Chapter Text
August 18th, 2010
7 days before the outbreak
Shouting, sounds of punching and yelling echoed throughout the prison as another fight broke out. Not unusual for prison.
This one was different.
Within moments the shouting and punching and yelling turned immediately quiet as there could heard an unsettling fleshy tearing sound, with a loud thud on the concrete ground.
The scene was brutal, it was in a cafeteria with dozens or even hundreds of inmates surrounding two men like it was a gladiator arena. One man, tall and wearing a bloodied white tank top, had chin-length dark brown hair, and his hands were covered in blood. He stood before him laid the body of another prisoner whose throat was ripped open. He had presumably pulled out a shank, as it laid inches away from his left hand. The blood was gushing out of the wound, and was quickly pooling up onto the floor within seconds at the dark-haired man's feet. The eyes of the other inmate were still open, he held his torn open throat as he gurgled, choking on his own blood. He stopped moving moments later, which felt like an eternity.
The room was dead silent. No one could even move a muscle.
The dark-haired man looked around the crowd like a lion daring anyone to challenge him, holding a piece of flesh that he had just removed from the man's neck. He had multiple cuts on his face and body, some bruises and blood, breathing heavily as he whipped his head around the crowd like a predator, the bangs of his dark hair would sway with the frantic motion of his head turns, his icy blue eyes were narrowed and his pupils were dilated like he was ready to kill anyone that challenged him.
The moment he moved a muscle they would flinch, and the fear was clearly evident in their eyes.
Guards flooded the room within moments, screaming and shouting, and began beating the dark-haired man with their nightsticks as they handcuffed him, but despite the hits, he didn’t seem to react much to it. He was dragged away by the guards as blood drips from his hands, others called in paramedics for the other inmate.
This was only within a week of him being imprisoned.
The guards would ask the other prisoners questions, but barely anyone spoke a word.
A guard in the security room viewed the dark-haired man through the monitor in the comfort of the office, as he was in solitary confinement, laying down on his bed with his hands tucked behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.
As the guard in the security office would look at the camera recordings, they would see how it started as a normal fistfight, and then it turned into the brutality that the inmates had witnessed.
"Jesus fucking Christ..." The guard said. He looked to be middle-aged, and his badge read 'Mayfield.'
Another guard came into the office, one was of similar age as Mayfield, while the other looked younger, maybe a new recruit.
"There you are, rook." Mayfield said, calling the younger guard over. "I got some shit I wanna show you. Watch this." He played the camera footage of the fight between the dark-haired man and the other inmate. "This is that guy I told you about. That guy's a goddamn animal, been here a week and he's already killed someone. Guess I ain't surprised."
Graham was watching the footage, his eyes widened in shock as he witnessed the brutality of the inmate's actions.
"Who the hell is this guy?" Graham asked.
"Got his file here," Mayfield says, opening the file to the inmate. "James Russell Keller, born October 30th, 1968. Army brat. Former Green Beret. Multiple tours in Iraq, Afghanistan, and even Desert Storm. War hero. His awards on his uniform look like a goddamn rainbow; won every medal possible, from what I'm seeing. You name it, he's won it."
"Jesus. What the hell is he in here for?" Graham said, genuinely bewildered.
"Plead guilty of second-degree murder. He was convicted, sentenced to twenty if he took a plea deal, and life if he didn't. Apparently his wife was having an affair. He confronted her, caught them, killed her, and the guy she was with."
"Jesus, and they sent him to prison, instead of a psych ward?"
"I don't know, rook, all I know is that this guy's crazy. He's a trained killer, and that's what ended up fucking him over in the trial. The other inmates, the guards, even the staff are terrified of him. He's had some run-ins with the inmates earlier this week but this... this is different. If his head doesn't roll after this, the other inmates aren't gonna fuck with him anymore."
The young guard watched the footage of the fight again, it was the brutality that stuck with him. It was too grainy to get a good look, not that he wanted to anyway, but he could only imagine what Russell looked like when he did it.
The security footage showed an inmate at a lunch table with Russell, when all of the sudden a larger inmate came over, shank in hand, and stabbed the inmate sitting across from Russell. It was at that moment when Russell quickly got up and grabbed the large inmate, threw him to the ground and proceeded to brutally beat him, but the larger inmate fought back, throwing Russell off of him, and both of them got up, throwing hits at each other. Russell then blocked a punch with his left, elbowing the inmate square in the jaw with his right, headbutting him in the face before kicking him into the wall directly behind the inmate. The next moments would go by quick, with the inmate pulling out a shank, and attempted to stab Russell, but Russell had a quick reaction time and grabbed the inmate's wrist, twisting his arm around before grabbing the knife out of the inmate's hands, grabbing him and shoving him against the wall. The last moments couldn't be seen clearly because Russell's back was to the camera, blocking the scene, but what could be seen was blood gushing out of the man's throat. Russell's were covered in blood, and he dropped the shank.
"Oh god," Graham said, turning away.
"Don't you fucking puke," Mayfield said, closing the video file. "I don't need it all over my computer."
"So, what happened at the end, I couldn't get a good look."
"Dunno, heard some say he ripped his throat out with his bare hands, some said he used the knife. No one knows for sure. That guy was the only witness that we have, and the others don't want to talk. And we can't really question him," Mayfield said, referring to Russell.
"What does the warden plan on doing?"
"The warden doesn't give a shit," Mayfield scoffed, "These walls have seen worse."
"But the guy literally ripped a guy's throat out, isn't he worried that something like that could happen again?"
"What the warden is worried about is the media coming and sniffing around, and him having to deal with it. Don't worry about it, rook."
"Right, right... it's just. Fucking hell..."
"I know. This is what you gotta expect when you're in this job, rook. You can't let this shit get to you."
"Is he gonna be alright?"
"Him? Oh he'll be fine, probably won't miss a night's sleep, even in solitary. The other guy's gonna need a closed casket. I'm telling you, the guy's a fucking animal. If you're ever ordered to directly deal with him, be careful, rook."
Graham looked at the other monitor, Russell was sitting on his bed, arms folded behind his head, looking at the ceiling, and then his head slowly turned towards the security camera, his eyes locked onto the camera, and the young guard felt a chill go down his spine.
August 25th, 2010
The Day of the Outbreak
I was in solitary for a week, and barely slept.
I bribed the guards to get out of solitary early, and once I did, the other inmates would look at me and stay away from me. They wouldn't look me in the eye, and kept their distance.
Some inmates talked to me, they call me 'Ripper.'
I've been in prison for less than a month and I've already earned a reputation.
No one wants to talk to me. No one wants to sit next to me. No one will even look at me.
It's not what I wanted, but it is what it is. Better to be ignored than to be a target. I did what I had to do, and I don't regret it.
A few days later, I awoke in the middle of the night in my new jail cell to screaming and gunshots. I jumped up like I was in an active warzone.
I went to the door and tried to get any kind of visual as to what the hell was going on.
The prison was under some kind of attack. I saw guards running, people screaming, groaning, muzzle flashes that shined along the walls. There were multiple bodies along the ground that I could see from inside my cell, some had their guts ripped out with bite marks.
A younger guard tripped over a body closest to my cell, and fell against the wall in front of my cell. His badge read 'Graham.' I grasped my bars, "Hey, buddy, what the hell is going on?" I asked.
"I... I... " He said, breathing heavily.
"Deep breaths, kid."
"They..." He breathes, "The prisoners, someone got sick, attacked a prisoner... he... he came back to life."
"Came back to life? What, like a zombie or something?"
"Yeah, that's what the other guys were saying... I don't know. I thought it was crazy too, but..." He looked around, watching his surroundings. He looked like hammered dog shit, covered in blood and sweat. He then looked at me intently. It was dark, so he likely couldn't tell who I was from a distance.
"You... you're that guy. The dude who ripped out that prisoner's throat? Right?"
I didn't answer.
"Kid, listen to me, whatever is happening out there is gonna kill both of us if you don't get me out of here."
"I... I can't do that."
The sirens blared throughout the prison a moment later.
"You wanna die here? Because that's what's gonna happen if you don't help me get out. We're in danger here. You need to let me out."
He thought for a moment, then sighed, and took his keys out, standing up and walking towards my cell.
"Don't make me regret this." He said.
"What's your name?"
"Graham."
"Well, Graham, I'll keep you alive, and you'll keep me alive. Deal?"
"Okay... okay." He said, as he unlocked my cell.
I stepped out and we walked down the hallway, seeing dead guards and inmates all over the ground.
"Oh, fuck..." Graham said, putting his hand over his mouth.
"We have to move."
"Wait, where the hell are we going? We're not just going to escape, are we?"
"You bet your ass we are, there's no way I'm gonna stay in here while this shit's going on."
"But... what if it's the police or the military coming in, or the fire department or something?"
"Kid, this place is a death trap. I don't know what's causing all of this, but we have to leave. You're not equipped to handle this shit, especially not me."
"I..." He paused, he looked around at the bodies that laid on the ground, the blood, the carnage. He breathed heavily, trying to steady his breathing.
"We have to go."
"Okay... okay." He said.
We kept moving, heading towards the entrance, there were no signs of living humans, save for the ones that had their insides torn out and had their flesh being eaten by the dead.
It was a nightmare.
"Fuck..." Graham said, his voice shaky.
"You'll have plenty of time to have an existential crisis later. We gotta move."
"Right... right."
We walked through the cafeteria, and up a small flight of stairs, which led to the front entrance of the cell block. We opened the door and we were pretty much outside, but the front end had an external gate, called a secured vestibule, to prevent unauthorized access and escapes. The night sky lit up the courtyard, especially since there was a full moon. We could hear jets, helicopters and sirens blaring.
"Shit!" Graham said through gritted teeth as he shakes the gate, trying to open it.
Russell cocked a brow, "It's locked?"
"I guess so." Graham sighed.
"I guess we'll have to find another way." Russell shrugged.
"I already tried the other doors, they were all locked."
"Why would they lock all the doors?" Russell questioned.
"Maybe some kind of quarantine or lockdown to control the spread of whatever is going on?" Graham theorized.
"Well, what do you suggest we do, kid?"
"Well first, we're gonna need some firepower. Follow me." Graham said, walking down the hall.
We turned around and headed to the left-hand corner of the room, where a gate to the main cell block was. He unlocked the gate, and we headed down the hall, stepping over dead or unmoving bodies. The stench of blood, decay, and other unexplainable smells filled our noses. When we got to the end of the hall there was a fork in the path, directly ahead was another hallway that lead seemingly to another cell block, while the hallway directly to our right led to the rear of Cell Block C.
We continued ahead, and he headed inside a room that looked similar to a reception area, but it was an armory. It was blocked off by a metal door, which had a keypad next to it. We could see inside the main armory room that there was another locked door with a metal armory gate around it that we could se through. There was no keypad, so the only other way it could be opened is likely with a key.
"Here, this is the armory."
I went to open the door, and it was locked shut.
"Shit, looks like we'll need the code, and the key to that door back there. Any idea where they might be?"
"The Warden should have the key in his office, and the code should be somewhere in the security office."
"Okay, where's the security office?"
"It's down the hallway past Cell Block D, you take a left and its all the way at the end, right past solitary."
"Alright, once we get inside the armory we’ll plan our next move. First, let’s grab some shotguns.” I said gesturing to the rifle and shotgun rack directly to our right, which was wide open but with most of them missing, along with more than two-thirds of the ammo, but there was some left.
"You ever fire a gun before?" I ask him.
"Well, I've shot handguns and shotguns a few times." He says sheepishly, not seeming very confident in his experience with firearms. I pull a Remington Model 1100 from the rack.
"This is around your skill level, then." I said, handing it to him.
"Uh... okay." He said, hesitantly. "I'm not gonna shoot my foot off, am I?"
"Not as long as you keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot. Keep the barrel pointed at the ground and away from yourself or anyone else you don’t wanna shoot."
He makes sure he holds it with the barrel pointing at the ground.
"Shooting at a range isn't like shooting for real. You're shooting at stationary targets, its different when your target is moving and trying to kill you. Most important thing is keeping calm, you'll miss every shot if you're shaking and panicking. Breathe in, and breathe out, control your heartrate. You got that?"
"Yeah, yeah I think so."
"Okay. Now, shoulder it."
"Okay," he says, raising the gun up to his shoulder.
"Good, keep your cheek pressed against the stock, you see that front sight bead?"
"Yeah."
"Keep that right on your target. Chest or head, either one works."
"Okay, chest or head. What else?"
"Take it off safety, which is behind the trigger, it's that button. Push it with your left hand. Red means its ready to fire." He does as I say, and pushes the safety which makes an audible click.
"When you're ready to shoot, keep the gun steady, grip it as firmly as you can, and aim. Your brain is going to anticipate the recoil which will cause you to flinch, focus on shooting whatever is trying to kill you instead. Don't jerk your trigger finger when you fire, that will guarantee a miss, instead pull the trigger slowly and smoothly. Pull the trigger."
He squeezes the trigger like I said, slowly and smoothly. I hear a metallic click.
"Good. Remember, you only have 8 shots. It fires quick, but don't use that as an excuse to waste your ammo. Precision is your goal. Count how many rounds you shoot if you need to." I say grabbing a box of 12 gauge shotgun shells, putting it on the table, opening the box, and grabbing a shell.
"Turn the gun upside down, gripping it with your left hand, this shell with your other hand," I say, handing him a shell, and he takes it. "Feed it through that port right there on the bottom."
He does as I said, and loads a shell through the port.
"Now load 7 more the same way."
He does so, surprisingly quickly for someone inexperienced.
"Pull the charging handle one-third of the way with your right hand."
He does so, racking the charging handle back one-third of the way.
"Now take a shell with your left hand, load it underneath the bolt and into the carrier."
He does so, popping a shell onto the carrier.
"Next, take another shell and slide it right into the chamber."
He does so, taking another shell and sliding it into the chamber.
"Release the bolt."
He lets go of the bolt as it slams against the chambered shell.
"That's called ghost loading. It only holds 8 rounds in the tube, so you get an extra couple of shots with one in the chamber and one on the carrier. Never ghost load it when you're in the thick of it, always do it when you're in a safe position. Got it?"
"Got it." He replied, this time confidently.
"If you run out of rounds, the bolt will automatically be locked back, just load your shells, then press that button on the right-hand side of the receiver and it'll send the bolt home."
"Okay, thanks."
I grabbed a Model 1100 myself, and loaded up. When we were ready, we headed out and made our way to the security office, heading out of the armory, taking a left and heading straight down the hall until we came to the first left turn. We turned and headed down the hallway, took a right, and headed down where we came across a locked gate where solitary cells were. We heard the groaning of the dead on the other side.
"Jesus..." Graham said, looking at the gate, but the sounds stopped.
"Let's just keep moving."
"Right."
We passed the gate, and reached the other end of the hall where we came across three doors, one to our right, left, and one straight ahead.
"Here, this is the security office," He paused, standing in front of the door and gestured to the door directly to the left of the door, "And here's the Warden's office. Let me open the door, I have the key."
He pulled out his keys, looking for the right one, inserted the key into the door handle, turning it, and unlocking the door. He swung open the door, and inside was the same desk and filing cabinet set up. The room was lit up with the fluorescent lighting on the ceiling, with the walls lighting up from the computer screens that covered the walls. The room looked relatively clean, save for the small amounts of blood that had gotten on the floor.
We both stepped into the room, and he headed towards the desk. He shuffled through the drawer, looking for anything that might have the code on it.
"Guards here usually forget the code, so they usually have it written down somewhere." He mentioned.
He searched for a few minutes, then stopped, holding up a post-it note with '9247' written on it.
"Ah, here it is."
"Okay, now we need the key for that back door."
"Uh, the last I remember, the Warden had it. I'll check his desk." He said walking across the room to a door opposite to the computers, He tried turning the knob, but it wouldn't budge.
"Damn, he must have locked it. Give me a minute, I'll try and find his keys."
He shuffled through the drawer of his desk, finding no keys.
"Shit. There's gotta be a master key for the security office somewhere."
"I have a master key right here." I say as I lift my shotgun up.
"What?"
“Just stand back.” I say approaching the door.
“Wait, what? Why?”
"Too dangerous to be wandering around the prison looking for a key, for all we know, he might have locked himself inside his office."
"Okay, but what if the gunfire brings attention?"
"Then we'll be ready for it."
“I hope so.” He muttered under his breath as he steps back.
I pressed the tip of the barrel at a 45-degree angle up and 45-degree angle out from the door, aiming at the locking mechanism.
I fired. The noise was deafening. The buckshot blasted into the door, the frame, and the knob, tearing away chunks of the wooden door, and ripping through the locking system. I kicked the door open, making it fly outwards. What we saw before us was gruesome. Sitting at his desk was seemingly the Warden himself, with his head blown apart, brain matter spewed across the walls and windows behind him, his eyeballs rolled out of their sockets, and the remains of his skull had pieces all over the ground below him. He was leaned back against his chair, looking like his body would slide down the chair eventually. His uniform was covered in blood.
"Holy shit..." Graham said, covering his mouth.
"Jesus Christ..."
We entered the room, and the smell hit us immediately. Graham looked like he was about to puke as he held his mouth tightly, the putrid stench filled our nostrils.
I approached the Warden on the other side of his desk, and noticed a revolver on the floor. It was a snub-nosed Smith and Wesson Model 29, chambered in .44 Magnum. I opened the cylinder, and noticed there were 5 rounds remaining, with one missing, obviously the one this poor bastard used to punch his own ticket.
“As good a side arm as any,” I said pocketing the revolver. "Check the desk."
"Right." Graham said, and he began looking through the drawers, searching for the keys. Finding nothing.
I checked the Warden’s person, and found the keys in his pocket.
“Got ‘em.”
We made our way out of the office and back towards the armory, and headed straight for the door.
"The code should be 9247."
I enter the code, and the keypad light turns green, with an a fairly loud beep. I turn the knob, opening the door, and we head inside. It was filled with rifles ranging from M4s to bolt actions; shotguns ranging from pump-actions to semi-autos, and hanguns ranging from 1911s to Glocks.
"Holy shit." Graham said, in awe.
I moved past him, "Grab whatever you can carry, and be quick. Unlock that armory door."
"Right."
I walked over to a locker next to the door and opened it, there was an assortment of clothes. One on shelf there were grey khaki long-sleeve shirts in a neat stack along with plain white t-shirts next to them, on the shelf below that there were black khaki pants in a tall stack, and on the bottom shelf there was a stack of black dress shoes.
I quickly got undressed down to my underwear, stripping off the blue-grey jumpsuit that was standard attire for the West Georgia Correctional Facility. I didn't care about undressing in front of another man. In my former line of work, sometimes you had no other choice. Besides, even if there are showers, I'm not risking my neck to get to them.
"What the hell are you doing?" Graham asked, confused.
"I'm not running out in public in prison scrubs. I'd rather as few people know I'm a felon as possible," I say plainly, slipping on the black khakis. "I don't plan on dying tonight."
I slipped on the white-tee, then the khaki long-sleeve, then the shoes.
"At least one of us isn't thinking about it," Graham said, nervously.
Graham then walks past me to the back door that’s straight ahead across the room, inserts the key, turns it, and unlocks the door, opening it.
We head inside the small room where there are rows of M4s and M16s. Makes sense why this would be locked away from the main armory, as the rest of the armory consisted of regular handguns, rifles, and shotguns.
Graham and grabs an M4, and I stop him, grabbing the rifle out of his hands. "Uh-uh, you stick to your shotgun. I got these."
"Oh come on, we have an entire room full of automatic weapons and you want me to use a shotgun?"
"An M4 will only do good if you can shoot straight. A shotgun does not require as much aiming and you'd be surprised how easily you can cut through a crowd with one. I'd feel better with you covering my back with a shotgun than anything else."
"Fine, if you say so."
"Don't worry, you'll get your chance someday."
I put the M4 on a table nearby, and grabbed a Colt M1911 Government Model from one of the pistol racks. I went to load it first, since it's the fastest to load. I grab a box of .45 ACP. I grab the gun, pull the slide back, making sure to lock the slide back with the slide catch, I take a .45 ACP cartridge, slide it behind the extractor in the ejection port, and pull the slide back, sending a round into the chamber. I grab a magazine, fill the magazine it with rounds, and slide it into the gun. I grab a couple magazines for the gun, load them all with fresh ammo, and slide them into my left pocket first. I place the gun on the table.
I then walk back into the small storage room, grab a box of 5.56 rounds and a few magazines from under the rack with the M4s and M16s, walked back to the table, and fill them all with rounds. I grab the M4 on the table, shoulder it, grab the charging handle with my left thumb and index finger and pull the charging handle back. I make sure there's no rounds in the chamber, check if the safety is facing to the left; it is, I insert a full magazine into the magwell, slap the bolt release, and flick the safety off to face upwards on semi-automatic. I slide the other two magazines into my left pocket.
"How the hell are you so calm right now?" Graham asked, incredulously, pacing around the room, shotgun in-hand.
"You get used to it." I say as I slip my M1911 into the holster, now strapped to my right hip, "Look, if what you said is true, about the dead coming back to life to eat the living, then I'm not gonna die in this shithole. God's decided to give me a second chance at life, for better or for worse. I'll be damned if I'm gonna look a gift horse in the mouth."
"A second chance..." He stops pacing and turns to look at me, "Do you really believe that?"
"Does it matter? You can either lay down and die or you can fight. Either way, I choose to fight. Now, we can stand here 'till next Sunday debating philosophy, or we can get out of here alive before the dead overwhelm this place and trap us inside." I approach him. "What about you, kid?"
"I guess so. It's not like I've got anything to lose."
"That's the spirit." I said, punching him in the shoulder, holding my rifle in a collapsed low-ready position.
"So, what's the plan?" He asked.
I walked across the room to a poster, it looked like a layout of the prison, I slung my M4 over my shoulder and onto my back.
"Well, the fastest and most effective way out, since every door leading out is locked, we'll need to blow our way out."
"How are we going to do that? There's no explosives in the armory."
"I'll show you, but after we blow our way out, we'll need to cut the chain-link fence outside the walls."
"There's usually a pair of bolt cutters in the storage closet."
"All right. Now, do you know where the storage closet is?"
"Yeah, it's just down the hall past Cell Block D."
"Take me there."
We left the armory, and headed back the way we came, but as we did, the power suddenly went out, the lights, the sirens, everything. It was totally pitch black aside from some of the moonlight shining through the windows and illuminating the floor.
"Oh god... oh god..." Graham muttered, breathing heavily as he held his shotgun.
"Deep breaths, kid. I'm right here. Come on, we'll grab a few flashlights."
I walked back over to the armory and grabbed a few flashlights out of a nearby cupboard, taking two Maglite flashlights and switching them on. We took a left, and went straight ahead down a long hallway that leads to another cell block at the far end of the prison. He took me to a gate that opens to Cell Block B, and right across from the gate is a door labeled 'storage closet.' It seemed to neighbor the security office and the Warden's office. Graham unlocked the door with his keys, and opened the door. There were all kinds of shit inside, mostly junk that we didn't need. You'd think someone was just throwing shit inside and forgetting about it a moment later.
"Okay, let me look through this."
"Uh... okay."
I begin rummaging through the closet, quickly shoving things aside. Graham stood outside, occasionally looking around the halls, making sure nothing was sneaking up on us.
"What exactly are you looking for?"
"Anything that can be used to make an explosive."
I walk over to a shelf that looks like its full of cleaning supplies, a bag of ammonium nitrate on the middle shelf which immediately caught my eye. I quickly grabbed it, examining it, "Ohhh, that'll work." I muttered quietly, I looked over at Graham and raised the bottle, "I didn't know prisons had this stuff."
He shrugged, "It was probably contraband that a guard forgot to give to an inmate and probably forgot it was here."
"Guess we got lucky." I nodded.
I searched high and low, and after shoving things around and looking over things, I actually found a mason jar on the top shelf with an aluminum cover. Perfect for containing an explosive mixture. I kept searching, and found a screwdriver among a bunch of junk. It has a Phillips-head which is perfect for puncturing a hole in the top of the jar. I found a can of motor oil at the very bottom of a shelf behind some boxes. I kept looking and quickly found a metal bucket, which I will use to mix the ammonium nitrate with the motor oil.
"Can I ask you something?" Graham suddenly asks.
"Yeah?"
"Did you do it?" He asked quietly.
"Do what?"
"You know." I turned away. I knew what he meant. There's nothing else he could mean.
"Yes and no," I say with a sigh.
"What does that mean?"
"Means it ain't as simple as a yes or no, kid.
"I... But did you... did you kill her?" He asked, cutting to the chase.
I paused and sighed. I don't like talking about it, or even thinking about it, but if it will help this kid trust me, then so be it.
"No," I answered tersely.
"Oh, okay," he replied. "So... you did kill the guy?"
"Yes," I answered again.
"Why?"
"I was trying to protect her."
Graham looked away, like he had coined me as someone who was guilty of something and was embarrassed to find out that he didn't know nearly as much about me as he thought he did.
He looked back at me, "The guards, they all said you were an animal."
I shrugged, "They can believe whatever they want."
Graham rubbed his face, "So wait... why did you plead guilty? If you were justified... then... why didn't you fight it?"
"Wouldn't have done any good. With my service, it would be a losing battle. They would just pin more charges against me until something stuck and they wouldn't let it go. That's what they do to guys like me."
"That's... so fucked up."
"It is what it is. Sometimes you have to play the hand you're dealt," I said, my tone resigned.
He said nothing more, and I went back to searching, I needed to find something that could be used as a detonator, and I found a timer behind some office supplies. Now, I needed something with wiring, a battery, and a basic circuit...
Then I noticed Graham's radio. "Give me your radio." I said, gesturing to his radio.
"Uh, okay." He said reaching into his waistband and gave me his radio. I examined it for a moment, then I paused. I thought I heard some moaning noises around a corner. I turned my head and saw an inmate with bloodshot eyes, pale skin, and blood all over him go right for Graham. I put down the bucket, and raised my rifle.
"Get down!" I yelled, and he did so. Just before the inmate could rip Graham apart from being a few inches from him, I fired, striking the inmate in the head. The shot was deafening, the body of the inmate fell to the ground, his head had been blown apart, with blood spewing out and his head rolled over to Graham's feet.
Graham jumped, his breathing quickened.
"Holy... fucking... shit!" He shouted through his breath, like he just ran a marathon.
"You okay?" I asked, stepping towards him, checking him for bites, padding him down. He was just covered in blood.
"Y-yeah." He stuttered.
"Come on, we don't have much time before they'll be coming right to us."
"A-All right."
We quickly made our way out of the storage closet, I had all of the ingredients in the metal bucket, which I was carrying by the handle as my rifle was slung over my shoulder on my back, so I had my M1911 in my dominant hand while the bucket was being carried with the other. When we got outside the storage room, we both stopped and stared down the hallway of Cell Block B, hearing tons of moaning, groaning, and gurgling noises. Graham shined his flashlight down the hallway, and halfway down the hall we could see with at least a few dozen infected that were heading right towards us, some were guards that had turned but most were inmates. Somehow, they were scarier being lit up by the flashlight.
They began heading right for us in a hurried shuffle, not quite a run, but it was faster than either of us were comfortable with.
"Oh fuck." I muttered.
Graham froze, mouth agape.
I looked over at him, "Run." I said pushing him with my hand slightly to get him to move, "RUN!" I yelled, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him ahead of me.
We ran back to the armory, Graham was panting as we ran as fast as we could.
"What room has the most vulnerable wall?" I asked quickly.
"I uh.. uh.." He stuttered.
"Breathe, kid! Focus! What room?"
"Uh, the computer room, it's in the library." He said, hardly able to get is breath in as he was hyperventilating. He took slow and deep breaths to calm himself down, which seemed to help.
"Lead the way, come on." I said giving an encouraging pat on the shoulder. We both ran past the armory, taking a right, and going straight ahead as we went past the infirmary. However, things took a bad turn when we ran past the infirmary, when we got to a T-intersection, Graham ran into one of the undead that was stumbling out of the opposite hallway directly to our left, grabbed him and took a bite out of his shoulder. Graham screamed, and I fired my rifle, blowing a chunk of its head off and it fell to the floor. I turned the rifle, putting the buttstock against my shoulder and firing at the others, who were heading towards us from that same hallway Graham clutched his bloody shoulder, groaning.
"Come on!" I said putting my arm around him with my right hand, which held my pistol, as we made our way into the library and immediately saw the door to the computer room, which we ran into, and I closed the door, setting down the bucket, grabbing one of the long computer desks and shoving them against the door. I quickly looked at Graham's shoulder, where he was bit.
"Jesus... no... no..." He said, wincing in pain.
I tore off his shirt, ripping the sleeves off to use as bandages.
"You'll be okay. Come on, sit down."
I set him down against he wall, took the makeshift bandages and wrapped them around the wound, tightly.
"Shit!" Graham said in pain.
"I know it hurts, just keep still, we're going to get you to a hospital once we get out of here, okay?" He was breathing heavily, sweating profusely.
I picked up the bucket and headed to a wall covered with computer monitors. I quickly unpacked the ammonium nitrate, crushing it into a powder on the ground with the barrel of my M1911. I scooped up the powder, eyeing the correct measurement, putting it in the mason jar, and filled the mason jar with motor oil, and stirred with the screwdriver. I also disassembled the radio and the timer with the screwdriver, removing the wiring, battery, and circuitry of the radio. I attached the battery, circuit board, and made sure the wires merely touched and were not wired together. The rear wire of the circuit board I wired to the timer. Using electrical tape, I taped everything together very crudely, but I didn't have time to waste, the horde was coming and Graham needed medical attention.
When everything was ready, I stabbed the top of the mason jar with the screw driver to make a hole. I slid the ends of the binary wires inside the hole where they would be dipped into the explosive mixture, with the circuitry, battery, and timer at the end all hanging out, with the timer set on the floor.
"Okay, this should be good." I said as I turned the dial on the timer to 3 minutes, that should give us enough time to not only get away from the room, but also hold off the horde.
I grabbed Graham by the arm, shoving the desk away with my other hand, "Let's go."
"No... I'm done."
"You're not done, kid. It's just a bite, we can save you. I'll get you out of here. Don't lose hope. I'm not gonna let you die." I said, grabbing him by the arm.
He shook me off, "No, I'm serious. This is the end of the road for me."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Look, I... I've seen my friends get bit, and some turned within minutes, some turned in hours... No amount of peroxide or or anything was enough to save them. They always turned... every time."
"Kid, you're not like the others."
"You don't know that... Right now I'm fine, but I might not be for long. Look, here." He reached in his pocket and took out a keychain with a pair of keys attached along with a key fob attached, "This is the key to my car out front. Use it, and at least one of us can escape."
"No, no. You're coming with me, kid, I'm not asking."
"It's not your choice. Look, you saved my life, so now I'm saving yours."
"I've never been one to just run away and leave people behind, and I'm sure as hell not about to start now."
"You're not. You told me I can either lay down and die or keep fighting. I've decided to keep fighting. I'll buy you some time. Now, we don't have a lot of time." He says as he opens the door, and we both see that the horde has arrived and is already around the corner.
Graham turns back to me, grabs me, shoves me across the room to our right near the bookshelf, and makes a beeline right into the horde. In all my years, that might have just been the bravest goddamned thing I had ever seen.
"NOOO!" I screamed, running after him, but it was too late. He began shooting them with his shotgun, screaming, hitting them with the buttstock, and trying to make as much noise as he could. They surrounded him, and began tearing into him, biting, tearing, and ripping into him. He screamed in agony. My heart sank, watching the kid be devoured alive as his screams slowly began to fade, overpowered by the sounds of the dead's gurgling and groaning.
My face was filled with despair I stood there, not sure what to do.
Then the explosion went off.
I heard a loud boom. I was knocked back onto the floor, landing on my back. The room shook, sending books in the library falling off the shelves with bookshelves knocking over, and a huge fireball erupted from the computer room, engulfing the entire area in flames. The blast had knocked me out, but only for a few seconds.
When I woke up, I looked over at the doorway and the room was completely engulfed in flames and smoke as the fire alarm went off, hearing the blaring alarms followed by the sprinkler system going off. I quickly got to my feet, my ears rang, and I ran into the room. I could feel the intense heat of the flames. The room was a complete disaster as one end of the room was completely blown off.
I held my breath and ran as fast as I could into the room and then jumped right out into the open and onto the grass as smoke was pooling out of the giant gaping hole in what used to be the computer room. The cool breeze and night sky was slightly comforting, but the screaming and yelling in the distance, as well as multiple emergency vehicles, jets, and large explosions quickly made that comfort vanish. I quickly got up, and started running to the fence, the M4 on my back shaking from side to side, but remembered that I forgot the bolt cutters. I cursed under my breath and ran around to the other side of the prison along the fence. I never ran so fast in my life. My hair swayed frantically around my head as I ran. My heart was pounding in my chest. Sweat dripped down my brow and off my chin.
When I reached the parking lot there were way more than a few cars parked. I pressed the button on the fob twice to find out where Graham's car is. The lights of a shitty looking grey Volvo parked at the far end flashed, along with a set of binary beeps that the car emitted. I quickly ran over to the car, opened the driver's side door, took my rifle off and put it in the back seat, stepped inside and shut the door. I put the key in the ignition, turned the key and started the car. Thank God its an automatic with nearly a full tank of gas. I shifted into drive and pulled out of the parking lot, driving away from the prison and towards the main road. I reached the main road, looked both ways, and turned right into the road. I'm glad the prison is fairly rural, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to get out.
After a little while of driving down the main road, I turned on the radio, and I heard an emergency broadcast. It begins with a steady, high-pitched beep, not overly loud, but piercing enough to demand attention. The sound is monotonous and persistent, a mechanical drone that feels at odds with the chaos unfolding outside. As the tone continues, it's overlaid with a static hiss, like the sound of a distant, untuned radio. Combined with the white noise, it was unsettling, but maybe that was the point.
A low and calm voice filled with static began to speak:
This is an official message from the Georgia State Emergency Management Agency in coordination with the United States Army National Guard. A state-wide emergency has been declared due to the unprecedented pandemic.
Effective immediately, the city of Atlanta has been designated as a safe zone. All residents are advised to make their way to Atlanta as calmly and quickly as possible.
Major highways leading into Atlanta, including I-75, I-85, and I-20, will be regulated for safe and orderly travel. Follow all traffic regulations and be prepared to encounter military checkpoints. If you do not have access to a vehicle, emergency transportation points are being established in major towns. Locations will be broadcasted shortly.
Please bring essential items only – water, non-perishable food, medications, identification, and essential personal items. Limit luggage to one bag per person to ensure adequate space for all evacuees.
Upon arrival in Atlanta, you will be directed to designated refugee camps where food, medical aid, and shelter will be provided. Follow all instructions from emergency personnel and maintain order.
For your safety, avoid hospitals, police stations, and downtown areas until further notice. These areas are undergoing operations to ensure your safety upon arrival.
Keep your radios on for continuous updates. Information will also be shared through local TV channels and online platforms. Stay in contact with family and friends and inform them of your plans.
Special assistance will be available for the elderly, disabled, and those with young children. If you are in need of special assistance, please notify emergency personnel immediately.
This message will repeat. More updates will follow as the situation evolves. Remember, your safety and cooperation are vital in managing this crisis-
I shut it off, and begin heading to I-85, which wasn't far from me.
After a while I made it to I-85, and immediately noticed a massive traffic jam that went on for miles. Even inside my car I could hear car horns going off from hundreds of other cars, people yelling from outside their cars, and I could see Atlanta in the distance with helicopter after helicopter flying overhead. It's unusual to see helicopters flying so close to the ground unless they're picking people up or dropping people off.
Out of curiosity, I get out of the car, shutting the door, and locking it. I walked down the highway past people's cars and people having side conversations outside their cars. I noticed a woman, around her thirties; standing with a boy next to, presumably, their car. The boy looked to be around twelve years old. next to their car stood a slightly older woman, possibly in her forties, and likely her husband, also looks to be in his forties. I also noticed a man, likely around his 30s; sitting inside the younger woman's car, maybe husband, facing the woman with his arm rested against the steering wheel.
I decided to approach them.
"Hey, do ya'll know what the hell is going on?" I ask them. The younger woman and her boy turned around to me, and the man looked at me.
"No, we've just been driving, and we saw people running around, screaming and shit. We had to stop because of all the traffic. Traffic's been backed up for miles." The man said.
"Yeah, looks like we'll be here for a while. Probably gonna be here all night." The older woman added.
"If we're lucky." The younger woman commented.
"Do you know why there are so many helicopters flying overhead?" I ask the man.
"Evacuating people would be my bet." The man answered.
"So, if I was gonna get to Atlanta, I'm gonna have to walk?"
"That would be a long walk, about 10 miles." The younger woman chimed in.
"Waiting it is, then." I said.
"Looks that way. We've got food, but not enough for everyone. I guess we'll just wait for the military." The man said.
The other two adults nod in agreement.
"Ya'll mind if I hang here with you for a while? I'm by myself, and it'll be nice to have someone to talk to."
"Sure thing."
"Thanks."
I leaned against the car tire, the man, the younger woman, and the boy joined me, sitting against the car's door a good few feet away from me.
I looked at him with a small smile, "What's your name, little man?"
"Carl."
"Nice to meet you, Carl. I'm Russell. What about you, miss?"
"Oh, its Lori." She says, reaching out her hand for a handshake.
I shook her hand, "Nice to meet you."
"You too."
"What's your name?" I say looking at the man.
"Shane." He says, shaking my hand.
"Russell." I said, shaking his hand.
"What brings you to Atlanta, Russell?"
"Well, looking to get to the refugee center and wait this all out."
"Yeah, everyone and their mother had the same idea. Did the emergency broadcast stop for you too?"
"It stopped?"
"Yeah, just a bit ago just before you walked up."
"No, it was still playing for me, though the radio was kinda fuzzy."
"Yeah." Shane murmured.
"Only reason why an emergency broadcast would stop is either this shit's finally over, or-"
I was suddenly interrupted by a squadron of jets that passed by overhead. Their whirring jet engines roared throughout the skies as they flew unusually close to the ground, which scared the crowd, making them gasp, jump, and even fall over as the kids began to cry.
"Wait, those aren't evacuation helicopters." I whispered, then the realization hit me like a brick, and my voice grew shakey, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no..." I said in a panic.
I quickly began running, Shane and Lori looked at me with concern in their eyes as Shane's eyes darted from the jets and back to me, "What's wrong? What's going on? Russell?!" I ignored him as I ran down the highway, sliding between cars as I quickly hopped a guard rail. I sprinted up a hill in the woods.
Shane ran after me, and Lori quickly turned to Carl, "Honey, stay here with Carol and Sophia, we'll be right back." She quickly ran off with Shane.
When they followed me I was standing with dozens of other people on a ridge overlooking Atlanta. The other people were terrified, they didn't understand what was going on and the possibilities for what the military was intending became all too clear to me.
Shane was breathing hard when he caught up to me, "Hey, what the hell is going on?" He demanded, and looked out over Atlanta where I was. I stood there frozen as I watched the bomb bay on every single jet open, and what came out set Atlanta ablaze within moments as small clouds of hellfire erupted in the streets, no doubt leaving next to no survivors.
Lori quickly followed suit as she stood next to Shane.
I gestured towards the city that was now being set on fire, "They're... they're dropping napalm in the streets?" I said quietly, mostly as a statement, but a part of me was genuinely questioning why the military would do this.
Lori quickly covered her mouth with her hands as her eyes widened, Shane gulped and horror was written across his face as he also covered his mouth with his hands.
"Shane..." Lori gasped, and Shane quickly embraced her as she sobbed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to him. We all stood there frozen in a mixture of shock, disbelief, sorrow, and fear as the military, who we thought were sent in to rescue survivors and preserve the living, were now seeking to make sure that no survivors remained in Atlanta, to make sure the outbreak is "contained," surely.
We made it back to the highway, our faces still filled with the terror and disbelief that we saw. When we got there, Shane, Lori, and I got back to our cars.
"The military's not here to save ya'll, I would get the hell off the highway and figure out a plan B." I said to them, as I began walking back to Graham's car.
They nodded as Lori quickly hurried Carl inside their car, Shane hopped in the driver's seat while Lori got in the passenger side. I switched on Graham's car, swifted from park to reverse, and backed the car up all the way back up onto the highway, and turning around, driving back up the highway and away from Atlanta.
Driving back down the highway, I couldn't shake what I just saw from my mind. The military wiping out all those people with fucking napalm... fucking napalm.
As I looked out the window to my right, my attention was focused on a gate, a mailbox that read 'Greene' and a man and a woman at the gate with a truck parked a short distance away. I suppose I got too in my own head, thinking about the jets dropping napalm on Atlanta that I zoned out looking at the man and woman, because instantly I felt a massive force collide with the car, my body jerked forward and the airbags went off, hitting me in the face. I felt like I was hit by a freight train. I looked forward and a car had slammed into us with tens of thousands of foot-pounds of force, throwing the other car around in a tail-spin while we were hit so hard that the force almost instantly halted the car and pushed us backward. My body was jostling about, being thrown this way and that way with my pistol striking me in the face, knocking me out as everything went dark.
I went in and out of consciousness; my eyes closed, then flickered open and shut again, as my body lay backward. I could smell burning plastic and smoke from the car. I heard a gunshot, screaming, and the faint sound of a man yelling, "Hun, hold my rifle!" followed moments later by the sound of one of the car windows shattering and I could feel someone pulling me out of the wreckage.
Then I blacked out.