PART ONE CAN BE FOUND HERE:
The Outbreak: Part I
The first thing Jackson saw when he opened the door was on the far wall. It was a bright red splatter that reminded him of some of the inkblots on the Rorschach test he was given as part of routine agency screening. It looked like a red cloud; a clown’s face; a crumbling building. He saw all these things instantly, even as the incessant screams of Marsha Blackburn filled the room and spilled from it and filled his ears in the tight hallway. Evans was to his right, peering into the room with bulging eyes.
The agent was frozen.
Jackson pulled the door fully open. In a few hours, when the shit had died down and the adrenalin had worked its way out of his system he would reflect upon the role he played in the burgeoning horror. But at this time he could only stare in shock as a pair of blood-soaked hands reached for his partner through the portal. Those arms were connected to shoulders, and those shoulders to Congressman Cantor.
When Cantor reached Evans, he bit him. Jackson stumbled back and opened fire. Two slugs hit Cantor, but the shots were wild and they missed center mass. Cantor’s shoulder took a round and a fist-sized hole opened on his back as the slug punched through. The second blew the politician’s ear clean off. Neither helped Evans who recoiled in pain. His 9mm fell out of his grip as his hands involuntarily went to stymie the blood pouring from the bite wound at the base of his neck.
Cantor, finished with his target tossed the bulky agent aside like a bag of wet leaves and hissed at Jackson, teeth gnashing. Evans writhed on the floor. Jackson saw Senator Kyl sink his teeth into Marsha Blackburn’s skull through the macabre television he created when his first round tore through Cantor. As he turned to run, he caught a glimpse of Senator John Barrasso ogling him with a stethoscope dangling around his neck like a bizarre Olympic medal.
He shuddered.
Fortunately, Agent Billy Jackson was in prime physical condition. Hitting the gym six times a week didn’t only help him with the ladies: it was preparation for when the shit went down.
If this wasn’t the shit, he mused, what was?
Still, Cantor and the rest of the horde were sprinting after him as he navigated the labyrinth of corridors in the basement lair of the C-Street headquarters of The Family. The layout of the facility was seared in his mind. That was also part of his training. You had to be acutely aware of your surroundings in case the shit went down, he reminded himself. Glancing over his shoulder, he revised his assessment of the situation. His former employer was flanked by at least ten others. He caught a glimpse of Evans among them, all running with their arms outstretched, like Frankenstein monsters in fast forward.
It was a shitstorm.
Jackson sprinted up a utility staircase, taking two steps at a time. One stumble, one faltering step and they would be upon him. Biting, tearing, scratching at him. No way, he told himself, I’m not going down today.
The truth was, he was going up. As he reached the exit door at the top of the stairs, he caught streamers of light at the borders of the door. This particular door opened into alley that ran perpendicular to C-Street. He hit the push bar with a thud and it popped open. The rusty hinges creaked and Agent Billy Jackson had never been so happy to be outside.
To Be Continued...
I'm going to make this like a choose your own adventure story. I know this is not a true diary, as many will point out I'm sure, but just like Romero did, I'm using zombies, or the infected, to make social commentary. Have fun!!! We all need a good laugh sometimes.