Page 1

The survivors had been dragging in, in fits and starts, for days. Many of them had been trucked in from other stations that were no longer in operation. It was becoming more than clear, however, that their numbers were beginning to dwindle. That was actually good, however, because they were starting to run low on food and supplies, though this fact was being kept pretty much on the down low.

Hysterical sobs and shocked silence mingled in the crowded gymnasium, which by this time was beginning to smell like sweat and vomit. And fear. Word had gotten in, with the other refugees, that many of the other rescue stations had been taken out by now, and the feeling of anxiety was so palpable in the air that you could almost reach out and grab a handful.

The sound of gunfire echoed across the city, as units of local, county, and state police and what remained of the National Guard (that which hadn't been absorbed by units of regular Army) fought to control the spread of the violence. The "wave of homicidal mania", as the TV newscasters had been calling it, kept moving.

There were those who still thought that the ones committing the acts were mad with some kind of sickness that drove them to cannibalism, or that some kind of mass hysteria had affected them, but Tune knew….he'd seen it with his own eyes, and more than once over the last week.

People affected with a sickness didn't get up and start coming after you when you blew several large holes in their torsos. People affected with madness didn't open their eyes and come back to life when you knew damn well they were dead. This was something else altogether. The Einsteins and techs were killing themselves trying to find big words to explain it all away, but it all boiled down to one thing: the dead were coming back. Period. Was this Judgement Day? Or Judgement Week, maybe? Gabriel's Horn hadn't sounded, and Jesus hadn't appeared to take the Saved to Heaven with Him, but the graves were sure as hell giving up their dead. In some cases, literally. It seemed as though anyone who'd died in the past year or so had been given some kind of cosmic "get out of jail free" card. It was hard not to envision cemeteries with dozens, or even hundreds, of headstones standing tall and hard above the squirming dead contained within metal crypts below six feet of dirt. Some actually had made it to the surface, however, as the opened graves found here and there had given testimony.

Sgt. Jim "Looney" Tune was a Regular US Army non-com. The Guard hadn't been able to contain the situation, and things had continued to deteriorate in cities across the country (and indeed the whole world, from what Tune had been able to glean from a few official memos he'd glimpsed). The President, eleven days ago, had sought Congress's permission to declare Martial Law, and to turn things over to the regular armed forces. His request was granted, and the army, navy, Marines and air force were activated and tossed into the fight. Tune and his unit were deployed, first to a place called Chester, WV, then a small town further south, called Follansbee, where they had absorbed a couple of Guard units and cleared the area of its wandering corpses. They then moved south again, to Wheeling, WV. There, they hunkered down in the fairly easily defensible position of Wheeling Middle School, on the south end of town, which had been designated as an Official Rescue Station. Wheeling was a bigger city, however, than either Chester or Follansbee, and it was proving more difficult to clear the larger urban areas.

The front of the school consisted of two sets of opposing steps that led up from the street, perhaps twenty feet or so. From up here, they were able to keep watch up and down Chapline Street, which ran in front of the school, the side streets and across the football/baseball field to the bank of the Ohio River. Only a few street-level doors were vulnerable, and of course the colonel had ordered them barricaded, nailed shut (if a fire broke out, Tune mused, they were all screwed) and then placed guards on them in rotating shifts. Snipers had been stationed on the roof, scanning the streets below for any more survivors……or zombies (as the more realistic among them were now calling them; those Tune saw as in denial still referred to them as "things").

Facing the building, the left-hand set of steps led up to the school's main entrance and the office, which had been commandeered as a command post. The right led up to the cafeteria area and the gym, where the survivors were being attended by various Red Cross workers, civilian and military medical personnel.

[ Continue to page 2 ]