Lurk

By SamHayler

20.3K 440 96

Adapt or die. That’s the only rule. Kill, or be killed. Eat, or be eaten. Are you ready for the apocalypse? More

Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue

Chapter Sixteen

410 10 0
By SamHayler

From above, and in the darkness,

The puppet master looms,

Leaving notes scrawled in blood,

While the chaos blooms...

The bright outdoors would have been a replenishing sight, if it hadn’t been for the gallery of walking corpses on display. What had started off as a big problem was now beyond any humane control, with horizon beyond DMB just a painting of greyish flesh and blood.

Smith liked to think he might’ve made it as an artist, if not a sniper, but his brush was rife with blunt bristles, and the canvas of life was not such a beautiful sight anymore. But then again, if he’d chosen art before war, then instead of being cooped up in a contaminated military base, Pvt. Leo Smith would be surrounded by his loving family in Portsmouth.

As his only alliances hit the ground many feet below, he hung wary in the window. Someone needed to stay behind, and put together a viable entrance for the rescue party, just in case erecting the ladder became a problem. He should have been glad that fate was throwing him a bone, by not having to risk it all in one brutal recovery mission.

Yeah, there’s no danger here. I’m in the most secure place a man could be. But as the unit of four headed out into the night, the sniper left behind felt reality dawn on him. Hangar 6 was no safe place to be, not for anyone.

He forced himself to turn away from the window, still slightly amazed that everyone had made the great fall without injury. The exhaustion of this day seemed to override any pain, and impact was a lot easier to take when in a limp state.

The control room was Leo’s home now, with closed in walls, age-old technology, levers of unknown prevail and much more giving it the same sinister image as the inside of the Death Star. And somewhere in this building, he knew, was a man so much more tangible than Darth Vader.

His lungs heaved for air as the oxygen levels appeared to drop. And in its wake, a circle of echoing voices murmured in unison.

“You’re all alone... Don’t try to run...”

Leo clawed at his ears in agony, while his throat rasped for moisture and lungs for air. What was happening to him? The uncontrollable urge to just fall dead became of him too quickly, ushering him to the ground in a trance-like state. There was no way of fighting it. The air became foggy – no, toxic. Images of family back home savaged his conscience, of his mother and father clutching onto the front door as a horde of zombies massacred their way in.

“That’s it, Leo. Look at your poor parents, ripped apart by the attack you failed to prevent.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Leo yelled, knocking into walls as his body seemed to convulse around the room.

He was suffocating under the toxicity now, barely able to stand as his lungs consumed the black vapour.

“I’m talking about your betrayal, Smith. You left Barron and the rest to die, making the base’s defences weak. They didn’t stand a chance.”

“N-no... They were d-dead anyway...”

Kept static by an invisible puppeteer, Leo felt every muscle in his body contract. Death was so close, but why did he still stand? What was keeping him up?

And then, in the blurry black distance, a glowing red body emerged, treading slowly and silently on the ground. The figure, presumably male, had neither features nor presence in reality. But he was definitely there, holding the sniper in an awed and transfixed silence.

“Don’t be afraid, Leo. It’s me... your old friend Walter. I’m going to look after you now...”

Leo felt his eyes lock onto the glowing red man, slowly drifting into double-vision as the omnipresent ghost approached. At first it was soft and welcoming approach, but as the ghost of Walter Bridge darted forward, Leo was hit with the greatest fear of his life. “Shit-”

“Absorb it... Become it...”

“This is useless, Snake. I’m sure he went that way – look at the prints!”

The twins bickered like twins do, trying to keep their voices on a minimum volume. Lurk had lead to the very outskirt of the base, so that they could follow the hedge-line instead of heading off in a random direction. If White’s half as sharp as I thought, he’ll have stayed off the tarmac.

Soon enough, the siblings were forced to follow the alpha male, who was speeding ahead like a panther in pursuit. He’d caught his scent, and was following it in the crouched stance of a true Neanderthal. All he was missing was a spear, and the image would be complete.

Out on the runway and taxiing grounds, the infected were swarming, fast. Heads snapping from side to side, each and every Lurker resembled the same horrible monster. Blackened flesh, bloodshot eyes and salivating jaws... The badges on their shirts were all that identified the lost soldiers now.

“Keep your voices down.” Lurk turned back to his followers, and scanned them for what his priorities desired. They flashed him confused glances, but couldn’t object before he was making his demand. “I need a gun, secondary.”

With a resigned sigh, Snake unclipped his 9mm Beretta, and tossed it over to the receiver. Lurk only wanted the one clip, although history suggested he’d need more.

“Oh shit...”

He froze as his gaze caught one terrifying sight: the window of Hangar 6 was leaking with black smoke. But there’s no fire...

“Get back to the Hangar now!”  Lurk spat, shoving them back before the twins even had a chance to look. “Go!”

“Oh shit, it’s burning!”

“Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

Their footsteps distanced so quickly, and soon Lurk was left to suffer in solitude. Did he still have his priorities set on rescuing the missing Private? He’ll be fine. We need more firepower. Turning towards the distant storage facilities, he made a couple of brief calculations. With around twenty Lurkers per fifty metres, the odds of him crossing both adjacent runways to the other side in time were dire.

But buildings and hangars weren’t the only containers of goods in DMB. Vacated along the airstrip were various light aircrafts, designed for carrying weaponry and medic supplies to hard-to-reach areas.

Now he just had to reach them.

“The bombers are on their way, Sergeant.”

Barron nodded a mere approval to the messenger, and turned back to the heat of the battle. The fight for possession of DMB had just begun, and the snipers were quickly falling back from the main entrance.

The hordes were growing in depth and size, soon to be an unstoppable force of the un-dead. A chopper squad was landing uphill from the base, loaded with RPGs and high-power MGs. All the men could do now was hope that they had enough to hold off the enemy.

Every ten or so seconds, Barron found himself retreating ever more slightly, conscious of the speed in which their foes could reach. Bounding directly for him was one zombie in particular, half its face ripped off and a savage flare within its eyes.

It was looking at him – not the group, him. A vengeful fascination decorated its expression, telling Barron to put it down quickly. He raised the barrel of his AK, and let the bullets fly.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Its bony toes skipped across the concrete, as if almost floating. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The bullets hissed past the beast, a couple making contact with the non-fatal areas.

Destroy the brain. Always destroy the brain. But it was only ten metres away, and Barron had no time to register his thoughts. Ditching the AK altogether, he made a grab for the combat knife on his belt.

The world around him seemed to slow down as his fingers touched the leather hilt. This one’s for the lads. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck you!”

He made a daring stab at the hunter’s face, but the blade slid past. The force of the tackle took him by surprise, and before Barron could defend himself, a row of rotting teeth was injected into his windpipe.

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