Dawn finally came, and the sunlight vanquished the eerie shadows of the night.  Outside, on the streets below nothing stirred.  No drooling daylight wanderers, no birds chirped, no engines, nothing.  The city truly was dead.  No longer veiled in the night, the city lost all splendor.  For the first time, the extent of the decay was visible.  The damage on the buildings was not limited to broken windows and smashed doors, but there was a lot of water damage that could be seen from a distance.  Before 1979, buildings in that condition were condemned, only to be used by vagrants and small time drug dealers.  It was amazing that none of the abandoned buildings had collapsed.

            The wreckage outside made Sam wonder about the integrity of the floor below his feet.  Inside, there had been some measure of restoration, but nothing much.  Certainly no preservative measures had been taken in months.  Last night, on Sam’s shift, he had noticed the stairs.  All of the first floor stair cases had been demolished.  The only ways up were either through ropes, or fire escapes.  This blatant violation of fire codes made the buildings incredibly hard to invade, and impossible for the dimwitted zombies to enter.  The ground floors were either dead ends, or being used to house automobiles.  Sam had not spotted any wheels save for the Mustang parked below.  He doubted the cultists had left anything that large behind.

            Lacking an extra car, they did have running water clean enough for showering, but not clean enough to drink.  Sam was the first to bathe; now the rest of the troops were getting ready for the tough day ahead.  A lot had happened in the past forty-eight hours, and the survivors from last night’s assault had a lot more to worry about than zombies and a cure for the plague.

            And Sam had to worry about keeping his head.  He had lost it several times last night, which had cost four good men their lives.  Then there was the matter of Helen.  Sam had inexcusably overreacted the night before, which could have damn well lead to all of their deaths.  Sam was still unsure about trusting the girl, but there seemed to be no choice in the matter.  She had information on their enemy, and she had saved Sam and other others’ asses.  There was also a sincerity in the girl’s voice when she said she wanted Calhoun dead.  If she was telling the truth, Helen did have a solid motive.

            Now, the cure was on the back burner, and there were more pressing issues like crippling the cult.  Sam wanted to study the buildings, and get a feel for the abandoned colony.  He wanted to figure out which buildings had been used for what, so he would know where to strike.  The troops were not low on ammunition, but they did not have enough to kill every one of the tyrants.  They did however have the packs of explosives Gerard had given up before he sacrificed his life.  There was enough C4 in there to level two or three buildings, and enough dynamite to destroy several vehicles.

            While the thugs were still reeling from the assault, another attack could be arranged, and Sam could return with a worthy strike force.

            Then despair hit.  There were three thousand of these assholes!  Sam’s colony only had three hundred and fifty colonists.  Only a third of them were soldiers, and few of them had any experience fighting against the living.  Last night was a night they never thought they would see.

            Aside from the lack of experience and being outnumbered about thirty to one, the strike force would have a hard time getting into the buildings.  While the attack force advanced, the cult’s militia could shoot from the windows, killing Sam’s troops before they could do any damage.  The soldiers not shooting at the oncoming hundred troops could get into vehicles that had not been demolished, and cut of the exit.  Sam would be leading his troops into a death trap.

            The five of them were going to have to think of a way to stop the killers now.  To cripple them would not be enough.  They had to make sure that those bastards would not be able to hurt anyone ever again.  But how?

            Sam’s head began to ache.

            The floor squeaked as someone approached from behind, but Sam did not turn.

            “Sam, we’re all ready for some action,” Zach said.  “We all know we’re not going to turn tail and run home, so we need a plan.”

            “Good.  We’ll have to stop these bastards cold, but first I want to get a look around this base,” Sam said, still looking at the horizon beyond.  “Gather the troops, and bring them here.”

            Zach walked out of the room.  The floor boards were still creaking under the boy’s weight.

            Sam was still looking out of the window.  He just hoped that he did not seem crazy.  Sam felt single minded and homicidal, but he also felt cool and calculated.  The hopelessness which had enveloped him like a wet blanket, and filled Sam with rage only a few minutes ago had been replaced by an iron determination that nothing could break.

            The floor creaked under more approaching footsteps.  His troops were here.

            “Um, Sam…” Jack said.

            Sam slowly turned from the window to face his army.  All three surviving troops and their prisoner were there.  Only now they were down one prisoner, and gained a guide.

            “As you all know, we have a situation,” Sam said.

            The soldiers just watched as he made the understatement of the century.

            “Running home and crying ain’t an option.  We have to strike hard, and strike fast.  Helen, do they have a specific building they use as an armory?”

“Yes, they have two right next to each other.”

            “That’s a little too easy.”

            “The Messiah likes to dare attackers to strike to prove he’s untouchable.  You know… he has an empty building right next to his capitol.  The building wasn’t sturdy enough for them to use, but it’s got a nice view of some of his main chambers.  It would give me a good chance at finding a shot.”

            On the last statement, Helen grinned.  Sam wondered if she knew the smirk was even on her face.  Helen had already proven that she was an exceptional shot, and the cult would be without direction with their leader dead.  He knew how these people worked.  There was one problem.  The plan would require her to split off from the rest of the group.  They only had one car, so Sam didn’t want to risk the girl running off.

            Sam decided not to acknowledge Helen’s option until later.

            “You said they sometimes leave stuff behind, what did you mean?” Sam asked.

            “Some small things they forgot to bring or figure they might need in an emergency.  Canned food here and there, some spare ammunition, and a couple of guns… possibly a car.  It’s worth looking for.”

            “So you’re saying they might have a spare set of wheels stashed here?”

            “Yeah, just in case they have to ever back track.  An extra car can come in handy.”

            “Especially if you’re attacking from behind.”

            “As I said, they like to dare the heathens to attack.”

            Sam wondered how the cocky bastards would fair against a real attack.  An attack that would crush them.  An attack by five soldiers with nothing to lose.

            “Do you know where the car is stashed?”

            “Yes, among other things.”

            “I want to know what buildings were used for what in this colony.  I want to know everything,” Sam said.

            “This building had been used as a small barracks for the elite guard.  The tall building next to us ‘Heaven’s Tower’ was Calhoun’s capital.  There won’t be any zombies out.  I’ll give you the tour,” Helen said.

            Sam nodded, and followed the girl out of the room.  The rest of the troops followed.

*

            Walls collapsed and fires burned as the city crumpled around the angel of doom.  Last night, a squad had not reported back.  They had lost a whole of twelve troops, and that required the wrath of the gods.  He was not mature enough to rain fire from the sky, but his troops were unconditionally loyal, with the hope that they too could one day gain his status of greatness.

            The mortal angel had tracked the heathens’ movements to a rundown strip mall, full of liquor stores, adult book shops, and other smut.  In the sinful life before, people had gone here to gamble away their fortunes, poison themselves, and masturbate.  The angel had been a human child then, with no clue as to what true salvation and power were.  His parents had been acid dropping, pot smoking, unclean hippies.  Though he had forgotten most of his life on the wretched world before it was destroyed by God’s wrath, he did relish the day he had slaughtered his parents and joined the ranks of heaven.

            The unholy must be cleansed.

            There had been no clues or supplies in the jeep, so they quickly burned it to destroy the taint.  There was no other sign of the heathens.  Heathens were never smart enough to just disappear, so the angel suspected the vermin had some help from the little Judas.

            The bitch.

            He knew she had not died in the assault, but none of his comrades believed him.  He was beginning to suspect that they were not as strong as he thought.

            Twelve troops.  The angel was the first to suspect that the squad had not fallen victim to lepers, but that there were more sinister works at hand.  All twelve of the dead soldiers had been trained by the angel, and all held the prospect of rising high in the ranks.  They had practiced discipline, and honored the principles of the messiah.  The heathens had done a great injustice.  There were not even enough remains left of the troops for a proper memorial supper.  Heathens had no respect for the dead, or the righteous.

            The angel watched the flames dance, in a visage of hellish glory as blocks of sin burned.  Several lepers charged into the streets, afraid of the fire, and hoping to grab a snack.  They had all been unworthy in life, and now they lived out only their sinful ways.  Their greed, their hunger, their lust.  Only this time, they lived out the sinful fantasy without any self control to use on deceit.  In many ways they were purer than they had been as mortal humans.  But they were still wretched and low.  Hardly worth the bullets the armies of the pure spent upon them.

            The angel used his mighty swards to fight the demonic hordes.  As the flood and the fires before them, the swarms of lepers were a plague set upon man by God, and only the strong and the divine would survive.

            “Hold steady,” the angel commanded as his minions raised their rifles at the unholy mob of lepers.

            There had been several hundred of them in the streets before, now there were only fifty or sixty left.  They were drooling, moaning, and hungry.

            The angel handed his rifle to his lieutenant, and extracted his swords from their sheaths.  The angel wondered how long he would have to fight on before he would be able to enflame the swords with his mind.  For now he had to use chemicals.

            The lieutenant poured a liquid from a jar marked with a flaming skull onto the blades, and touched the flame of his cigarette to them.  When the blades glowed with the holy flame, the angel charged into battle.

            When the angel of doom reached the crowd, the unholy masses spilt, like the sea did for Mosses before him.  Only, the lepers would not stay away for long.  They were far too stupid to know when to run.  They cowered away from the flame, but were not smart enough to know that their destroyer was more than a mere man.

            They enveloped him.  The angel was surrounded by lepers, and they were closing in fast.  They didn’t stand a prayer.

            One of the lepers reached in, tempting the flame.  Holding the horde to his left off with one flaming sword, the angel swung the other at the dissident, severing the top half of its head.  The leper hit the ground immediately.

            The angel then began to spin rapidly, dancing with the flames and the diseased, flesh hungry masses, holding them at bay long enough for a graceful strike.  He swung low at one zombie, severing its leg below the knee.  The angel struck another severing both arms.  The flaming blades then touched another leper, setting it ablaze with hellfire.  The flaming leper ran blindly through the crowd, and made about fifty yards before it collapsed.

            Two more lepers approached only to be decapitated.  The angel danced through the crowd, setting several of the unholy on fire.  The angel dismembered two others as they tried to grab his arms.  Another leper tried to grab him, but the angel was faster.  He quickly cut the leper’s head off.

            A hand clamped to the angel’s ankle taking him by surprise.  It must have been the leper whose leg he had amputated.  The angel lost his balance and toppled to the ground, landing face first.

            In his fall, the angel had lost one of his flaming swords.  The other was near by, so he grabbed it, and began fending off the advancing lepers.  Still fending off the unholy to his front, the angel sprang to his feet with haste, for to sit meant death.  A death like this was for the weak, and he was strong.  Not merely strong, he was the angel of doom.  He was invincible!

            “Face my wrath!” the angel called out as he swung his mighty sword.

            A leper took a large bite out of his arm, and the angel dropped his sword.  There was nothing he could do to stop the girlish scream that escaped his lips.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.  The angel of doom was in so much pain.  He wasn’t supposed to feel pain like that.  Pain was for the weak.  The unsaved.  He was the angel of fucking doom!  He wasn’t supposed to succumb like this!  This was not happening.

            Another leper took a bite out of the angel’s leg, and the angel fell once again.  He could feel more biting, and more of his flesh being torn from his body.  Again the mighty angel of doom screamed out in pain and terror.

            Gunshots broke the feast, as several lepers collapsed.  A few continued to gnaw on what was left of the angel’s leg, but others ran towards the gunfire, only to be torn to shreds by automatic weapons.

            When the unholy were all vanquished, the angel could see his loyal minions approaching.  In the lead was his lieutenant.  They were loyal, and they would heal him.  The angel knew it.  He had faith.

            “It seems that the might of heaven was too much weight for you to shoulder my friend,” the lieutenant said.

            The angel spat blood at the dissident, “You Judas!”

            “You were mighty indeed but still unworthy.  May we all bask in your strength so that we may succeed where you have failed.”

            “Judas! Judas! Judas! Aaaaahhhhh…”

            The angel felt the flame of his sword, still burning, touch his torn flesh.  He spat blood at the disloyal vermin.  They tore his clothes away.

            “You’ll burn in Hell for this!”

            The angel screamed again as he felt more teeth digging into his flesh.  The last thing he heard was his lieutenant’s voice, “I shall try to be as good a leader as our fallen had strived to be!”

*

            “This is where they keep the car,” Helen said.

            The building was just a regular garage, like the one in the barracks they had crept into last night.  The garage was just as run down as the other buildings, but did not look like it was about to collapse any moment.  At least that thought brought some comfort.

            The rest of the base had been barracks, and a church, featuring a demented altar with blood splattered crucifixes.  Some had dead humans nailed to them, unlike the dormitory last night, the bodies were still.  Helen said that those on the right were the saints who had proven themselves worthy, and those on the left were the “Judases” who did not have the courage to fight to the death.  They had either run from danger or deserted their squads.  Those on the left had been crucified alive so they could pay for their sins.  When they died, the churchgoers would throw rocks at them until the crucified “lepers” stopped moving.  Those on the right were the valiant souls who had proven their valor and strength.  Others were not worthy to consume the saints and angels in the “last supper,” so they were suspended on the walls for all to see.

            Sam had asked for more information on the cult, but he dreaded each lesson.  The cultists seemed less human than the zombies that wandered the streets.  They were pure evil, and they made Sam sick.  He wanted to wipe them all out, and vanquish their evil forever.

            This garage had a giant steel shutter just like the one enclosing the garage that sheltered Helen’s Mustang.  Helen unwrapped the chain, and Jack rushed to her side.  Paul followed Jack’s quick stride with a walk.  Zach stood guard.

            As Jack helped Helen unwrap the chain, Sam noticed Helen’s gaze at the boy.  Out of all four of the soldiers, Jack seemed to be the only one Helen trusted.  Maybe he could let her take that perfect shot at Calhoun.

            Unfortunately it was Jack’s nature to be trusting, and he seemed to be displaying that trait quite frequently on the girl.  Jack could handle himself, but was it worth the risk?

            When the chain was unwrapped, Paul, Jack, and Helen tugged on the chain and the door opened, revealing an interior exactly like the one they had entered last night.  Sam and Zach rushed through, and took hold of the chain.  When they had the gate securely held, the others let go, and moved inside.

            “Hold on,” Helen said.  “You can fix the door open.”

            “No way.  I don’t want anything getting in there,” Sam said.

            “There are no lepers here.  Besides I’d think heat stroke is a bigger problem.  This car’s going to need an oil change, and I’d change the tires, and check the battery.”

            “Good.  Paul, help me out with the car.  Zach, Jack, come back with the car battery.  Helen, stay with them.”

            The girl nodded.  Sam wasn’t sure if she was still offended by his cold, uncertain attitude towards her, but she was compliant.

            When the three troops went off to grab the car battery, which was resting in the Mustang three blocks away, Sam and Paul both rolled up their sleeves.  Sam popped the hood open, then turned his attention to Paul.

            “How are you holding up?” he asked.

            “Okay I guess,” Paul answered.

            “Are you sure?  You went through a lot last night.”

            “We all did.”

            “You especially.”

            “I’d have thought you took more of a beating than the rest of us.”

            Sam said nothing.

            “You know in a war soldiers die.  It’s just the way things happen.  It’s ugly, but that’s the way things are.  It’s not your fault every time you lose one of our boys.  God has a special place for them you know, those willing to give their lives for the rest of humanity.”

            Sam shook his head.  He knew he had lost his cool before, but he was their fearless leader.  The mighty Sam was supposed to be giving the motivational talks.

            “Are you alright?” Paul asked.

            “Yeah, it just seems that all my boys are growing up.”

            Paul chuckled.

            “Let’s fix ourselves a set of wheels.”

            Sam drained the oil, and Paul grabbed an oil filter from the wall rack.  Everything in the garage had been tailored for this very vehicle, so there was not much to worry about.  The car wasn’t that bad either.  It was a sporty corvette, much like the one that had been in the chase last night.  Only this one did not have any skulls painted on the hood.  For that Sam was very thankful.

            By the time the two mechanics were finished changing the oil, the others had returned with the battery.  Despite the approaching conflict, their spirits were high, and the mood had become quite festive.

            The weather was nice and mild.  The sun was shining down, and there were no clouds in the sky.  In the world before the carnage, it would have been the perfect day to work on a car, or to go to the beach, or ball game.

            From the sounds of the three returning soldiers, Sam almost thought that he would see them playing catch with a Frisbee or shooting hoops, but they were only standing around watching the horizon.  Standing guard, performing their duty, but still playful.  The mood was inappropriate, but Sam did not set them straight.  He supposed it was alright to let them have a little fun.  In only a few hours, all five of them might be dead.

            “Hand me the tire kit,” Sam said.

            “Here,” Paul set the kit down at Sam’s feet

            “The rest of you can scout around a bit.  Find any extra ammunition or food they might have stashed around.”

            The three younger troops moved off on their mission, and Sam returned his attention to the sports car.

            “I’d like to see them try to catch us in this car,” Sam said.

            With a smooth motion, Sam wiped the sweat from his forehead, and raised the car with the jack.  When Sam was finished Paul grabbed the tire iron and began loosening the lug nuts.

            “With you behind the wheel and God on our side, they don’t stand a chance,” Paul said.  “That driving was really something.  I didn’t know you could do that.”

            “A lot of my police training kicked in last night.  I hadn’t used a lot of it since before…”

            Sam looked away from Paul, and helped the soldier remove the hub cap.  Though the tires looked to be in good shape, Sam did not want to take chances with them.  He would rather waste a few hours working than have something go wrong which he could have easily prevented.

            With one easy pull, the tire came off.

            They rolled another one over to the sports car, and slid it on.  Paul held the tire in place as Sam slid on the hub cap.  He then twisted each lug nut back on, and tightened them with the tire iron.

            “Alright, one down and three to go,” Sam said and brushed his hands together.

*

            “Okay, what are we looking for,” Zach asked.

            They had strayed at least two blocks from the garage, where Sam and Paul were rebuilding the second car.

            “There’s a small armory this way,” Helen said.  “It doesn’t have anything too huge, but it does have a lot of ammunition and a shit load of small firearms.”

            Zach could use some extra pistols.  He grinned at the thought of three on each side.  Zach had not so much as seen a zombie in over twelve hours, and his trigger finger was itching.

            Since there was nothing to shoot, all Zach could do was continue following the girl through the decaying wasteland; the dead zone with no zombies to shoot.

            Zach did wonder if the armory included different types of shotgun ammo.  With the power of Remington in hand, Zach was nearly compelled to discard his M-16, but he liked the extra rifle too.

            “Hey, either of you guys got any duct tape?” Zach asked.

            “Yeah,” Jack said.

            Without stopping, Jack swung his backpack to his front, reached inside, and fished out a roll of unused silver duct tape.  He tossed it over to Zach, who caught the shiny roll with one hand.

            Zach had never much liked Jack, but he was good for something.  In truth, Zach knew that the feeling was more than mutual, but he like to get under Jack’s skin.  That was why he had tried to stay in the same units as Jack most of the time.

            Zach had lost both of his parents about the same time that Jack had lost his father, but he had not found any problem finding a home.  Zach’s uncle Dan, a part time factory worker and full time mortician, took him in.  At the tender age of twelve, Zach had his first real look in the morgue.  If he had asked, his uncle would have let him tag along to watch a day’s work, but Zach thought it would have been more exciting to sneak in after his uncle had left.

            Though Zach had learned to pick locks the summer before, he knew exactly where his uncle kept the spare key.  All of the children on the base knew of the dangers of these places, and of the dangers of the walking dead before they learned of the Easter Bunny.  He had heard a story about a corpse that had not been shot in the head before being transported to the morgue.  It sat up during the autopsy, and killed one of the coroners before they could terminate it.  There was another yarn about a wandering apparition, whose voice could be heard crying in the walls of the mortuary late at night.  And one of a specter that could be seen aimlessly walking the halls.  Uncle Dan had said that the ghost was missing an arm, and had a gaping neck wound.  Dan had seen the ghost one night, and had mistaken it for a zombie.  As soon as his pistol was out, the apparition disappeared into the walls.

            Among those tales were more legends of death, some more hideous than Zach could comprehend, but none of them were going to scare Zach from his quest.

            With a flashlight in hand, Zach made his way into the dark halls to the mortuary.  Inside, he encountered no headless spirits or weeping voices.  There were no dead bodies wandering.  The place was just dead.  But Zach would never forget the smell.  Seeping through the halls, Zach did not smell any rotten flesh, but formaldehyde and ammonia.  Those scents would forever be associated with death.

            The odor had overpowered Zach as soon as he stepped into the room, and he felt like he was going to puke, but he drudged onward.  Zach was not sure exactly what he wanted to find, but he knew he wanted to see it.

            The boy had known that the building would be dark, so he had been prepared.  Zach switched on the flashlight, and moved silently through the halls.  He toughly inspected each room, looking for the morgue.  On the first floor, there was an office, where Uncle Dan filed most of his paper work.  In the desk drawer, there was a twenty-two caliber pistol, just in case there was a mishap.  Dan had always carried a thirty-eight in a shoulder holster, but he said it never hurt to keep a spare.  There were also several closets where medical supplies were kept.  Up stairs where was a small apartment, where Dan sometimes stayed if he had to get an overhaul of dead bodies.

            At the end of the hall, Zach found the door to the morgue.  It was opened.  Though he could not remember the exact words, Zach had said some that were very naughty.

            Zach supposed he was going to have to inspect the building.  He couldn’t afford to have a flesh eater wandering around the town at night.  Sure, the ghoul would be taken down quickly by whoever spotted it in the streets, but they would trace it back to the morgue, and that would mean problems for Dan.  Besides Zach’s curiosity was running on overdrive.

            He had heard that the zombies were slow and stupid, so he might be able to take it with the flash light.  But what if there were more than one?

            Zach paused for a moment to ponder the notion, then moved on.  What were the chances of there being a mob of ghouls in the morgue?  Just one was a fluke.  And Zach would be able to handle it.

            When he reached the basement door, Zach shined the beam of light at the base of the stairs, then swept the floor with it.  There was no sign of movement.  Zach was going to have to make his way to the morgue, and check himself.

            Zach found that there was still no movement when he reached the bottom of the stairs.  He moved to the lockers where the bodies were kept, and found that only one was opened.  Embalmed bodies must not have been too appealing to the walking dead, for none of the locks on the doors had been tampered with.  None of the furniture in the room had been destroyed, and everything was still in perfect order.  This ghoul must have been a neat freak in its past life.

            At the top of the steps, Zach could hear a noise.  Something was coming, something undead with a craving for twelve year old flesh.  Zach shivered, and raised the beam of light to the doorway in time to see a mutilated figure emerge.  The body was that of Rick Hudson, and eighteen year old soldier who had died earlier that day on his first snatch and grab.  The story had been big that day, not only because the community was so small, but because the soldier had died so young.  Only six years older than Zach himself, and already resurrected from the metallic gurney.

            Hudson’s corpse had a gaping wound in its neck, and was still covered in dried blood.  The body had not been embalmed yet, but it had not started to stink either.  He had only been dead a few hours.  The corpse had taken a long time to come back, but even more amazing was that it had been shot in the head already.  There was a small hole in the ghoul’s skull where it had been shot by a low caliber bullet.  Though it was rare, Zach had heard of cases where bullets did not damage important parts of the brain, or just did not do enough damage, but he had never seen it.  In fact, he had never even laid eyes on a corpse save for the dead who crowded outside the walls.

            The ghoul descended the staircase in a clumsy fashion.  Its leg had been badly wounded, and blood still seeped from some of the wounds.  The heart and other organs had started up again when the corpse reanimated.  That was not uncommon, but still not pleasant to look at.

            With one hungry ghoul moving down, Zach had nowhere to go.  He just had to sit tight, and figure out his plan of action when the ghoul was away from the stairs.

            This time Zach clearly remembered the dirty word he had said, “shit.”

            Zach moved back, towards the wall, always keeping the light on the ghoul.  He was careful not to get himself stuck in a corner.  If he wanted to survive, Zach was going to need room to move.

            After minute of limping, the zombie reached the bottom of the stairs and kept moving towards food.  Zach, who was much quicker, ran to the stairs.  The zombie made a clumsy grab, but Zach ducked out of the predator’s reach and ran up the stairs as fast as he could.

            Rapidly pounding his feet against the floor, Zach could hear the ghoul behind him.  Though Zach figured the ghoul would take a long time getting back up the stairs, the undead beast was almost right behind him.

            Zach could clearly remember saying “What the fuck is this shit?” and running harder.

            When he reached the office door, Zach saw that there was only a little distance between him and the zombie.  It was only at the top of the steps.  Zach fumbled with the keys for a moment, then unlocked the office door, and darted in.  Inside, he locked the door behind him, and made his way to the desk.  The drawer where the twenty-two was had been locked, and Zach was not sure where the key was.  Reaching into his pocket, he fished out some wire.

            A fist pounded the other side of the door.

            Zach bent one end of the wire into a hook, and pushed it inside of the shaft.  He then probed and prodded with the other end until the lock finally gave.

            The door handle jiggled, and the fist began pounding the door more violently.  The ghoul on the other side moaned in rage, and began pounding with both fists until the door’s window broke.  The space was not big enough for the ghoul to climb through, but it did leave an opening for it to get its arms in the door.

            Zach pulled out the pistol, and disengaged the safety.  The gun was always loaded so there was one less detail for Zach to worry about.

            Without taking time to aim, Zach pointed the gun at the zombie and fired three times.  The first shot missed the ghoul.  The second hit the zombie in the shoulder.  The third pierced the zombie in the skull, putting another puncture in its brain.

            Though the last shot had taken the ghoul down, Zach opened the door and emptied the pistol into the corpse’s skull.

            Moments later the door swung open, and an armed soldier stepped inside.  He heard the gunshots, and after asking a rhetorical question of “What the Hell?” noticed the dead body on the floor.  The soldier then looked at Zach, and asked the boy if he was alright.

            The experience had forever changed Zach’s life.  He had seen what the undead had to offer and conquered it in the prime of his childhood.  There was nothing left for him to fear.

            Zach stuck with his philosophy for years.  There had been nothing for him to fear until last night.  A chill ran up Zach’s spine, then down again.

            The following day, Zach had been chastised by his uncle, but he’d have done it all again.  He was used to being scolded for his mischief, and up until Uncle Dan’s death from a heart attack, when Zach was seventeen, Dan’s scolding and punishments had been light.

            The feud between Zach and Jack had started the summer after the adventure in the morgue, when they were both thirteen, and going through basic schooling.  All either of them wanted was to be a soldier.  Jack, who had always been an idealist, had wanted to live up to his father’s reputation.  Zach, however, wanted only to vanquish the dead.  He enjoyed mutilating the walking corpses, and had been driven home several times for spraying zombies with lighter fluid and setting them on fire from the other side of the fence.  With his macabre sense of humor, and poor motives for wanting to join the guard, many people did not like to be around Zach.  Jack was among them, but he was weak.  Jack was fun to mess with.

            One Saturday night, the two boys went off together for an adventure in the morgue.  Though Zach’s previous experience would have scared any sane person away from such places, it made the lure of the place even stronger.  Zach wondered what would happen next.  Would he be cornered by two of them?  The chance excited him.  It was even greater than sex as he would find out three years down the road.

            They had snuck into the basement, where Zach told several ghost stories.  Jack was getting more and more tense by the second.  The boy was not guard material.  He was too squeamish, and of all the children Zach despised, he found Jack to be the most annoying.  The night’s antics had all been a charade to get Jack into the morgue, where Zach could pull the meanest and dumbest prank ever.

            “There’s a special case in here, Jack ol’ boy,” Zach remembered saying.  There was a ghoulish delight in his voice.

            Jack responded with both wonder and fear.

            Zach slid the door open, and there was a headless corpse inside.  The body had belonged to a nurse named Gina Dickson who had committed suicide in a most gruesome fashion.  With her two barreled shotgun, Mrs. Dickson had blown her head almost clean off.  There were still a few chunks and flaps of flesh at the top of her neck.  Part of her lower jaw was still intact, but it looked like her head had exploded.  Almost nothing was left.  Zach had heard stories of people doing bizarre things like this before society had collapsed, and he found it all the more amazing when it actually happened.

            From what Zach had heard of the story, Mrs. Dickson’s husband had been torn limb from limb by zombies, and all that could be recovered of his body was his lower half.  The nurse had not taken her husband’s death very well, and he been in despair the whole week before her death.

            Zach told Jack the story.  Then as the boy’s expression turned from shock to sadness, Zach punched him in the stomach.  He then grabbed Jack by the caller, and forced him on to the metal shelf with the headless body, and closed the door.

            Jack began crying and screaming and pounding on the inside as Zach locked the door and began laughing.

            “You cry like a girl,” Zach said.

            Jack cried out, “LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT!”

            Zach just laughed.  Then an idea hit.

            “Oh no!” Zach had cried out, “One of the corpses is loose!”

            “LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT!”

            “LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN!”

            Zach cried out in fake terror, and Jack began pounding harder.  Zach pounded on the drawer.

            He could hear Jack inside.

            Bored with his game, Zach left the mortuary, and went home to bed.

            The next morning, Zach was awakened by his uncle yanking Zach by his arm.  The boy hit the floor face first, and it took him a few seconds to remember what in the hell all of this must have been about.

            Dan was holding a leather belt in his hand, and looked like he was a bout to cry.  The man had never before beaten Zach, and he was surprised to see him with a belt now.  Instead of giving Zach the lashing of a life time, Uncle Dan only had one word, “why.”

            Zach said nothing, and after a moment, Uncle Dan said, “You know Mrs. Smith has been worried sick since her son went missing last night?  And her son could have been killed.  You know what that would have done to that poor woman?”

            Zach said nothing.

            The following month had been spent in detention, and Jack had never forgiven him.  He supposed it was for the better.  Everyone needed an enemy.  Besides, Zach liked to think that he was part of the reason Jack had constant nightmares.

            “Here it is,” Helen said.

            The girl’s voice snapped Zach back into the present.

            Jack stepped ahead, and grabbed the fire escape for her.  Zach had noticed the way Jack looked at the girl practically since they had first met her.  That was another button Zach would be able to push.

            With a metallic thud, the ladder hit the ground, and Jack stepped aside so Helen could go up first.  As Helen climbed up, Jack was still watching her.

            Zach felt his lips form an evil grin.

            Before Jack could begin his climb, Zach put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and said “Man, you know what I’d like to do to that?”

            The scowl on Jack’s face was priceless.  The boy looked like he wanted to bury his fist into Zach’s face.

            Instead of breaking Zach’s nose, Jack pushed the arm away from his shoulder, and made his way up the ladder.

            When Jack was at the top, Zach grabbed the rungs and said, “Smokin’ hot!”

            Jack ignored the comment and made his way inside through a window.  Zach pulled himself up rapidly moving hand over hand until he was at the top.

            Zach climbed into the decaying building.

            The inside of the building was just as just as dark and drab as the others.  Mildew tainted the air, and the walls were almost entirely brown water damage.  The room they were in had once been a bedroom, now it was void of any furniture, and the gray carpet was worn to the floorboards, which squeaked under every step.

            “It would have been quicker to take the fire escape, but I figure it would be better if you two got used to moving through old buildings,” Helen said.

            She made her way out of the room.  The two soldiers followed her.

            The small hallway outside of the bedroom led to a kitchen with a tiled floor.  The walls were the same white as the walls of the bedroom, but along with the water damage, were streaks of dried blood.  The oven, refrigerator, freezer, and any other appliances had been stripped from the apartment.

            The living room was in the same condition.  Streaks of dry blood and water damage covered the walls.  The white paint had nearly turned yellow, and the homely brown carpet was torn in several places, and even more worn than the gray carpet in the bedroom.

            It was strange how the apartment had been stripped of everything, but stranger still was that all of the doors were missing.  Zach had not taken note last night, but thinking back, he realized that most of the doors had been stripped from the building they had slept in the night before.  The only difference was that the other building still had some furniture.

            Outside of the apartment, there was a hallway that led to a staircase.  From the hallway, Zach could see that the other apartments were in the same condition as the one where they had entered.

            “This way,” Helen said, and moved toward the stairs.

            They must have climbed up three flights of stairs before Helen finally abandoned them for another hallway.

            “Not much further,” she said.

            They passed another three empty hinges without doors before Zach spotted to room at the end of the hall.  On the other side of the empty doorway, the walls were hidden behind racks, which were covered in drapes.  They must be gun racks.

            Zach and Jack followed Helen into the room, where Helen pulled the sheet off of the first one.  Resting on the gun rack was an assortment of hunting rifles, automatic rifles, and shotguns.  Zach and Jack began pulling sheets off of several of the gun racks on all of the walls.  On others, there were more rifles, shotguns, some Uzi’s, handguns of many different calibers, and some small automatic pistols.

            Next to the doorway was a large, rectangular piece of furniture, which was covered in a sheet.  Zach eagerly ripped away the gray, dusty cloth uncovering a cabinet.  When he yanked the shelves opened, Zach could see an assortment of spare ammunition in the top three shelves.  The bottom shelf was full of hand grenades.

            “Fuckin’ A,” Zach said.

            “What is…” Jack’s voice trailed off, and his jaw dropped to his chest when the boy laid eyes on the explosives.

            “We could use these,” Zach said.

            “How are we going to carry this stuff back?” Jack asked.

            “Let’s get it all down to the second floor, and I’ll get the Mustang.  We can load it into the trunk,” Helen said.

            They gathered what they could and began to carry the weapons by the armful down the stairs.

*

            Getting himself killed was the first good thing their angel of doom had done since he had earned the right.  Sure the man had been a great fighter, but he lacked any logic.  All of the strength and fighting skill in the world would do no good if a warrior was not smart enough to keep himself alive.  And the angel of doom had lacked all of the important smarts.

            Without looking for any kind of a trail, or any evidence the supposed angel had burned the entire shopping strip, destroying anything they might have left.  All they had found before was the jeep, which was now under a pile of charred wreckage.

            Things were going to be different now.  Randal Lennux, the former lieutenant had taken the angel’s place.  Only Lennux was much smarter.  He knew he was only a mere man.  He knew that if he was bitten by one of the lepers, he would die.  He knew that his troops were there to fight for him.  He knew how to find heathens.  In his last words, the angel had accused Lennux of being a Judas.  Well it was the Judases of the world that won wars.  Honor and valor gained nothing on the theater of war.  Deceit and deception were key.  Those who could trick survived to kill, while the others were used as human shields.  Their spirits may hold a higher place in heaven, but the Judases made the world go round.

            The angel had fallen only a few hours ago, but Lennux felt like he had possessed the wings for centuries.  He commanded with a natural authority, and precision.

            After the debacle at the strip mall, Lennux ordered his unit to return to the base.  Though they had no idea where the heathens were, they could step up security around the base.  After ordering his unit to patrol the perimeter, Lennux made his way to the capital, where the messiah rested.

            From the sixth floor of the main barracks, Lennux made his way to the window facing the capital.  The newly commissioned angel climbed out of the window, and planted his feet on the rope bridge connecting the two buildings.  When he reached the other side, Lennux climbed in through the window, and greeted the divine guard.  They were the elite, the chosen, the best of the best.  Draped in red cloaks, and armed with an M-16, three thirty-eight caliber revolvers, four hand grenades, and a large knife, the guards were ready for anything.  They were also unquestioningly loyal to the Messiah.  Lennux was not willing to die for the messiah or anyone.  He only wanted to end life.

            The two elite soldiers stopped Lennux.  One said, “No visitors.  The chosen one is busy.”

            With his right hand, Lennux held the angel’s femur in the air.

            “The angel of doom has been vanquished in battle.  I have taken his place,” Lennux said.  “I have important business.”

            The guards stepped aside, and Lennux made his way through the hallway, and into the main gate.  Six more guards in red cloaks were present, but they held their positions.  There were thirteen divine guards total, and most were around the messiah.  A few others were stationed on other floors to make sure nobody uninvited got in.

            More guards could have been in this room for all Lennux knew.  The room was dimly lit by two torches near the entrance.  No other light seeped into the room, and anything not in view of the doorway was almost impossible to see.

            With all the precautions the messiah took, Lennux found it rather stupid that he did not order the condemned building next to them to be demolished, but that was inconsequential at the moment.

            “Sir,” Lennux said and kneeled as he approached the throne, “the angel is dead, and I wish to take his place.”

            “Lieutenant, you have proven yourself worthy on many occasions.  Your request is granted,” the messiah said.

            “There is one other thing.”

            “Go on.”

            “The heathens,” Lennux said.  “They are nowhere to be found.  I think we should increase security until they are eliminated.”

            “No, just let them come.  We will not deny them salvation if they wish to claim it.”

            “One of our troops disappeared on the assault on the heathens’ colony.  We think she might still be alive.”

            “That is of no concern to me.  If she comes she will be eliminated.  Is that all?”

            “Yes sir, thank you for your time.”

            Lennux rose to his feet and walked out of the chamber.

*

            The extra car was running, and they had sorted through the ammunition and extra weapons.  They wouldn’t need that many rifles, so Sam only selected a few for his unit.  Sam did however instruct his troops to take all the grenades and ammunition they could carry.  Zach had taped his rifle and shotgun together, so he would not have to fumble between them any more.  Smart kid.  Each soldier was carrying four extra pistols, and Sam had given one of the C4 packs to Jack.  Helen had gathered some extra stores of fuel.  They had everything they needed.  Sam knew the two buildings to hit, and which vehicles were the most important.

            Aside from the extra weapons and supplies, Helen gave Sam a map of the cult’s home, with each building clearly labeled.

            “Okay boys and girls,” Sam said, “here’s the plan.  Paul and Zach, you two are with me.”

            Sam looked at Helen.

            “Remember how you said you could take that perfect shot at Calhoun?  I want you to take it, but I’m still not letting you go alone.  Jack, you’re going with her.”

            Jack nodded.

            As Sam loaded the last of the supplies into the sports car, he looked up at the sky.  There were still no clouds in the sky, but it would be dark by the time they reached hostile ground.

            Sam took one last look at Jack and Helen and said, “Good luck.”

            He hoped he was doing the right thing.

            Paul and Zach were already in the sports car.  Jack and Helen boarded the Mustang.  With nothing left to do, Sam climbed into the cockpit and drove off.

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