Their Rebellion

The disturbing, loud chatter of people echoed throughout Ireland's hills and valleys for months at a time. The United States had become lost in their own creation of madness months ago, which forced any survivor to seek hospitality and safety within the neighboring, or farther, countries. To keep any of the infected from stumbling into the small towns and cities of Ireland, they had called upon the Irish Marines for their help and expertise.

There was now a single entrance and exit from Ireland, where people came in by the hour. Some arrive on large boats, some of small rafts they had managed to scrounge up before their leave of the States. No matter how they arrived, it never gave them an advatage with the Marines. Parents were seperated from their children, while their children shift through the crowds, screaming and wailing for their loving family. Because of a foolish mistake the US had failed to admit to, things have changed drastically.

Everyone was tested for the infection before stepping onto the lush soil many called home. If a fight breaks out in or amongst the crowd, they are taken out by snipers from high above the ground. Marines guarded the entry and exit through all hours of the day and night, with no exceptions. If someone is spotted sporting a wound, they are shot, regardless of reason. Maire Emer, a local Irish Marine, had grown tired of games and only wanted to get the job done.

She had no sympathy for those who bore any mark of sign of infection. If close enough, she would shove the barrel of her fully automatic weapon into their stomach, head, mouths or chest and pull the trigger, smiling happily when the discoloured matter splattered across the hot, cement ground. Her cold, hard eyes looked out over the crowd, searching for even the smallest sign of an infected person. Maire stood a few feet above the crowds, just for safety reasons.

Her thick boots clapped loudly against the metal crates as she walked back and forth, eyeing down each person like they were her next target. Each person faught passed the others to get their citizenship, just to be let into the land and go on their merry way. Whether they drank the night away at a local bar or ravished their loved ones until the nights end made no difference. Maire wanted only uninfected in, like the rest of her commrades.

If there were any visible or blood related sign that someone was infected, they would be discarded of in a matter of seconds. They would plead, cry and even fight to keep their life. Yet in Maire's eyes, her own safety was worth more than the small lives below her. She shifted the weapon in her arms, making sure it could be grabbed quickly if need be. Her blonde bangs clouded her right eye, but despite the small limitation of her vision, she was still declared a legal, and deadly, weapon.

Maire was impressed with the amount of survivors still piling into her home land. Even though months had passed, she still found more and more survivors each day. Even though a percentage of them would be put out of their misery faster than she could muster infected, she still enjoyed seeing the fighting rate rise. A loud scoff caught her attention and she turned, finding Shamus, another Marine, by her side. He chewed like a mad cow on his tabacco as his eyes looked out into the crowd.

He leaned forward, just enough to spit out a wad of falsely coloured saliva from his lips. He looked up at Maire as he dragged his forearm across his mouth. He continued chewing as she offered him a roll of her baby blues. Shamus was a cocky man, who surely had his coming very soon. He was not a professional, like they were trained to be. He had more of a trigger finger than anyone else in the group. Maire stopped her stalking before looking out into the group once more.

A low, gutteral growl escaped Shamus' lips as he spat, "Fuckin' tourists is what they are. I say shoot'm all, jus' to be safe."

"Not all of us are as sadistic as yerself, Shamus."Maire smirked.

"We can't tell who's infected."He cackled."Might s'well put'm down like the dogs they are."

Maire ignored his ignorant comments and starred out into the crowd. She froze up for a moment as she watched a certain man's movements. He seemed to drag his right leg with a limp, forcing him to stumble forward when he walked. His skin was paled significantly, which brought out the blood stains along his worn and tattered clothing. Standing perfectly still, the man looked up from the crowd, as if to show off his blood shot eyes to Maire. His lips curled back into a hideous, hungry growl before he jerked forward.

Maire rose her weapon, shouting, "Infected!"

She tried to take aim on this consitantly moving man, but with the crowd beginning to panic, she had no room to shoot. She pulled back from the scope on top of her weapon, only to watch as this man lurched forward, tangling his decaying fingers into a teenagers shirt. Maire was sure her petrified scream could be heard by the snipers as he brought his teeth down and into her collar bone. The crowd began to disperse and shove eachother, trying desperatley to get into Ireland, where it was safe.

"Fuck!"Shamus took hold of his weapon, but before he could start taking aim, Maire sprinted forward."Don't even think 'bout it ya crazy - "

He slapped a hand to his face as Maire jumped from the safety of the crates, landing with a hard thud on the ground. She stood, preventing herself from being pushed over and reached into her back pocket. As her feet carried her at a quick sprint, she pulled her walky from her uniform. She pressed the tan walky to her lips and shouted, "Close the entrance! We have infected!"

She pushed it back into her back pocket and continued to push her way through the panicked crowd. She saw the man from afar and quickly rose her weapon to take aim. She peered through the scope on her gun, watching as the man gorged himself on the slimey insides of the dead teen girl. She growled lowly when the man peered up from his recent feast. His cold, foggy eyes seemed to find her and looked straight through the scope. Maire traced her finger along the trigger, but before she could pull, she was pushed over.

She skidded along the cement, losing her gun in the process. Gun shots began to echo out along the contained area, as well as consitant banging on the thick metal doors. These people wanted out, simply because they knew they were in the same distance of an infected man and soon to be young girl. Maire quickly looked up, finding that her helmet no longer pushed her hair into her eye. She patted the top of her head in search for it, but it had been discarded of.

Quickly, she searched among the crowd, finding that her gun was just a few feet away from where she had landed. Maire quickly scrambled forward, trying to lace her fingers around her weapon. Knees and feet continuously banged into her sides, face and ribs as she reached out for her gun. When she finally reached her weapon, she reached out, taking hold of the cold metal. She stopped, however, when a pair of thick, worn, black boots stopped in front of her.

Maire caught her breath in her throat, wondering why this person wasn't running like the rest of them. She knew for a fact that this person wasn't a Marine; their boots were worn out and beaten. Maire slowly let her eyes crawl along this person, finding those similar tan slacks and white button up dress shirt. Blood caked multiple areas of this now known man before she rested her eyes on his face. The pale skin was coated with a new layer of blood.

This was the man she was aiming for, and he was now standing above her. She found herself almost spellbound by the crazy look in his eye. They seemed to resemble those of a blind man, but these were not blind eyes. These held the decaying, foggy and hallow look of a dead person. Maire whimpered quietly as his lips quivered. He looked down at the helpless Marine and growled lowly. Slowly, but surely, Maire could hear that familiar screech as he launched himself downward.