I look at Pam, “Check the glove compartment,” I say—she begins to fiddle with the handle and opens it—“we need to know how many shotgun shells are available,” I say. 

              She opened the glove compartment, grabs the remaining shells, closed the compartment and handed me the shells. “And I have two, four, six, eight, ten, and twelve: twelve shotgun shells,” I counted. 

              Reaching into my pocket, I grab the revolver bullets and give them to Pam, she gives a puzzled look, and replies “Well thank you, if I is out of ammunition this revolver would be useless,” she says. I smile at this thinking she is referencing a joke, “What is so funny?” questioned Pam seriously.

“Nothing,” my smile fades. 

              Then there is a sudden glass shatter, the front window of the car had been smashed, Pam and I look and one of the creatures jumps on the hood and tried to smash the glass more. I quickly reach for my shotgun, but by the time I tried to aim at the creature there is multiple gunshots. Pam and I watched the monster’s head splatter on the cracked windshield. 

“Look,” Pam’s voice echoes and pointed at the porch of the house, standing there is Six, holding an AK-47.

“Hurry, hurry guys get inside!” he yelled. 

Pamela grabs the revolver, and I grab the shotgun and we make our way. I look around aiming the shotgun, making sure the area is secure, I whistle and Blade came out of the car.  Pamela and I run inside and the dog follows.

“Stay,” I order, and Blade obeys. 

              As Pam and I enter the house we see another figure in a room to the right, dressed in a mechanic outfit with the Ford emblem on it and his name as well. He is taller than me, short hair, a grizzly beard and a mustache the common outlaw would have is visible as well. It is my younger brother Max, he is shaking in fear, partially sweating and had no control over his hands. He is holding a shotgun and it looks like he is muttering words as well.

“Max, what’s wrong?” I ask, “I, I, I, killed it,” he replies.

“Killed what?” I look around.

“Look,” says Pam while pointing at a baby carriage.

“I killed a baby,” says Max.

“There is nothing else you could’ve done,” I comfort.

Pam looks at me, “Boy you sure know how to handle these things. Go and talk with your friend, I’ll stay with your brother,” she says.                It is a trailer house with a brown interior and teal exterior. Somewhat crowded with furniture and pictures of when Six and his siblings were younger. As I walk I notice the refrigerator with a particular photo, sophomore year birthday party for him the chocolate cake with chocolate and chocolate syrup filled Easter eggs. The whole gang close up together for a big photo, that day is fun. As I walk towards Six, he looks at me.

“Hey,” he greets. 

“I ran into Juan Garza, he said that the military had a serum,” I say. “Unfortunately, his little story doesn’t answer all the strange things.” 

“Okay, let me explain what I know. Yes there is a serum, but it is to help the human race not destroy it,” argued Six. His voice tense with shame yet fear at the same time, not afraid of me but something else.

“It is supposed to help the human race get stronger, build a strong immune system, maybe even cure cancer. It is so perfect, too perfect to be true, but something went wrong, terribly wrong. Instead of helping the body in perfection it began to mess with the body by destroying the live cells and altering the Deoxyribonucleic Acid (DNA) in the body.” 

              “The project is called Super Immune (SI), but after the incident and how quickly it spread we called it Virus Genocide (VG). I left the military shortly after the incident, my sister, my brothers and mother are here, so I came to get them to safety, instead I found Max here,” he says. Six sat down on the brown sofa and take a deep breath. Now he look as if he’d seen a ghost. His hair messed up to each side as if he slept wrong, his brown muscle shirt exposing the tattoos he get in the Marines. His cargo camouflage pants filled with some blood and dirt. Hands on his AK-47 he looks up at me.

“I don’t know where they are.”

A noise startles me and it is Pam coming from the room, I look at Pam and she gives me a sign to talk to Six. I roll my eyes and relax the tension on my spine. My shotgun still in hand and I place it on the floor calmly. I walk towards Six,

“Look buddy, your family is smart. I’m pretty sure they are alive somewhere.”

“Max shot my mom,” he says.

“Okay,”—I nod. “I’m sure the rest I’m sure the rest are faring well.” 

              Pam looks out the window, “Hey, the fog has grown a little thicker,” she says.

I turned to her and nodded.

“What are we going to do now?” asks Max.

“I don’t know exactly,” I reply. 

“C’mon guys, I mean, there has to be more survivors besides us. “We could go to certain places that people could think about as refuge and check them out” Pam suggested. 

              “Like the Plaza Mall in McAllen, and the Wal-Mart in Weslaco?” I ask.

“Oh that’s right remember the transmission earlier,” Pam points out. 

“We’ve seen what happens when you get bitten by those things at least I have. You transform into one of them,” say Six.

“You were in the military from what I heard?” asks Pam.

“Yeah, I is a United States Marine,” replies Six. 

              “What about you Joe?” she asks.

As if all the blood drained from me,
where I have worked, do I even remember? I’m still recovering from my amnesia.

“Me, I can’t seem to recall only that I have experience with weapons and combat,” I reply.

“What about you Max?” she asks.

“Oh, I am a mechanic who worked at Weslaco Ford until this mess happened, and I is a car painter,” replies Max.