The War against Them


Foreword
What happens when it is neither the best of times nor the worst of times? What happens when circumstances just bring about the best and the worst that people can be? On one side, you can have the love of a mother for her children; on the other side, the hatred of a young man for the children of those whom he considers to be his enemies. Good or bad, right or wrong, it all reaches a certain boiling point in which decisions have to be made. And surprisingly enough, some of these decisions that we sometimes take for granted are not exactly the decisions that end up being made when the time comes to that.
Everyone imagines himself to be the hero. But when it really comes to it... are we completely sure for certain that what we think of ourselves is really what will surface at the moment of truth? That unexpected moment when things happen so fast that there is no time for thinking about heroic deeds, or what glory we may get for what we do. That is the time when the small things become big things, when the large gives way to the great, and when sometimes, just sometimes, that greatness comes from where we least expect it.
If by any accident of nature, either man made or not, we were to find ourselves in a situation where the rules that we have always played for were found to be bent and broken, with no perspective of what is happening and how things will end... have you ever stopped to think for a second on which side of the line you will be? Will you be the one to survive the ordeal, becoming by your deeds the legend that generations after will talk about? Or, on the other hand, will you be the one that will give his most precious possession for other to make it along, even if that other does not even know who you where or what had you done? What do you think your conscience's response to the call will be?
I do not think anyone can give an honest answer to this. What you are about to read is not so much about science or fiction, reality or fantasy. What you are about to read is about choices. Choices that do not come when you are expecting them, or when you think you have had the time to prepare mentally for them. These choices will come as the choices in real life do come; unexpectedly, brutally hard, and forcing you to make a decision that you will start to only analyze when there is no room for escape already, and all hope you think is gone. I only can pray that the choice you will make brings you peace of mind when the time comes to close your soul to sensation and sound.


Introduction
South Miami, Florida
Rescue Team Delta Four- on retreat to the harbor area
Two weeks after President Lee's address to the world from the International Space Station
Terrell Andrews could have never been sure how he managed to hear the cries in the middle of the pandemonium around him. They were retreating through the street, with Williams at his left side shooting accurate bursts of his M16A2 to the heads of the attacking walking corpses. Several infantrymen were still backing up in front of them, as the seemingly almost coordinated assault of rotting flesh was providing them all with too many tempting targets to fire at. Just as they had learned with the new tactical rules of engagement, as soon as someone needed to reload, the person next to him moved in front to cover while the maneuver was done.
Among all the noise, Terrell managed to hear the cry. He recognized it instantly, as if in some hidden corner of his mind a door had opened and magnified the cry. It was a child, and it was a very terrified and scared child. There was also something else that made him turn and run towards the porch of the house on his right. It was the hopelessness he felt in that cry that made him spring with his tired muscles toward the door. Upon trying the doorknob, it did not open, so he stood back and kicked it open with a front leg kick. He went inside, and then saw them. Not him, but them. There were three small children backed against the corner. The biggest one could have been five at the most, but the brave little girl was fighting her tears while she swung a doll with all her force to hold back the female figure longing over her and her two siblings. The second child was around three, and was crying her heart and lungs out, while she held a baby boy no more than one, maybe one and a half, that was too confused to cry. The battered figure trying to get at them probably had given her life defending her offspring, but as with every new reanimated victim of the disease, she now hungered for more than caresses from her babies. She did not smell foul, so that meant that she had probably reanimated not too long ago. And had probably passed away in the room next to where she was standing, because apparently the biggest girl had time to try to move some chairs in front of the door to hold her back.