Sam had come to hate the meetings long ago.  They were dull, dreary, and always about the same things.  Was expansion a good idea or too great a risk, where to search for food, which buildings to lock down so they could hide if they needed to.  They were about all sorts of important stuff that didn’t require the whole colony to attend.  In fact, Sam didn’t really need to be there himself.  All he did was carry out orders.  The whole thing wouldn’t have bothered him so much if they ever actually did anything they talked about, or at least came to some sort of conclusion.

            As Sam drove closer to the town hall, he felt a familiar ping of anxiety.  Normally, about two-hundred and fifty people attended the gatherings.  Only the guards currently on duty and the teams who were going out the next morning were excused, but nobody ever enforced this rule.  That is why Sam ordered Jack to go to bed after the traumatic mission in which he had participated.

            Sam himself planned to slip out half way through the meeting and get very drunk so he could wallow in self pity.  That was one other skill the survivors in this post apocalyptic world learned quickly: to mourn for their dead overnight for tomorrow there would be new loss.  It seemed rather cold, but it had quickly become a way of life.

            When Sam arrived at the town hall’s parking lot, he stepped out and moved toward the building.

            The town hall had really been a college gymnasium before the dead began to walk.  The inside lighting as well as everything else in the colony was powered by generators.  The ceiling was a large dome.  The acoustics came in handy for speeches.

            As soon as he stepped inside of the crowded auditorium, Sam recognized Robert Thorn.

            “Hey Sam, old boy, I saved you a seat,” Rob called, though everybody was standing.

            There was nothing unusual about Rob’s appearance, but he had a presence.  He could be spotted immediately out of a large crowd, despite his generic looks.  If he had worked for television news instead of a local news paper, this presence would have really boosted his career.  Now he organized and wrote for the town news letter, operated the radio, and did whatever else he wanted to do.  He was possibly the most active person alive.  He never failed to impress Sam.

            They had known each other ever since the dead began to rise, and ever since Rob had been a mentor to Sam.  He remembered the night they met.  The police had been out searching for survivors and escorting them to safety, sometimes taking them away by force.  It had been a hairy situation and it had gotten worse when a sniper opened fire on them from a near by building.  Out of the squad of twelve, the gunman had killed seven.  The oncoming swarm of zombies had finished off Sam’s four remaining companions, leaving him alone.

            All Sam could do was run from them.  Motivated by fear, he ran and ran until it felt as though his legs would fall off.  It seemed as though he had been fleeing for an eternity, when in fact it had only been fifteen minutes.  Then he was surrounded by flesh eaters.

            Sam had thought he was doomed until he heard a screeching vehicle.  As he looked off into the distance, Sam could see a car racing towards his position.  It looked like the car was just going to speed past Sam, leaving him to get torn apart or perhaps even become walking worm bait, but it stopped.  The driver rolled down his window and shouted “get in.”  Sam’s savior had been twenty-eight year old reporter, Robert Thorn.

            “I heard about the mission, that was a tough break, but it could’ve happened to anyone,” Rob said.  “Who knew the boy would just snap like that?  Shit like that happens.  It’s part of the shitty world we live in.”

            “I know,” Sam said and nodded, “I know, but it never gets any easier.”

            “Just think, one day this whole thing could just go away,” Rob said.  “It may not just end right off the bat, but one day, who knows.”

            “Let’s all hope it’s not too far off,” Sam said, even though it couldn’t end soon enough.

            Rob had been referring to a hopeful and widely accepted theory that the flesh eaters would decompose one day to the point where they could no longer function.  When this happened, most of the zombies would fall within a few years.  The rest would be so few that the surviving humans could hunt them down and rebuild their civilization.

            The problem was that the walking dead took a very long time to decompose.  No one knew why.  For some reason, people who died and began to walk were still walking.  Their bodies did decompose, but at a slower rate and their brains seemed untouched.

            “You ducking out later, Rob?”

            “No, I can’t.  I have to cover the meeting for the news letter.”

            “Well, guess that means I’m getting drunk alone again.”

            “Well Sam, you earned it,” Rob said, smirking at his buddy.

            They both chuckled for a moment then fell silent.  It had become a common experience among many of the colonists to feel guilt over casual joy.  The human race was facing extinction.  Nobody knew if there were any other survivors, for no contact had been made in years.  If they were the only survivors, then one slipup could be the end.  If the gates were to fail and let the undead through, then there would be no safe place for the colonists to stay.  It was a danger they faced every time they sent out a patrol.

            “There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you,” Sam could hear Rob’s beautiful wife Catherine say as she walked over to them.

            Catherine was the other reason Rob stood out in the crowd.  Despite his ordinary appearance, he had an extraordinary wife.  She was thirty-eight, but looked at least ten years younger.  As she walked closer, Sam and Rob both admired the swanlike grace in her motion.  Rob had to be a very secure man.

            Not only was she beautiful, but also very intelligent.  She worked as a doctor in what passed for the hospital.  On her time off, she also helped her husband with the news letter and radio.  She was nearly as active as Rob.

            “Hi Sam,” Catherine said, “I figured you would have ducked out by now.”

            “Yeah, I probably should have,” Sam answered.  “I heard all the important talk at the post mission briefing.”

            “Some people need the meetings,” Rob said as he put his arm around his wife.  “It makes them feel like a part of something.”

            “Hey, you still off duty tomorrow?” Sam asked.

            “Yeah, there’s going to be a football game at the stadium.  I wouldn’t miss that for the world,” Rob said.

            “The world has ended and still all you guys care about are sex and sports,” Catherine said, getting a laugh out of Sam and Rob.

            “See you then, I’m cutting out early so I can get drunk.”

            “Doing something constructive I see,” Rob shouted as Sam walked away.

*

            The hallway was dark, nearly pitch black.  Even with the torch in front of him, Jack could hardly see a thing.  The walls were constructed of large slabs of granite.  As he sucked in the stale air, Jack could smell mildew.  The strong stench tainted the air.  As he walked through the dismal corridor, Jack could feel sludge and water under his feet.  The corridor was also unbearably chilly.  Besides the howling of the wind, it was early quiet.

            Jack had a feeling he was walking to his doom.

            More for security than safety, Jack unholstered his pistol.  With the weapon in his hand, he didn’t feel as powerless as if he had been running around this labyrinth unarmed and unprepared for trouble.  Yet he only had twenty rounds.  He was prepared for trouble, just not too much of it.

            It just didn’t feel right.  The place seemed like it should be filled with flesh eaters, but there was not one to be seen.  The place itself seemed to be dead.

            All of the sudden, there was a loud rumbling noise.  The walls shook and granite fell from the ceiling.  Something was after him.  Something wanted to kill him.  Whatever it was, Jack could hear it coming closer.

            Jack started to run, but he didn’t know where he was going.  All he could do was run and move down a random corridor, hoping he wasn’t going in circles.

            Suddenly, Jack slipped on something squishy, a dead rat.  It had been torn open by something, leaving its slippery insides out.

            As Jack lifted his head out of the water, the foul stench of death assaulted his nose.  He could see thousands of rats in front of him.  They had all drowned.

            There was no time to be sick.  As his mysterious pursuer closed in on him, Jack forced himself to his feet, and ran like a bat out of hell.

            He expected flesh eaters to pop up out of nowhere and pull him down, but none appeared.  Except for him and whatever the hell was chasing him, the maze was dead.

            As Jack looked on, he could see a light up ahead.  It was an exit.  It might not be safety, but it was a way out of this god forsaken maze.

            Jack ran faster.  As he did, whatever was chasing him also moved faster.

            There were only about ten yards between Jack and the opening, but it seemed like a hundred miles.  As he got closer, the rumbling behind him grew louder and more furious.  It didn’t want him to leave.  This knowledge motivated Jack to run faster and faster, for it meant the outside was safer.

            As he moved through the opening, Jack stopped in his tracks and said “shit.”  He had wandered right into a cemetery.  He had seen pictures of them when he was a child, but they were no longer used.  Now, all dead bodies were cremated.

            The eerie calm had been restored.  For the moment, Jack’s pursuer had stopped.

            As the wind slowly picked up, Jack looked around the cemetery.  The graveyard was surrounded by a concrete wall.  The only way in or out was through the maze, and there was no way in hell Jack was going back in there.  His only other option was a large tower, which looked like it should be attached to a castle.  The tower was on the opposite end, so he would have to run through the graveyard.

            Without wasting any more time, Jack started running.  As soon as he did, the rumbling noise started again.  This time, it was coming faster.  Whatever it was, it wanted him and it wasn’t alone.  Along with the rumbling, the wind began to gain strength.

            Jack ran even faster, trying to make it to the tower, before his demise.  He was about halfway through the graveyard when he felt something grab his foot, causing him to fall flat on his face.

            “Aw shit, oh no oh no oh no…” was all Jack could say as he saw thousands of rotting corpses climb out of their graves.

            Jack rolled over and looked behind him to find the one who had his leg.  Sure enough, he saw a skeletal faced and bony handed flesh eating ghoul.  The flesh seemed to be falling off of the creature’s face.  The flesh around the mouth had long ago rotted away, leaving a permanent sadistic grin on the ghoul’s face.  Its eyes had gone to a dim and moldy, yet malevolent shade of yellow.  Even more yellow than the eyes were the ghoul’s teeth.  Jack didn’t want those filthy choppers anywhere near him.

            Jack picked up his torch and shoved it in the ghoul’s face, igniting it instantly.  The ghoul didn’t seem to be afraid of the fire at all.  In fact, it didn’t even seem to notice the flame eating away at its head.  It just kept pulling Jack towards the shallow grave.

            Jack aimed his pistol at the flaming skull and fired once, sending the ghoul tumbling back into its grave.

            “Rest in peace,” Jack said as he got up.

            When he looked around, Jack saw that he was surrounded by thousands of the flesh eaters.  With only 19 rounds left, Jack would have to use the torch to fend them off.  The problem was that none of the approaching ghouls seemed to be afraid of the flame.

            Jack hit several of the flesh eaters behind him with the flaming end, igniting several zombies.  Again none of them seemed to notice they were on fire.  They just kept moving towards him.

            “Goddamn walking worm food!” Jack shouted in frustration.

            Though satisfying on many levels, shouting at the undead would not do Jack any good.  He had to move and he had to move now.  The zombies were crowding, but they were not densely gathered yet.  That meant that Jack had a chance to push and shove his way through.

            Jack started running, shooting, hitting, and toasting anything that got in his way.  It was working.  Jack was almost there.  He was almost to the tower.  He was going to make it!

            Jack shot three more flesh eaters.  He had just realized that he didn’t know how many shots were fired.  He needed to conserve ammo just incase there was anything inside to greet him.  He holstered his weapon and brandished to torch in both hands.

            As he ran the last few legs of his journey, Jack knocked several zombies over and set a few more on fire.  He twirled the torch around and smacked another flesh eater in the face.

            There were only about five yards between Jack and the tower, so he made a mad dash and ran right into a mutilated corpse.  As Jack raised the torch to hit the ghoul, it took hold.  To no avail, Jack tried to get the weapon out of his adversary’s iron grip.  Finally, Jack gave up, abandoned the torch, and ran to the tower door.

            When Jack looked back, he noticed that his fires had spread to nearly every ghoul out there.  There were thousands of burning corpses chasing him.  Jack opened the heavy wooden door, moved through the entrance and slammed the door behind him.

            After locking the door and barricading it with a table, Jack searched the chamber for any other way in or any weapons.  He found nothing but a large spiral staircase which led to the top.

            Somehow, Jack knew he wouldn’t be safe until he reached the top.  The ghouls outside would eventually smash through the door, but they couldn’t get him at the top.  Not those rotten corpses.  With that knowledge, Jack made his way up the stairwell.

            Because the stairwell was old, Jack couldn’t move as fast as he wanted.  The steps were rotten and infested with termites, and they creaked under his weight.  Again, the stench of mildew assaulted Jack’s nose, though he didn’t see or smell any dead rats.  The rough stone walls scraped Jack’s hand as he used it guide himself.  He didn’t want to fall.  The only light source in the tower was the moon.  Jack wished he still had the torch, but there was nothing he could do about it now.  All he could do was keep climbing the stairs until he reached the top.

            The stairwell fed into the middle of a round chamber, which had about eight windows around.  If he wanted, Jack could look down and watch the burning horde of the undead try to get in, but he decided not to.  Though he expected to see one, there was no large bell hanging from the ceiling.  There was no food, there was no way to call for help, and there was nowhere to go, but at least Jack was safe for the moment.

            The only object in the room was an old, rotten crib.  From years of abandonment, the crib was covered in cobwebs and coated in dust.  There was nothing spectacular about the old crib, but Jack was drawn to it.  When he reached the crib, Jack looked inside and brushed away some of the cobwebs.  It was then that he heard something moving behind him.

            Jack spun around to see what the noise was.  What he saw was his parent’s rotting corpses.  His father was in a tuxedo, his stomach had been torn out, exposing his insides.  There was a huge chunk missing from his neck.  His head hung, lopsided and drool oozed from his mouth.  The old corpse was caked in dust, blood, and cobwebs.  Jack’s mother, who was in her wedding dress, was less gruesome.  Her skin was dried from years of decay, she was gaunt from those last few years when she was dying of cancer, and there was a bullet wound in her head from when Jack had to shoot her to keep her from coming back as one of those things.  Her now gray hair was a mess, tangled in cobwebs.

            Jack took out his pistol.

            “Come here Jacob,” his mother spoke in a raspy voice, “we love you.”

            He aimed the gun at his mother’s head and pulled the trigger.

            Click

            Click

            Click

            His gun was empty.  Jack wished he hadn’t used it to escape the graveyard, but it was too late.  He was out of ammo.  He threw the gun aside and tried to run, but his legs would not move.

            “Boy,” his father said while a worm crawled across his forehead and into his ear, “come here, boy.”  The rotten corpse came closer.  “Don’t shoot at your mother like that.”

            “Come with us, Jacob, we can be a family again,” his mother said.

            “Join us,” his parents said together, “Join us.  Join us.  Join us….”

            “No, no,” Jack screamed, “Don’t come any closer!”

            “Join us…” they said, ignoring their son’s order.

            Jack could feel his skin crawl as his dead parents moved closer and closer, their greedy, skeletal claws reaching for him.  There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.  Jack was about to be eaten by his own parents.  As his father’s worm infested hand reached closer, he closed his eyes and prepared for his doom.

            As the cold hand touched his face, Jack screamed.

            As he looked around, and saw a plain room with white walls and no decoration except for some plastic flowers by the front door.  The ceiling fan whirled on the low setting.  Jack was in his own room.  It had all just been a nightmare.

            He had been having the same nightmare every night, since his mother had died.  Every time the dream was as real and frightening as the last.  Every time he woke up in the middle of the night, Jack was relieved that it was only a nightmare, but at the same time disappointed.  If the dream had been real, Jack would have died a long time ago.  His nightmare would be over and he wouldn’t go through it every day of his life.  The outside world had turned into a hellish, forbidding place.  The dead were rising from their graves to feed upon the living.  The colonists lived in fear every day that the gates might break open and the dead would overrun the town.  In many ways, life had become a nightmare, only it was real.

            Jack took a look at the clock and saw that it was midnight.  There was no way he was getting back to sleep, so Jack made his way to the bathroom, so he could take a shower.  He had to go out, but he couldn’t go drenched in sweat.

            After he was finished showering and taking care of other business, Jack got dressed and went out to find Sam.  On his way out, Jack grabbed his pistol and rifle.  If he was caught outside and alone without a weapon, Jack would be punished.  Besides, he never could remember feeling safe while unarmed.

            Jack had an inkling Sam would still be at the bar, which was only fifteen minutes away from Jack’s room.  The sky was clear and the stars above were bright.  The temperature had gone down to seventy-three degrees and an occasional breeze cooled the summer night even more.

            As he walked from the former hotel where his room was, Jack wondered what he would have been doing on a night like this.  Maybe he would be escorting a beautiful girl home after dinner, a movie, and a night of dancing.  He imagined himself taking her by the hand and escorting her to her door.

            As he thought of a time that once was and the world that might have been, Jack clutched his rifle and kept walking.

            Jack passed a bowling alley and several restaurants, which were still being used thanks to generators which had been hooked up to every building.  The restaurants only served whatever food was available and were only used for large gatherings.  He did have fond childhood memories of the bowling alley.

            In the distance, Jack could see the industrial zone.  This area consisted of the makeshift factories and warehouses.  That was where they made ammunition, explosives, flammables, flares, and other supplies which could be built.  They had recently managed to get the supplies needed to make batteries.  The warehouses were used to store extra food, ammunition, clothing, and anything else.  Since the industrial zone was so noisy, it was on the opposite side of the colony as the residential zone.

            Jack walked by the metal fence to see if he knew any of the guards on duty.  He soluted one as they passed.  He could hear two more guards at the fence chatting about something.  One of them took out a small can and sprayed one of the flesh eaters whose face was pressed against the chain linked portion of the wall.  He the lit a match and threw it at the ghoul, igniting it.  The two guards laughed as the creature shambled off into the night.

            “Well, that’s one less we have to worry about,” said one of the guards.

            “Yeah, last I heard we just have to kill about a million more before it makes any real difference,” Zach Henderson, the other active guard said.

            Jack had always made a point to avoid him.  They were the same age and had went through training together, but Zach was just plain creepy.  To the best of Jack’s knowledge, Zach hadn’t actually harmed a living human but he did enjoy mutilating corpses.  He loved setting the walking dead on fire.  Where others were ashamed and sick to there stomachs, Zach got a thrill.  Jack didn’t trust him in the safe confines of the base, let alone a dangerous scavenging mission.

            So he wouldn’t be seen, Jack quickly turned away and stopped walking along the fence.  Luckily neither one of them saw Jack.

            Finally, Jack saw the bar.  The bar used to be a popular night club.  People would go there every night to get drunk and find a one night stand.  Local bands would play while the patrons would dance.  Now, the place was seldom busy, except on holidays and large celebrations.  The only steady patrons were solders and workers after a hard day.

            There were only two people inside of the dimly lit building; the bartender, who had owned the place before the dead began to rise, and Sam.  As soon as Jack stepped in, the bartender pointed to the entrance and Sam turned around.

            “Hey Jack,” Sam shouted across the bar.  His voice wasn’t slurred and he did turn around quickly, so Jack figured Sam wasn’t too drunk yet.  “Take a seat.”

            “Can you come back here, I want to talk about stuff,” Jack said and Sam got up and moved to a table near the back, beer in hand.  Jack followed, sitting across from Sam.  “I had the nightmare again.”

            “You’ve had that nightmare every night,” Sam said, “it’s just that, a nightmare.”

            “Yeah, but it’s always so real,” Jack responded.  “Do you believe in fate or destiny?”  After a moment when Sam didn’t answer the rhetorical question, Jack brought up his point, “I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately and well, I don’t know…”  He thought for a second, not sure how to present his point.  “When you survived the ambush in ’79, did you consider it to be miraculous?”

            “Yes, I suppose it was.”

            “Well, have you ever thought that maybe you survived for a purpose?”

            “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

            “But it’s possible, right?” Jack asked.

            “Yes, I suppose it is.”

            “Do you think it’s possible that this dream I’ve been having is a premonition?”

            “It’s just a dream,” Sam said, “you lost you dad when you were three and you had to shoot your mother’s walking corpse only a few years ago.  I’d be freaked out too.”

            “I guess you’re right.”

            “Can we get two more here?” Sam called out to the bartender.

*

            Walter Birmingham sat in the radio room, monitoring every channel.  It was late, so he was the only operator working.  All other radio operators had attended the meeting and were now in bed.

            He enjoyed the graveyard shift.  It gave him an opportunity to enjoy some piece and quiet.  Even though they had stopped sending out messages years ago, they always had someone monitoring the radios.  It was a precautionary step, just like posting guards.  In the whole twenty-two years this mess had been going on, not one of those corpses got in.  Who knew when some important news may come through?

            He had an important job which he had been good at all of his life.  He had been a radio operator in Vietnam.  When he finished his tour, he operated a radio for the local fire station.  Now that he was fifty-six, Walter was in charge of communications for the most important operation of his life.

            Just as he was about to kick his shoes up and rest his eyes, Walter heard a crackle of static.  He jumped out of his seat and stared at the radio.

            “What in blazes?” Walter said.  This radio was only used for two things, communicating with scavenger units and communicating with other establishments.  They hadn’t talked to any other surviving colonies in over fifteen years.

            Walter began recording, which was a standard procedure.

            “Hello, hello, I don’t know if anyone can hear me but I have some important news,” the radio operator on the other end said.

            Walter tried to respond, but the operator was either ignoring him, or just couldn’t hear.

            “We have found a cure.  Repeat we have found a cure for the plague,” this time, the operator’s voice was accompanied by gunfire.  There was a crackle of static.  “Shit, they’ve found a way in! I don’t have much time…” there was more gunfire.  Walter could also hear the moaning and groaning of the undead.  As the radio operator disclosed his location, Walter could hear a pounding on the door.  “Oh God!” the operator screamed as the door gave way and the radio went dead.

            Walter was stunned.  He didn’t know what to do.  He just sat there for a moment, and then hit the stop button on the recorder.

            His hand shook as he reached for the receiver.  Since there were no radios in individual quarters, Walter had to call the nearest guard post.

            “Hello, I’d like to speak to Frederick Hamilton,” Walter said.

            “Do you realize what time it is?” the guard said.  “He’s asleep just like the rest of the people.”

            “Well wake him, he’s gonna want to hear this.”

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