Dead America - Ground Zero

CHAPTER FOUR

8:45AM

The noises of smacking lips and hungry groans dissipated, and Brandon gave it a full minute of silence before he squeezed Candace's shoulder.

"We have to go," he whispered.

She nodded jerkily, taking a deep breath and wiping at her eyes.

"Okay, I'm going to open this window and sweep the room," he said, pointing up at the reception window. "I want you to stay in here until I say it's clear."

She nodded again. "Got you."

He stood up and slid the window open as slowly and silently as he possibly could. There was only one of their attackers wandering outside of the front door, but something caught its eye and it tore off. Brandon opened the window the rest of the way and lifted his leg to climb over the desk.

He froze.

"What is it?" Candace whispered, staring up at him.

Brandon couldn't speak. He could only stare as Blanchard's corpse began to move. The fallen SWAT officer's legs twitched, his arms shooting out to his sides before he sat up straight. His eyes looked like they were covered in a foggy film as they turned to Brandon, and his black mouth opened in an inhuman shriek.

He launched onto his bloody legs and rushed the reception window. Brandon finally remembered how to move and leapt back, drawing his handgun. Candace shrieked and crab walked backwards along the floor, jumping up so that she was behind the living SWAT officer.

"Cover your ears," Brandon instructed as he raised the gun, staring down Blanchard who didn't seem to have the coordination to get over and through the window.

The blonde nodded and did as she was told, backing up against the far wall as Brandon approached his coworker.

"I'm sorry about this, man," Brandon said, and held out the gun to fire into Blanchard's throat. His dead coworker continued to groan and gnash his teeth, reaching out with bloody hands for his living companion.

Brandon took a deep breath and pursed his lips, then held the gun to Blanchard's forehead. He pulled the trigger, blowing brains all over the reception area, his coworker finally falling limp and quiet.

Candace lowered her hands, wringing them in front of her. "Why did you shoot him in the neck first?"

"In the firefight I swear it looked like the only effective shot was a headshot," Brandon replied, still staring at the corpse of his friend in disbelief. "I had to test the theory."

"Why the neck?" the blonde asked, voice growing a bit more confident. "The heart would have been a much more effective kill shot, no?"

Brandon tapped his chest. "Bulletproof." He reached out and pushed at Blanchard's shoulders, letting the corpse fall to the floor before he swept the room with his eyes again. He hopped over the desk fully, bringing his gun back up before peeking around the busted doors into the hallway.

"Are we good?" Candace hissed from the window, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the small office. She wanted to get outside. Breathe air that wasn't tainted with blood.

Brandon looked down at Dalton's body, torn into a complete mess. There were exposed bones everywhere, his body ripped to pieces. Brandon took a deep breath and fired a single round into his dead coworker's forehead.

"Yeah, we're good," he replied.

She hopped through the window as he collected the leftover ammunition from his dead friends. He grabbed Dalton's handgun and held it out to the blonde.