Step by Step/Issue 3

This is Issue #3 of Step by Step. This is the second issue of Act One.

Issue 3
The grass rustled as Joseph slithered in it. He had left his rifle back in an act of cowardice. He was on the verge of giving up. His lungs ached and every passing breath felt like a stab. He tried to not think about it. It wasn’t a damn good time to think about anything other than the infected masses shambling towards the school’s gate entrance.

Joseph watched them beat at the fence like animals. Some stuck their arms through the wire-netting at the hardened soldiers a handful of meters away, and others fell to the ground with a burning bullet stuck in their brains. Joseph tried not to give away his position in the field.

A flood of tears streamed down Joseph’s angry face, falling down into the dirt. What could he do? He was the last of his defense commanded to the highway entrance. The rest, he had seen, left for the parking lot.

He screwed himself up big time.

A sick woman, slumped over with a mashed in face, crept past Joseph with a little girl in sleep wear at her behind. The pajamas were so full of filth and dirt that you could barely tell they were pink. The girl didn’t seem to care as she walked with a slipper on one foot, the other exposed.

The mother, he assumed, stopped in her tracks, lazily turning her ugly face to Joseph. Her cracked lips spread out and her teeth bore. A hissing sound, like that of a pipe, escaped out of her throat. The girl stopped, confused.

Joseph adjusted his spot, sliding to the right. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with the people, why they were causing chaos to spread like wildfire. Joseph kept his handgun concealed in his hand as he tried to move away from the woman.

He glanced up as a wad of snot slid down her face, crossing the bridge of her lips. The woman had her hair in a brown mess. Her arms were puffy and legs so frail they could barely keep her up. She hissed instinctively, letting the glob of snot fall onto Joseph’s back.

Joseph took a sharp breath, cursing, moving out of the way so the woman’s arms couldn’t grab him. He waddled through the weeds, dodging the little girl’s feeble attempts to reach him. He got up on one knee, turning to see the woman.

The mother craned her head towards Joseph, flaring her reddened nostrils. Her eyes widened, her rotten flesh wrinkling up. She growled, started to walk, and then growled again. The girl, too, walked towards him. She was closer to him than her mother, and faster.

Joseph went for the handgun trigger, aiming it at the mother. He looked to the corner of his eye, seeing that he was attracting more of them. He started to panic, breathing in like a dying horse. He shot his eyes back at the two in front of hi-

The little girl was tugging at his thigh panting, trying to bite him with her puny teeth. Joseph yelped, shook his leg like a bell, and shoved her to the ground. He didn’t mean for it. Self-defense is what Joseph thought it was. Of course it was.

Were the people gone? Had they been advancing on him, turning their attention from the prey beyond the stubborn fence? Or was his squadron abandoning him?

A disgusting, raw snarl came out front of him, its owner grabbing his arm and latching their oily mouth onto it. Joseph shouted, finding the mother’s mouth biting his sleeve. He felt the mother’s sloppy mouth sinking through. Soon, he would feel the burning sensation of teeth biting into him...

A shot rang out. A trail of smoke escaped the handgun. The gun sent Joseph fumbling with it, ultimately hitting the floor. “G-get off me!” The mother continued, but Joseph wouldn’t allow it. Joseph could feel his pulsating heartbeat echo in chest. His lungs squeezed out a hoarse huff before sending his fist at the mother.

Just as expected, his fist connected with her forehead and she waddled backwards. He grabbed his gun, lowering his head to see his wound. He knew he was going to die. The newscasts from a week ago said the disease was contagious. Bacterial. He cursed at himself and then at the mother.

The mother rose again, growling. No teeth. Just diseased, pus-encased gums. A surge of relief gave way through Joseph, who by then was looking at his drool stained sleeve. “That’s it. Do you hear me?” Joseph aimed the gun up and a sickening shriek broke his ears. The young girl fell backwards, swaying her arms helplessly. He hadn’t seen the bullet meet her. He didn’t even know he pulled the trigger. He stood facing the girl’s corpse with her bloodied hair matting her face entirely.

The mother went berserk. She threw her hands up in rage, grunting, snarling, and foaming at the mouth. She went at him, staggering with her arms projected outwards. She passed the body and Joseph took a couple steps back.

She continued, growling. She was like a rabid dog. Joseph felt sorry for her. Sorry for everything he did. Everything that had happened in the mere weeks of the epidemic was terrible and painful. He could feel his eyes welling up with tears.

The gun boomed twice, stopping her in her tracks. She stood there in front of him, two feet at most in front of her daughter, like a statue. Then, slowly, crumbled like ash. She moaned once. He had shot her in the chest twice. Her arms began to drag her across the ground.

Joseph felt himself putting the gun down, too weak to finish her. He didn’t know how the disease worked. Was she still alive? How could she not be dead? Joseph gulped, leveling the gun to his side. He watched the mother moan in the pain. He was revolted by the smell of her decaying flesh and ring of oozing blisters on her arms.

As the last rows of the mob scuffled across the end of the highway and into the grassy field and joined the growing packs of people at the chain-link fence, Joseph reassured himself. He wasn’t the problem. They were. Everything before them was the problem.

He wiped his face with his left hand, and without thinking, shot. And that shot rang out to produce more shots. The gun clicked empty. The mother was dead. His gun was dead. And as he looked up from the mother’s corpse, the dead were coming.

---

Carter crab walked backwards, the woman fast on her feet as she leaped into the air. She growled, her mouth twisted, eyes sunken into her skull. Her hair, which was in a bun, was now the definition of a bad hair day.

“God dammit, stop!” He moved away, the woman advancing in a gorilla stature. She snorted, mucus dripping out of her nostrils. She snorted again, it was long and drawn out. She grunted, leaping at Carter who pushed away.

Carter made a feeble attempt at trying to stand up. One of the onlookers grabbed his hand, trying to help Carter up but in a panicked way. Carter got up, his head feeling like a fire. He could barely take a breath when a rough hand grabbed his. They slapped palms and watched the woman storm off.

“Hey, hey, pal. You got to get that thing looked at.” Nolan said, patting Carter on his back. “Someone control that woman!” Nolan shouted, backing off while lifting a weakened Carter.

Carter nodded, keeping his head down as he his feet twisted and turned in an attempt to walk to nowhere. His had burned. Eyes ached. His head felt like a bowl of nausea.

“Everyone stay back.” Marvin yelled, stuttering incoherently. “S-stay back everyone!” Marvin grabbed his baton, unlatching it from his side. “Everyone back up!” Marvin pushed back two large men into the crowd, who shouted at him. Marvin swatted one of them with the baton.

Olson turned to look at Marvin, trying to get a grip on him. She opened her mouth to say something, but the rampant noise consumed her words. She tried grabbing onto Marvin’s shoulder sleeve. “Marv-”

The panic and terror rose when the stage curtains fell and ugly, distinguished figures poured out. They shambled out and fell off the stage. Olson backed away as the crowd tried busting open door exits. She found herself distant from Marvin as the refugees desperately kicked and dismantled the door. A look of terror crossed her face when she noticed the boy. The boy, who she recognized was the one that was sprawled on the cafeteria floor, was lurching for Marvin. She stood frozen with her jaw on the floor.

Marvin yelped as he realized the little boy had clamped down on his arm, digging in. He screamed for help, but Olson was out of sight. Marvin grabbed the boy and threw him to the marble flooring. Marvin glanced down at the bite mark. Shocked. His arm was bleeding intensely. Without another thought, he doubled over on the ground. Masses of charging people planted their feet into him. He was helpless.

Marvin squirmed, a stampede of diverse sneakers stomping on him. He breathed in hoarsely, his eyes not registering his last actions. Move. He tried to move. He had to move. He needed to move or else he would be dead. Marvin started to whimper.

His feet rose, jerking. His arm was burning like someone had branded him. He scratched his wound’s itchy surface. Blood slipped out. He knew what was going to happen. He was contaminated. Who knew what the disease could do to him.

He knew. He saw it all on the news. Months before when he was on duty at the police station, he saw the first headlines slapped onto the news channels. Mysterious Strain of Illness sweeps nations was first. He thought it off as the annual flu, something you could forget about until the next one would come out.

The next day when the newspapers were printed and stacked, websites were swarmed with articles, and reporters were saying “Good Morning America” the majority of headlines were on the illness. Marvin was worried at first. He was unsure about the press or any type of media in fact.

Marvin led his life normally as more headlines popped up: Concerns over illness continue: Patient Zero dies; Riot in Los Angeles leaves twenty-three dead. Of course it continued. He knew it would, and it did. He could recall the riots though they were miles away. He could remember his hands flipping through the articles in the newspaper. The smell of fresh topic.

Patient Zero dies.

The first case of the illness was underestimated. Back when the illness was suppressed, there was a man with the ill symptoms. By the time he was at a clinic, his face was redden and swollen with his face turning an array of colors.

Pus, blood, and vomit.

Marvin started to fall to his knees, weak. His legs tingled, and as he looked down he could see history wrapped around his leg and tearing into his calf. The boy looked up, confused, still latched to the lower leg. Marvin tried to scream, tried to bring back his peaceful memories.

He could remember the economic issues. Bills were thrown about like they were in a factory machine. They were running wild in the voices of legislatures. The underlying problem was growing and growing madly. People were in demand of more food. The blind were becoming the insane, stockpiling water and medicine. They all knew that something great was advancing- or someone.

He had to remember more. There was much more to it. He tried to cling on, stay in his memories. Escape from his pain. Shearing pain. Agony burst from Marvin’s throat as an Hispanic officer slumped over to him, grabbing him. Blood shot out of Marvin’s neck like a loose sprinkler.

Officer Hector Pacino chomped down on the neck, locking his mouth onto Marvin’s Adam’s apple. Hector dug into Marvin's neck with what he had left out a set of teeth. The warm crimson blood masked the crazie's face. Hector snorted, ripping the flesh from Marvin’s neck with a wet snap. It was a good meal for the officer and a fine day for the mayor.

Marvin uttered a cry. He realized he couldn’t do anything, but feel the sharp pain ring out through his body. Foam blossomed in his mouth as he uncontrollably jerked around on the floor. The boy and officer eating him. He was being eaten. Alive. -

Meanwhile, inside the cafeteria there was great panic. People were collapsing over each other, shoving each other into the many newly crazed people that were finding their way off the stage. Beds were launched across the room. Yelling echoed throughout the closed-in area.

The only way out were the front doors where Marvin laid dead on the bloody tiles. The crazies consuming his body. Olson was gone, lost in the crowd of the distraught. The snarling dead covered the exit like they were attached to it like glue.

Or she was a goner.

Shots were fired, but no one really realized as the noise was raucous. The police officers had managed the figure out what was happening, but had no solution except shoot. A crazie, most likely minding its own business in the madness, was shot in the chest. It merely flinched and kept on its way.

There were too many to control the situation. The officers knew that there was no quick way out except the windows. The windows were bolted shut with iron bars and wood planks nailed above the window sill. A group of frantic people were trying to get the wooden planks off, but there was no hope.

The officers who still stood made their ways for the front doors where the refugees were attempting to make a last stand. The men had begun to tackle the crazies, beating them up with sticks and the like. It was efficient until they were dancing with multiple crazies. “Move over!” shouted one of the uniformed. He was having a bad day, literally. He hadn’t seen any peace for weeks and the last time he slept was two days before. The man was running on fumes engineered by stale coffee and caffeine pills. “Make way for us.”

The officer, Frank, prodded the refugees for a path. His vision was blurry, but he could see the doors barely a meter away. “Keep moving, god dang it!” The refugees ignored him and continued screaming, bashing the doors, and calling out in distress. Damn, this seemed so serious that maybe he would get featured in a new report. He made a worthwhile grin, but it was short-lasted.

Frank grabbed one of the people in front of him and threw him at the crowd of frantic people. He made way for the front doors, so close he could hear the battalion outside. He had to warn them. There was still hope for him and the rest of the people. If only he could...

Got it. He stood in front of the doors and he and his fellows pushed back the people. “Keep calm, the situation is under control.” He looked over the crowd to see the groups of crazies migrating to the back to get the stragglers that had fallen in midst of the panic. “Listen up everyone.”

Where was Pacino when you needed him? Every time Frank was with the guy he always despised the little man who had great power. Heh, Napoleon.

“You call this under control?” A woman exclaimed, followed by an uproar from the crowd.

“Aye let us through!” A bald man in the back said, which was followed by the crowd pushing each other again in a tidal wave.

Frank watched as the people forced their way to the front, knocking each other back. “Stay back you idiots!” He blurted as a cry rang out in the back. There was moment of silence then everyone had found out the greater issue as the back of the crowd disappeared to the floor with the undead atop.

Frank braced himself as the crowd rocketed into him and the other officers in a frenzy, toppling the doors and letting the screams pour out. Frank covered his face, landing on the floor and dropped out of sight with a forest of boots and shoes planting themselves on him.

Through Frank's mind, he could only find one person to blame. The god damn mayor of Indianapolis.

There were cries for help as the mass of people burst out of the cafeteria. Then, the corridor outside the cafeteria was littered with people strewn across the marble covering.

---

As their ranks shuffled away from fence, groans escaped the masses. Dozens were leaving the fence. They were all leaving and heading back to where they were before. Joseph surely knew where they were going.

Joseph couldn’t believe what he had done. His awestruck eyes met with those of the crazies who marched with unrelenting determination. Joseph tried to back away, but he knew there wasn’t a chance in hell he could make it out.

A man in the front lines of the mob shambled with his foot facing the wrong direction. He wore beige uniform with tattered ends. The man looked like a courier, but without the brown hat. As the restless courier stared down Joseph with sunken eyes, he delivered a powerful growl.

Joseph gulped nervously, looking over his shoulder to see three wandering crazies flanking him from behind, each snapping their jaws. Joseph turned to face the courier, now he was able to see the UPS employee’s disfigured face.

The man had a vein of blisters aligning his neck, swelling his neck so that he croaked. His skin had been eroded by decay with flesh hanging by thin strands. The uniform the postal services worker wore had was still ripped apart, but now Joseph could see that the man’s torso was littered with injuries that looked weeks old.

“Stop!” Joseph aimed his handgun at the courier, but his attempt was to no avail. The courier snatched up Joseph’s shirt, and then released a disgusting exhale into Joseph’s face. Joseph pushed back the man and fell right into another crazie that wrestled for him as well.

Joseph launched his fist into the first crazie he could spot, but for every second that passed he became more entangled until finally he was overwhelmed and fell back upon the grass. He elbowed a woman in her fat nose, kneed two off him, and grabbed the neck of one.

All his attempts were fruitless. They would just jump back into the dog pile and tire Joseph some more. He couldn’t keep pushing them off. It was that simple. He was going to be mauled by the crazies, hidden away by the tall grasses. Through the ravenous chomping, Joseph was embodied by rags of the crazies as sunlight faded away. Joseph wriggled around; escaping the cold grasps of one crazie, but was soon in the presence of another.

Just face it...

Joseph felt his muscles tire. His rapid gasps for breath became fast and uneven pants. Sweat dribbled on his face, stinging his eyes as they made contact with them. He could feel the hot breath of the crazies landing on his skin, teeth would probably be next.

Close your eyes.

Joseph blinked rapidly, ignoring his thoughts. “Somebody help!” His pleas were muffled as he was swallowed up by the dozen of them. They encased him like a bug inside a bottle. If only he could get his strength back. If only he could rest for one second he could...

Joseph’s back exploded with pain as he floundered across the grass. His vision was blurred, tainted by smoke and his fall. Joseph used his last ounce of energy to get away from the place. He noticed that the crazies were after him.

They were a snarling bunch, eagerly stomping towards Joseph. They had most likely dropped him through the struggle, Joseph thought. Joseph quit thinking and started rising up. He was back on his legs, though sluggish, he knew he could get out of here now.

In the front of the crowd of crazies, two men and three women took the top as ringleaders. Joseph noticed the courier as one of the men, but as Joseph’s vision came back to sense he saw the ruined, sick faces of the others. They were much more fresh and primitive, growling and producing bone chilling gnarls.

“Oh man, oh man...” Joseph glanced at the fence where the battalion stood. They had taken no interest in him, but were focused on the rampant crazies trying to overthrow the gate’s wiring. The fence wasn’t built to withstand dozens, though there were hundreds beating their fists against the chain link fence.

The pat-pat and rat-a-tat-tat gunfire was being spat out by the constant cracks of gunfire from the machine guns. Inside the perimeter, the infantry had spread out to control the zone. There was a grouping at the parking lot where cardboard boxes were thrown in as makeshift barricades.

Then, there was another by the bus loop where the soldiers had taken cover beneath a pavilion. The rest were desperately rushing to replenish their ammunition. They were stumbling and falling over, taking short breaths to save their lives. Outside, far behind the body of crazies at the fence, and past the abandoned barriers that were put up by the National Guard weeks before, and behind that in the tall grasses and brush was the heaving soldier named Joseph that was now realizing the full extent of his situation. As cold sweat fell in drops onto his uniform, Joseph looked around at the carnage.

Newspaper fluttered in the breeze. Fire scouted the air above it for fuel as it advanced its empire across the crashed section of cars. There were stray crazies huddled around corpses, dragging them out of sight so they can do their dirty business.

The next split second, Joseph was swinging his arms and jack hammering his legs towards the fence doors. He wasn’t going to be among the dead. He sure as hell wasn’t going to face defeat. He shot a glimpse at his behind, winking at the courier and laughed through gasps for air as he ran. The brute force that sent Joseph flying through the air.