Cessation (© M.A. Kastle)
Page 2 The zombies didn’t care what name it went
by, they kept coming. With enough zombies locked up, and not
merely in quarantine, but in cells, it gave doctors the opportunity to
eliminate several possibilities. They weren’t zombies from the movies, it
wasn’t bio anything, there were no chemicals in their blood, they weren’t
contagious, and they weren’t simply sick. They all suffered from the same
thing. An aneurysm. A vein exploded in their heads causing blood to soak into
their brains, resulting in something resembling encephalitis. Somehow, it
stripped them of their conscience, their knowledge of right and wrong and left
them to survive on primal, territorial, and violent instincts. It didn’t stop the rumors of testing,
government conspiracy and too many other speculations he couldn’t remember. Too
quickly, people chose sides, pro-medical went to hospitals, pro-chaos stopped
going to the hospitals and started hiding. They, the zombies, soon out numbered
the healthy, or so it seemed when their attacks turned states, counties, and
towns into bloody disaster areas. When another wave of sick took to the
streets, fear, hate, and frustration ruled over commonsense and the healthy
went into hiding. The question on everyone's lips- were people
born with an expiration date, and if they were, how long before the entire
human population turned into zombies? No one had an answer. After a five-month rampage resulting in
countless dead, healthy and zombie alike, and a level of fear no one thought
possible, the first wave started to die. Three more months and the second wave
picked up where the first wave left off, falling dead where they stood.
Everyone gave into the relief they felt when the zombies stopped, then fell.
The break gave law enforcement, the military, and all healthies time to regroup
and fight back. When the third wave fell ill, the fear of the expiration date
became a reality. With or without acknowledging their pending termination,
people concentrated on fighting the third and fourth waves. Worry eased
further, when the waves began to spread out, at first by weeks and then by
months, even the number of infected people grew less with time. It didn’t
change the end. Those whose expiration dates came up, turned. In the background mumbled voices drifted,
but as Jack went deeper inside his own reasons for being there, they turned to
whispers. He tugged the green tactical strap slung over his right shoulder, an
old habit that brought the AR-15, to his right hand. His gun exploration had begun
out of fear when the first wave ran wild, and as painful, as it was, all trial
by error, he settled on the AR-15. The dealer told him, it was the civilian’s
M-16. It was fast, efficient, and common enough he could buy rounds anywhere.
That wasn’t his only gun. Just in case, he also carried a Beretta 9 millimeter
holstered at his hip. The Cessation’s terror taught everyone a lesson in the
importance of self-defense. Jack pulled the sleeve of his coat back
exposing warm skin to chilled air and checked the time. Too soon, with the
company of his guide, he would walk through the gate entering the area created
for the expired, known as the preserve. It cost him dearly, the trip to the
preserve, and then the guide. You had to have one, and they had to be paid, you
couldn’t go in and search the place for the person you wanted, as if the
zombies were all lined up like dolls on a shelf with plastic covering them. After the healthy gained control, places
like the preserve, nothing more than pastures for zombies, sprouted up all over
the US. Like the addition of the preserves, there were changes, states kept
their names, but changed their counties to quadrants, and while some stayed the
same size, the state expanded each section to incorporate smaller cities and even
small towns. Jack currently stood in quadrant 31-A-52, he didn’t know what the
numbers meant, but knew two cities lost their identities. The same went for
most of the preserves, but not the one he stood in, it was notorious for
civilian deaths and rated as one of the most dangerous. Its nickname, Sorrow
Flats, hinted at its history, while the two hundred zombies living out their
last days explained the danger. [ Continue to page 3 ] |