Red Death

Killing is easy. It’s what I was created to do. The first 17 odd years of my life (this is an estimated age…I really don’t have a proper date of birth) had been revolved around training me, tuning me, preparing me; molding me into the perfect weapon. Death on the other hand – death is hard.
It is hard to look into the crazed eyes of the only family and friends I’d ever known and pull the trigger – placing the bullet into the middle of their foreheads; the perfect kill shot. It was hard to see the transformations that had altered the only people that I had known; that I had cared for. It was hard to say my sorrys and good-byes.
The Apocalypse was never supposed to have happened. At least, that is what my creators had promised me (keep in mind that my creators are scientist; therefore there is a lot of political nonsense into the reason for me being made). To make a long winded and rather dry explanation short, I was created to prove that I could be; to prove that a weapon against my prey can be made and controlled, just in case a weapon such as myself should ever be needed. I was their prototype; their drawing board; their final product.
I’d done everything ever asked of me. I put up with the training. I completed the tests. I suffered through the countless surgeries. I even let them kill me. I’d been beaten, broken, and fixed; always better than I was before. And, for my devotion, I was to be put into a cryochamber, a sort of...machine to make people hibernate.
I was never to be awakened; never to be used again.
The week before my eternal sleep I was told by several of my creators that my prey had been quarantined; that the monsters would never see the light of day again. But, Dr. Markus, their creator, had lied to all of us. He’d taken 20 of each species – Runners, Stalkers, Creepers, Crawlers, and Swimmers – to each major, and several minor, cities across the globe. He’d done this the proper way, slowly and precisely – disguising them as corpses heading back to their places of origin to be laid to rest.
None of us knew this until the day that I was scheduled to be put into cryosleep. Dr. Matthew, the scientist who’d used his own DNA to bring me to life, was in my room – a pathetic white cell with a cot in one corner and a toilet and sink in the other. Out of all the doctors that worked in this unnamed facility, Dr. Matthew was my favorite. In his own way, he treated me like his own child.
Dr. Matthew had been labored with the task of prepping me for the cryochamber. He’d just gotten me into one of those flimsy, back-less, paper gowns when the emergency sirens blared to life. The look of disbelief and fear in those rich brown eyes of his is a look that I will never forget.
I knew that something had gone terribly wrong. I could feel it in my bones.
Dr. Matthew’s deep, Scottish voice shook when he looked at me, “Stay here, Kitty.”
Those were the last words he ever spoke to me and he didn’t even use my real name. ‘Kitty’ was just a pet name of sorts everyone used when speaking to me; it stopped people from getting to familiar and friendly with me (this is a tactic I later picked up and used myself). I used to hate my nickname. But, as I began to age and mature, I grew to like it. It’s the only thing I have left of my original ‘family’.
Dr. Matthew opened my reinforced steel door just a crack and poked his head out to have a look. A resounding blast of a shotgun ended his life. Even now, years after it had happened, I can still see his skull explode, splattering my sterile walls with his blood, brains, and bones. I remember falling to my knees, screaming like a terrified babe.
A trembling pair of pale hands gripped onto Dr. Matthew’s dark brown ones and pulled his headless body away from my door. Shortly after, Dr. Markus walked in, carrying one of my 12 gauge shotguns. He was paler than usual, long greasy black hair disheveled, and shaking uncontrollably. A ragged, infected, bloody bite mark stood out prominently against the skin tone of his neck, exposing the metallic structures of his vertebras.
Dr. Markus was a metalhead. Metalhead was slang for cyborg; people who had body parts replaced with machines, synthetic muscles, skin, and veins. The procedure was called ‘God’s Cure’; the blind could see and the lame could walk kind of deal. Trauma victims could be given a new lease on life and soldiers who’d lost body parts in war could be whole once again. Dr. Markus had been in a serious car accident in his early adult life and his neck had been broken and skull crushed. ‘God’s Cure’ saved his life.
҉~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sorry – I have to pause for a second. Eugene just informed me that there are some of you who are either too young to remember or have just forgotten what exactly ‘God’s Cure’ is and such. (This is another reason I have Eugene here helping me; I tend to forget things.) As stated above, ‘God’s Cure’ started out by helping a lot of people.
At first it was used to save lives and for trying to make the world a better place. People with disfiguring scars could be made to look normal again. Those with failing organs could get new ones without waiting for an organ donor. And so much more.
Then, things became sour. Those embellished with a lot of money like the rich, famous, and powerful (politicians, actors, millionaires, and the likes) wanted it to extend their lives and looks. They started to pay off doctors so that they could ‘better’ themselves with the procedures.
Religious nuts began to riot shortly afterwards and they began to preach against the once lifesaving procedure. If God made it so that you would never walk, talk, see, or hear; if you’d lost a limb or became horribly disfigures then you were to forever live like that and be thankful that God took pity enough on you to let you live.
Then there were others still that were rooting for everyone to get it done. Let people do what they want with their bodies was their motto. More power to them and crazy shit like that.
It wasn’t long until civil war broke out all over the globe. It was labeled the 10 Year War – from 2025 to 2035. A lot of people died.
‘God’s Cure’ became a part of the black market and the term Metalhead was coined. But, be warned. Some people take offense to that word so please be careful to whom you say it to. Try your best not say it in ‘civilized places’ – unless you’re me of course; then I just don’t give a shit.
҉~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Anyway, getting back on tract…looking back on this now, I sort of wish that ‘God’s Cure’ hadn’t saved Dr. Markus. But then again, I’m glad it did.
Dr. Markus had always been my least favorite scientist, least favorite creator. He only ever saw me as an experiment, never as a real person. Now, here he is, sitting upon my cot, looking about my room as if he owned it. He set the butt of the gun on my tiled floor, barrel pointed towards his face. One of his feet was tapping annoyingly.
“I know what you’re thinking, Kitty.” His soulless icy blue eyes locked onto my warm yellow ones, “You’re probably wondering how I could do something like this.” His lazy, clipped French drawl was strained. “To be perfectly truthful with you, Kitty, it’s because I hate the human race. But you, my dear, are not human. You’re an Animalia – a perfect combination between human and animal DNA. As you know, Kitty, only the humans and metalheads will be affected by the bite of my children. You and your animal brethren will survive this Apocalypse.”
His thin, colorless lips were pulled back into a crazed, dark smile. I wanted to open my mouth. I wanted to ask the questions jumbling around in my mind. I wanted to say something – say anything. But all I could do was kneel there, on the cold tiled floor, numb and confused. Dr. Markus reached out a bloodied hand and touched the top of my furry head, running his fingers through my short, curly, light brown hair. He gave a strangled laugh.
“Any moment now my children will be released from their ‘prisons’ and they’ll spread like a plague, worse than that of the Black Death itself. Mankind needs to be taught a lesson and we must be punished for our crimes and sins against Earth.” He took his hand away from me, toying with the shotgun between his knees, “One day I hope you’ll understand why I did what I had to do, Kitty. You’ll see what we humans have done to our planet.”
Finally, I had found my voice, “Dr. Markus…” but soon lost it again when I saw tears leak from his eyes.
“I am so sorry, Kitty. I realize that this was your home and that many of these people had been your friends; you maybe even considered some family. But, it’s time for you to be the weapon you were created to be. Purge the world of my children; try to save as many people as you can. One day I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” He turned the ruined side of his mechanical neck towards me, “As you can see, I’ve been bitten. In all the chaos I can’t be sure which kind bit me, but I know that I don’t have much time left so I need you to listen to me very carefully, Kitty.”
He brought a trembling hand to his wounded throat and looked at his bloodstained fingertips. He placed these fingers upon my wall and smeared three simple letters: U-S-A (of course, at the time, I didn’t know what they were or meant).
“Due to an oath, I cannot tell you the exact location of where we are. However, I can tell you that we are in the United States of America.” He tapped the letters upon the wall, “We are in a country of corrupt politics and lazy fucks. However, this country is proud and strong and has much diversity. These traits are the reason in which we choose to create you here...in the land of the free.”
The reverberating, high-pitched screech of a Runner echoed down the hallway. My pupils dilated and then quickly constricted; my ‘predatory’ mode was switched on.
“Listen, Kitty!” Dr. Markus snapped, grabbing my shoulder, gaining my attention back momentarily, “You and the animals are immune to the bite of my children. You know this well. The humans are not! But you can save them, Kitty. Do you understand?” He shook me.
“No.” I whispered as the Runner’s screech drew closer.
“You will, little bobcat, you will.” Dr. Markus grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled me into a heated kiss; a kiss of desperation and heartbreak – the kiss of a dead man, “I’m sorry I never treated you better.”
Then he shoved me away from him and pulled the trigger, spraying the untainted walls with red blood, grey brains, and the metal shards of his skull. His headless body slumped, landing on my pillows. I had no time to feel loss or sorrow for Dr. Markus. Just as I reached for my shotgun, the Runner burst into my room.
Now, the first thing you notice about a Runner is their almost elegant, elongated, and emaciated appearance. The second thing you notice is their blood chilling scream. And the third thing is their speed.
Runners are fast, brutal, and they aim to kill and devour. Despite the fact that their bites are the slowest to transmit the Zombie virus, taking up to a week before the host turns, they will be one of the first Zombies to spread and multiply. Humans think of Zombies as slow and stupid creatures. Not Runners; they’re smart. They know how to open doors, smash windows, and climb stairs and ladders. Many humans will be caught off guard by this. Many will die and many more will be turned.
I had the wooden stock of the shotgun in my hands. The Runner was staring me down, clouded eyes large and rolling in his grey, sunken skull. His silted nostrils were flared as he eagerly breathed in the scent of death. Long, thick, putrid ropes of greenish grey salvia clung to his lipless jaws; sharpened, ragged teeth bloody and dripping with mangled flesh.
“FOOD!” The monster screamed; lifeless eyes boring into mine, “Fooood!”
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention this little slice of information – they can talk too.
Just as I was able to pull the shotgun from Dr. Markus’s dead hands, the Runner jumped me. His teeth sunk into my shoulder and I screamed in pain. Whereas I weighed nearly 140 pounds, Runners tended to weigh only about 90 pounds. He was easy to throw off. But, this didn’t mean that he’d stay off. With Runners it was either fight or flight.
I chose to run.
I scrambled to my feet and used the shotgun like a baseball bat against the Runner’s skull. Not looking back to see what kind of damage I had done, I bolted out of my room as fast as my legs could carry me, jumping over Dr. Matthew’s body, and raced towards the armory, where my weapons were kept under lock and key. Dr. Markus had somehow gotten in and I was praying that he’d left the door open.
Having been ‘born’ and raised in this facility, I knew every nook and cranny. I knew every shortcut, every secret passageway, and every lab. With each hallway I raced down and every office I passed I saw the mutilated remains of everyone I had ever known, ever loved. Some bore gapping wounds to the chest and heads, made by Dr. Markus no doubt to try and save them from a fate worse than hell. The rest had been ripped apart, eaten, and ravaged by Zombies. Some, like Dr. Sarah and Dr. Courtney, were still being feasted upon be some Crawlers.
Crawlers preferred living underground, in the damp and dark. They will be quick to infest basements, cellars, caves, and mines. Their limbs sprawled out from them like those of a grotesque lizard and they walked like an Alligator. They bore no eyes, ears, or noses. Instead, they had heat pits that lined their stretched muzzles, like a snake.
They had a wolf-like mouth and a long, pointed, slimy tongue. These tongues were their weapons. They shoot out of the mouth, latching onto any passing leg, arm, or head. With a powerful jerk of a Crawler’s neck and shoulder muscles, their prey was easily taken down.
Both women were still alive and screaming in agony as their organs were being ripped from their bodies, blood seeping onto the once finely polished floors. There was nothing I could do. It broke my heart to leave Dr. Sarah and Dr. Courtney; they were like aunts or even sisters to me...they were good as dead and I couldn’t even give them a mercy killing.
I paused for a moment and blew a kiss towards them, whispering a prayer for their souls. Then, I took off towards the armory again. I had to rip off my gown and toss it aside – the flimsy paper wasn’t able to withstand the wear and tear of running. As I reached my destination, slipping and sliding in puddles of blood, I saw that Dr. Markus had left the hydraulic door unlocked and open – may God have mercy on his soul.
I sprinted into the room, slapping a slim panel on the wall. The heavy, one ton steel door slid shut with a hiss of compressed air. I closed my eyes and placed my hands, palms down, upon the door, leaning the back of my head against the cool steel. I was panting and feeling more stressed and worn out then I ever have before.
I tried to steady myself, taking in several deep, calming breaths. An unearthly, dead moan came from directly in front of me. A shudder of anticipation and anger coursed through me. I knew that I should’ve done a survey of the room; I should’ve used my training. But, I wasn’t thinking.
I opened my eyes and looked at the female Creeper. She was a true Zombie; rotting, slow, and sporting poor motor skills. She was a Zombie of nightmares.
I gave her a forced smile, flashing my sharp teeth.
Creepers were my favorite prey to hunt down and kill. They were numerous and easy targets. They were also one of the worst. Their bites transmit the Zombie virus instantaneously. It takes a little under 5 seconds for the bitten host to turn.
The Creeper reached out for me, moving as if in slow motion. There was an unrelenting hunger in her half missing eyes. I did a quick over view of the armory. All of my guns hung upon the wall, polished and unloaded. My swords and crossbows were five paces to the front and right of me, lying peacefully on a marble table, just begging to be used.
I side-stepped the Creeper, throwing out my arm to push her farther away from me; giving me more time to choose a weapon. I reached the table, grabbing my 150 year old crossbow and modern lightweight aluminum bolts. My fingers moved with a mind of their own. Within seconds, I had a bolt notched and ready.
I spun around, pressing the butt of the crossbow into my shoulder. With a silent click the bolt flew straight and true. The four pronged steel tip sliced cleanly through flesh and bone like butter. I don’t think I have ever or will ever make such a clean kill as I had with that female Creeper. Had this been a training exercise I would’ve been scored a prefect 10 out of 10 across the board.
But this wasn’t training; this was actually happening.
Reality hit me right then and there. Everyone was dead. Everyone. Talk about a fucking wake up call.
My emotions tore through me. I slid to the floor, screaming and crying out my pain to God. My arms wrapped themselves around my legs and I wept into my fur. Through my closed eyes I could see the faces of those who’d passed into the afterlife: Matthew, Markus, Sarah, Courtney, Joey, Philip, Bobby, Stephen, Debra, Amanda, and all the rest. From what I’d seen, I was the last one alive when once this facility had been a thriving.
Though I had trained for this day, I was unprepared for the toll it would cost.
Killing was easy; death was hard.