Step by Step/Issue 1

This is Issue #1 of Step by Step. This is the first issue of Act One.

Issue 1
The man moved in a jerking, slithery motion, latching his paws onto the soil with dirt growing under his nails. He grunted. Bright yellow mucus seeped out of his nose and mouth as he put more effort into the crawl.

Gunfire crackled in the front of the rear barrier, several infected marching at the stationed troops. The crawling cripple watched the flesh bags return fire at the crazies. Clouds of guns and car smoke.

Cars zoomed and bumped into each on the thin highways and exploded into the sky, the scavengers passing by picking them off as if they were roasted ham. The crawler didn't wish for that.

He continued on the floor. His dull, puffy eyes contracting at the explosions and lights in the morning sky. Helicopters circled the battlefield, illustrating the bloody event. The crawler snapped his eyes in instinct to the left.

Food. Good food? Yes.

A rambunctious woman in blue hotel clothing came out of a building, screaming at the sight of the gore. She fell down just as she started yelling, three men and two women throwing her down to the concrete. They growled and pounded their grimy fists on her back. She howled in pain, but soon she was silenced by the mass.

Two children that were behind her tried to help the woman as three mobile crazies surrounded them, the leading one taking a ferocious bite out of her arm and snarled at the frightened children as they retreated back into the hotel. Crying and screaming.

The smallest one made way through the double doors as something grasped his small leg, hitting the ground face first. He kicked and screamed as more infected surrounded the toddler, pulling his body outside for a feast near the woman.

The crawling man ignored the people there and kept heading into the tall grasses to get through the barriers. The grass shadowed his movement, making its rotting, dead skin blend in with the grass.

The view from below gave the crawler an astonishing description of the park ahead. His eyes twinkled at the blazing sky full of gun smoke and ash.

Boom! Kablam! Argh!

Those were common noises, although with all that screaming, the crawler flicked it off, and advanced at the boots of an infantryman near the barricade. A group of crazies picked at him, but he swatted them back, butting the closest one in the face with the edge of his assault rifle, putting a quarter of rounds into one’s abdomen until it fell down. The other two kept pace, moaning through the smoggy air.

The crawler made silent movement through the piles of grass, the cries of an infantryman only reached the crawler’s head level as it turned in a jerked motion, grunting at the struggling body of a man as another man in a business suit clawed through his Kevlar, turning it into a pile of rags.

The soldier ahead started to hold his ground, his carbine blasting a double spree of shots at the first man’s head, making him collapse against the ground, inches from the crawling man.

Snarling, the last creature lunged before the soldier’s eyes, making both look like they were hugging in a way as he bit into the soldier’s armoring.

The man’s scraggly brown, blood-soaked beard made the soldier’s vision lost making every attack another mindless struggle to the ground. Impatiently, the crazed man snapped his rotten chompers at the air between the soldier’s chin, growling and hissing.

The two turned and went at it while the vest the soldier equipped practically saved his life as pale, orange nails carved through the feeble fabric layer.

“Get off!” The soldier shouted, locking his knee deep into the man’s chin which threw the man off and gave the soldier a moment of breath. Getting up, he pulled out his handgun from his side and dispatched a blazing cartridge.

Garugh!

The man looked back at the two fallen people, blood carpeting their blazing bodies with the knee-deep grass encasing the corpses into the earth.

Turning its purple-glazed eyes, the soldier could see the scraped shirt it wore, the glistening red holes in his chest. The soldier stood in disbelief, staring at the body. He ran his fingers down his hair, howling in a mournful tone.

The bearded man sniffed the air, locking his thick, pus-filled arms together. His neck was horribly masticated to the bone, gray molars shining in the light of the rising sun. Yet, the man continued towards the soldier.

“Christ!” The soldier blurted just as the crawling man, unnoticeable, grabbed the ankle of the soldier. Cursing in anger, the soldier booted the crawling man in the face, and then pulling back the trigger at the bearded man.

He jerked back, his cranium exploding in the back as blood and brain matter spewed out. Moaning as he hit the floor, his arms grabbed at the air frantically; two more shots pushed back the creature into his grassy grave.

The crawler regained motion, unseen by the soldier it moved it circles, making noises and false moves in the grass. The soldier watched, keeping a straight pace at the movement watching every trick.

Right, left, north, south. He zoomed everywhere, bristling against the grasses. The only thing that gave the crawler away was the patches of red on him. The red liquid oozed from the bubbly muscle on his back skin through the remnants of his shirt.

The soldier moved back, following a trail to the right where the cripple hid. He clocked his eye on the aim; pulling back the two bursts hit the ground, lifting up dirt. He then lowered the gun to his waist, his eyes darted to the movements in the grass.

The pops of gunshots and yelling in the background flooded the area, making the crawler get the upper advantage. Behind the soldier, three crazies logged beside the sidewalk, catching an interest in him. They groaned and moaned, shuffling against the school entrance.

The crawler moved towards the soldier’s ankle, clamping one hand on it as it pulled itself along the grass, making the soldier jerk back and strike the head of the crawler with his heel.

Recollecting himself, the soldier threw up the gun and fired a steady burst into the crawling man’s head. Green and grayish brain matter snowballed in the air making the soldier gulp nervously.

He turned around, quickly jerking back at the sight of a troupe of diseased men groaning, walking lop-sided in front of him. “Stay back,” the soldier warned, logging up the assault rifle at both. The reaction was a bunch of grim snarls and growls.

One of them, a mailman with a busted in head and leaking guts, portrayed her arms to the soldier’s uniform. The soldier yelled, throwing the stock of the M16 across the woman’s face. Lifting up the gun he busted the trigger all the way back. Strings of bullets pushing back the mailman who moaned, looking back at the panting soldier.

She took a powerful step forward, followed by a few more. Blood seeped out of her mouth as she angrily moaned. Slowly, she rocked forward her feet, balancing back her face to the soldier. Growling, she showed that the attack was futile. Her eyes glared red with flustering rage.

Enraged, her arms swung everywhere as she blindly aimed through the field, lunging at the soldier, ripping through the air with lust. The soldier moved, desperately trying to avoid the vicious claws of the sick woman. The mailman grabbed onto the soldier’s arm, widening her jaws as her teeth slashed through the air like a knife.

Then suddenly, the forehead of the woman popped open with blood streaming down, tossing her dirty blue hat into the air. Her grip tired until it went loose, and so did her red eyes as they slowly closed, staring at the soldier’s. Her body weighed like a feather, completely dead once it fell onto her stomach and exhaled a rattling moan.

“Get back to the group Joseph, stop dicking ‘round,” Joseph looked to the sound of the shot, watching as the man in a digital camouflaged suit holding hands with a handgun, fresh, dusty smoke pouring at as he shot again at the other man through his back as blood oozed onto their white undershirt.

Joseph backed away, gulping as his face turned white and milky. His voice stuttered, keeping his distance from the corpses. “There’s more... they’re everywhere! He moved down his gun and pulled away from the scene, his stomach about to hurl. “Don’t you see that?”

Brock Menster lowered his pistol, slipping it into his holster strapped to his left thigh and coiling his waist. He ignored Joseph and watched as his section of armed troops held the barriers, getting civilians to safety, and all that horse shit. The right barrier was the one that seemed worrying.

Many of the riots and violence were occurring there, much less at other locations with lots more guards and defenses, or was it just something random? Pfft. This wasn’t a planned out strategy. It was a disorganized bunch of rioters.

Or is it drugs? Could it be terrorism? Pollution even?

Engines sputtered to a stop over the road, several armored vehicles dropped off at the edge of the barrier, more forces pouring out and taking over. More people guarding meant better transportation of the residents and more fluent examinations.

The local authorities had informed Brock that the high school was a refugee camp. It had been for a month after a borough of Brooklyn was preparing for the worst. That disease thing was spreading to the city, so people moved out from the center of the disease and for safe shelter. He didn't trust the authorities more than he trusted the god damn governor of Indiana. When was his pension even going to come through?

He’d seen some of infantry retreat, but he let them slip by. Hell, he was even worried about his family. They lived in New Jersey, miles away from the east coast where there were the massive outbreaks. Were they evacuated? He needed them to be. Mary and the kids. He had to know that they were ok-

Dirt kicked itself into Brock's face as he flew back, uplifted gravel blasting him in the chest and blinding him of his vision. The taste of grit in his mouth made him cough as fumes erupted. He had no time to find out what was happening, only to have his arms shield his face. He took a deep breath, coughing as the dirt replaced his saliva.

Winded, unable to get up, he opened his eyes. Fire. Everywhere on the streets. It couldn’t be, there was no order for explosions or any flammable use to be fired. He shut his eyes, the smoke making his eyes blister red. He heard more gunfire and the popping of explosions muffling his ears.

Something cold and rough grabbed his arm, digging into his armpit. He tried to look up to see what it was; he was only being able to see a crusty, muscled face.

“C’mon, stand up ‘Sarge,” Before he could recount, he was on his feet, wiping the dirt out of his eyes.

He flipped to the voice. The firm, upright man was Gordon Black, white and buff, resembling a humanoid lion with a clean cut stood in front of Brock. “Go now to your station, now.” Menster capitalized, moving towards a halted jeep carrying a soldier with a military radio.

Whistling, he caught the attention of the soldier. “Work on the transmission to the squadron at the highway, tell them to retreat back to the compound, we have lost the west!” The technician paused, looking around at the battlefield.

“Holy shit! What the hell is goin’ on?” The brown haired technician, Alexander, said screaming through the hail of explosions on the street. The poor guy was holding the transmitter with trembling hands as he watched in horror as the populated road was engulfed in flame.

“No idea, I told them to hold back on the explosives until all citizens were cleared off the street. Now everything’s gone to shit!” Brock turned back to the highway, watching as buildings caught on fire and people running around with orange and red gas spreading throughout their clothing and skin.

“Radio in now,” Brock’s hand reached his brow, dodging the bleeding sun. “Son of a...” He slipped out his handgun, welding it to the crazie. “Stop now!” The gun handle quivered on the pack of cannibals circled around the charred body of a soldier.

One of them, bites marked over its face and arms, snarled at Brock. “Back off him you idiot!” The sergeant's exclamation was no match for the noise after he pulled back the trigger. The blast put the man a foot backwards. He looked up, growling as if it was just pinch at the side.

The sergeant, stunned, watched the man crank open his mouth, extending his jaw and making a wild dash towards him Another round emptied into the man, and nothing. Then again. He just jerked back and regained power. He backed up in shock and awe. “What the hell are you?”

Raising back the gun, the man was already on him, ripping at his uniform. Brock grunted, trying to kick the wild man off him. His knee connected with his chest, lifting the stiff body of the man to the ground in front of the sandbags.

Brock stood back up, kicking the psycho in the gut. The man grunted, slowly but surely he was back on feet. Staring back at the exhausted sergeant with red marked eyes. Charging with stiff arms sprung out.

Brock gawked and tried to make sense of what was happening. Without consideration, he aimed the pistol at the diseased man. “Don’t move,” He approached, his finger slipping from the trigger. The man growled, its cheeks ripping and teeth showing with gum fused in with the rotting teeth.

His clothing was ragged, revealing his bare chest and rib cages with pieces of dangling. Its red flesh falling to the grass without even wincing in pain. He soon felt that he was facing not someone, but something. Something with a mind of its own.

Brock reacted quickly to the charging man, shouting as he lifted up the gun and bashed the gun into his face. The feet of the man flexed out, but nothing more came to. Brock wiped the dirt from his mouth, looking to his side, the fury of burning metal and thousands of infected, crazed people.

Groups of soldiers were retreating with the way point destroyed beyond repair. Menster watched in dismay as cars crashed into stores, fires consuming the streets. Menster looked back, the engineer ringing the buttons for a signal.

“Infantry south, Brooklyn New York, over, are you there Sergeant Coffman?” The noise flowed through like someone was crunching up paper, insidious moans following. Alexander spat, “This is Infantry South, Brooklyn New York do you read me?”

Something came out, shouting and a couple cheesy gunshots that hurt Alexander’s ears. The technician was about to curse when he heard the voice of a man coughing into the opposite end of the mike. The engineer looked over to his leader, shaking his head solemnly. The damned government couldn't even control these freaks. The sergeant swore, yelling for his troop's attention. Brock turned to face the infantry who were riled up at his voice. “We’re moving. Get inside in the school’s perimeter. Get a padlock on these gates!”