A short story I wrote up, in seven chapters. I'll post the first three. I'd post it all, but it's going into a book, and I don't want people to get a book full of nothing but what they have already read.

Chapter 1

His sleep addled brain doesn't process the screams right away. "Sombies? What in the Hell is a somby?" He mutters as he glances over at the clock. It's four in the morning, and he has class at eight. This has better be good. He hears it again. "It's not sombies... It's zombies. Who the fuck would scream such nonsense at four in the morning?" he thinks as he angrily pulls himself out of bed, preparing to go berate whoever's making the racket in nothing but his underwear. Then the scream cuts off, and it becomes real. If it's not zombies, then someone put the hurt on that chick hard, and they're going to pay. Still undressed, he grabs the closest thing he has that passes for a weapon, an empty vodka bottle. Opening the door, he yells "What the fu-" trailing off as he looks down the hall, seeing a figure crouched over a smaller one, eating it. His mouth forms the words before he realizes he's saying them, and his mind regrets it a half-second too late. "Hey you, stop!"

The crouched thing turns to this new disturbance, and it's eyes are pitch-black. It's face is rotting, the flesh peeling back in places to reveal maggots growing beneath the skin. As it stands erect, a large patch of it's ragged skin falls to the floor, taking with it some of the thing's decaying hair, and giving it all the comeliness of a burn victim. He knows what it's thinking, he knows what's going to happen. It sees him, nearly naked, with no obvious weapons, nor standing in a threatening position. Still, he's surprised that something which must be mostly rotten can move so quickly, and it's almost on him before he shifts his legs sideways, lining up the hit. Grabbing the bottle in a one-handed grip at the neck, he swings as hard as he can. Standing there, nearly naked, with a beergut hanging out over his shorts, he may not look like much, but when you've been through the training he has, looks don't mean much. He swings harder then a major league player would, and when the glass connects with soft, rotten flesh moving the opposite way, it severs the head clear from the shoulders. There's barely even a shock from the impact, and he sidesteps the body.

Some other people would think that was that, and to go call the police. But he knows better. He knows that it'd rare to find one creature like this, and anyways, the girl had said zombies, with an "s". Meaning more then one. This has to be dealt with, and quickly. He needs to save as many people as he can, without risking them to exposure. He remembers his training. This is the same as the wild animal handling he learned. Climb high, disable elevators to prevent accidents, and block stairwells. Tenth floor, the next building over. His best option, but how to get there, and how to get all the people from here, there? He'll have to work on the fly, if he wants to get anything done. Step one, get dressed, get armed, and get loud. He runs back into his room, closes and locks his door. No time for fashion now, it's all business. Full BDUs, Tight t-shirt, tall socks, boots, emergency rappeling belt and carribeaner. Leather trench coat, Kevlar gloves, full face balaclava. He grabs his backpack, and rapidly shoves the important items in. Laptop, HDD, book, water bottle, spare clothes, spare gloves, and what little food he has. Reflexively, he grabs his deodorant and cds, not wasting time to drop them when he realizes their uselessness, so in they go.

He hears a noise at his door. Not a knocking, but a pounding, a scrabbling. It's one of them, he looks for a weapon. He doesn't have room for the bottle again, so he backs up to the window. The thing manages to break down the door, and comes charging. He's waiting, a fan raised above his head. It's running, and the cover is off. He slams it on the back of the thing's head, and drives his knee up into it's face at the same time. The resulting crunch and splash makes him glad he got dressed, and glad he was prepared. More noise in the hallway, another one is approaching. This time he grabs his T.V., and when it enters the doorway, he hurls the T.V. at the thing, and it takes it full in the chest. The impact propels the creature onto the opposite doorway, and knocks it into a heap on the floor. Crushed like a wet paper bag, it's still trying to stand, so he enters the hallway, and smashes the T.V. onto it again. He checks left, looks right, and sees that none of the doors are open yet. That's either a very good sign, or a very bad one. Grabbing the T.V. from atop the now oozing remains of the thing, he throws it at the wall, trying to make as much noise as humanly possible. The sound of the T.V. smashing against a cement wall, the pop as the vacuum tube shatters, is ten-fold the noise made before now. He hears noise, the noise made by people, and he's rejoiced that no one else has been hurt. He enters his room one last time, stepping over, in, around, and onto the broken door and corpses. He grabs his backpack, loaded with what he can carry. As he turns to leave, his gaze rests upon his newest purchase. A "Texas Mickey" of vodka, it's fully 4 times the size. and probably three times as thick as the other bottle. He hefts it with one hand, slings it over his shoulder, and enters the hallway, yelling as loud as he can.

He looks like a terrorist out of a bad movie, dressed head to foot in black, with combat boots, a trench coat, a camo backpack, and a full face, CADPAT balaclava. He's screaming at the top of his lungs, "Get dressed, get out here, and grab any weapons or food you may have!" People are slowly filtering out, but they're not obeying his orders. No one's dressed, no one has any food, and there are definitely no weapons. It's then that that the screams begin, not only because there's a man who looks like a terrorist in the halls screaming, but because he's got blood on him, there's a door demolished, and three dead people lying in the hallways; one crushed, one partially eaten, and one without a head. The people don't understand, and having not seen the carnage and the living dead, are more afraid of the raving lunatic then anything else.

That is, until the sound of shattering glass overpowers it all, and then he shows his face, letting those around him know that they know him, they've lived with him. "Listen!" He yells, the commanding tone demanding attention. "There's an emergency. I don't know what happened, but something is trying to kill us. I don't know exactly what it is, but they look and act like zombies. We need to get out of here, and move to the top floor of Speechly. Trust me, I know what I'm doing. These things will not rest until we are all dead, if anything we've ever heard is to be believed. So get dressed, get any food or weapons, a change of your most durable clothes, and be back out here in no less then 2 minutes. We will be leaving then, regardless of who is still behind. And if you do not come with me, you will die. So be ready." With that, he sprinted down the hall in the direction the things had come from, wanting to know if those in the floors above could be saved.

He got his answer in the form of a dead male lying at the bottom of the stairs, and a blood smear on the wall leading up the stairs. It was a foot thick, and the deep crimson that comes from the blood that's deep inside you. Whatever this things were, they had been upstairs before they came down. But they hadn't been in the direction he'd be going, and that was a good sign. However, there was more then one staircase. More then one way down. And the other one was at the opposite side of the hall. But it looked like whatever was upstairs was content to remain there, for he heard no more noise. He stormed back into the hallway, anxious to see the progress made. One minute left, and half the people were ready already. This was a very good sign. What was not, was the complete and utter lack of weapons that people had. There were some scattered knives, none longer then 4 inches, a few people with bottles or broken bottles, and some various blunt instruments, many wielded by those looking to weak to hurt even the soft flesh of these intruders. But at least people were trying, he had to give them that.

The two minutes was up, and just as he was about to turn and leave he saw a very reassuring sight. Walking down the hall from the other end were six tall, broad-shouldered men. Hockey players, they all were, and they had their sticks with them. This will help alot, he thought, as he mentally assigned each one to a task. When they joined his contingent, he ordered everyone to move, with the hockey players forming a rear and side guard, and him in front. They made it out into the connecting hallway without a problem, and passed a connection, with no interference. When the reached their destination building, one of the things came up from behind, but it was quickly dispatched. But while the players weren't shaken, the people they were protecting started to become so. So much so, that one decided to run ahead, but this was a mistake.

He did not let anyone chase the runaway, and this was wise. When they entered the lobby, the people went straight to the elevators, but he knew better. He stepped in each, and sent it to the top floor, and pressed all the buttons, then directed everyone up the stairs. When they reached the next floor, he borrowed a whistle from someone in the group, and left the players as a guard on the stairs, and told them to take out anything that tried to come up that wasn't human, or alive. The first floor he roused and got to join his group without a problem. Same with the second, and the third. By the time they reached the fourth floor, though, some of those in the original group began to wonder if they hadn't dreamt the whole thing. And as he came back with the fourth floor, he could see some dissension within the ranks. Some people were straying, trying to get behind the players. They'd leave if they could. Then he heard it, below him on the stairs. The scrabbling, scrambling noise that someone in a hurry and with no finesse makes when they try to move. And there was more then one. A half dozen, he guessed. They'd take casualties in an open battle, and he needed everyone. These stairwells are cement, aren't they? He has a plan. Fire, and he knew just how to do it. After all, nothing burns like vodka, and doesn't he have 3 liters of it right there. But he needs the bottle. Any spare cloths, rags, are soaked in the liquor, and when the things are a floor below, lit. When the creatures can be seen, they start throwing the flaming, liquor-soaked items at them, and when they get close enough, he just pours liquor on them. They smolder, they burn, and they scream. Most importantly, though, they die. Again, if they are what they seem. Now though, they're down for good.

Quicker now, the floors are cleared, until they reach the top floor, and everyone pours into it. They move as much furniture as possible to barricade the doors, and he sends the elevators back down, with cameras put in them. When they open on first floor, he sees nothing, and then the doors close. Realizing that they are now useless for surveillance, he moves to disable them. With help he pries open the doors. Using a welding torch, he cuts the cable, and they plummet to the basement. Now all they have to do is out-live these things, or wait for rescue, and they'll be safe. "The easy part," He thinks. "Yeah, right. We've got a struggle before us, and I don't know if or how we'll make it through it. But we can't give up, we must remain strong, vigilant, and keep ourselves protected." "That'll sound good in the speech I'll have to make," He cringes in his thoughts at the idea, but he knows it must be done. For tonight though, he takes and drifts through an uneventful first watch, and then sleeps till dawn.

Chapter 2

His first thought when he's waking is "My god, that was a crazy dream," and then he considers what time it is, and hopes he's not late for class. Then he realizes that he's on a couch, not his bed, and he's dressed, his leather coat over top of him. It wasn't a dream, it was real. Before he's even awake, people are staring at him, waiting for him to tell them what to do. Waiting for him to make it better. They expect something from him, they think he has a plan. He had a plan, but it's finished. He brought everyone he could to the safest place he could find, and barricaded it. That's all he had, and now he's going to have to make some kind of speech to reassure everyone that this is the safe place to be.

Standing, he grabs his jacket, and slowly pulls it on. He's stalling, but it just seems that he's putting a lot of thought into what he's going to say. He doesn't know how, or even if, this is going to work, but he knows that this is their best option. He just has to convince the others of this.

"Attention, everyone!" He bellows this first line, to let them know he's in charge. "Please, everyone, gather around me, except for you two," He says, pointing at two of the hockey players, "You guard the barricade. Do not open it, under any circumstances. Now, as for the rest of you. I know you are scared, and I don't think many of you know exactly what has happened, so let me recap this for you. Something, I don't know what, has attacked. They are most definitely hostile, and will not hesitate to kill every last one of us. And from what I've seen, the best way to describe these things are as zombies. They appear dead, and do not have a fear of death. Or a reaction to pain, it seems. We have an advantadge, though, it seems. These things are not very strong, and can be easily damaged due to their rotten nature. Now, as to what to do. As long as we remain here, we should be safe. There is one entrance, which is barricaded and guarded. We have many people, roof access, and food. As long as we remain together, vigilant, and resolute, we should survive long enough to be rescued. This will require some sacrifices, mostly in the form of sleep and possibly in the lives of your friends, or even yourself. You must understand now, that we can not open that barricade. We must keep it closed, and remain here until we are rescued or absolutely have to leave. So if anyone comes to the barricade, I'm sorry, but they must remain outside. Th-" He heard when they did, but he knew what it was before the others. It was a scream.

It was a girl's scream, and it was coming up the stairs. The players looked at him, and one moved to clear the barricade. He ran and shoulder-checked the barricade back into place. "Do NOT open the barricade!" He yelled, spinning and facing the people. "Would you rather all die so that she can die with us?!? Or do you want to live?! I hate this as much as you do, but there's not a fucking thing we can do!"

He turned back to face the barricade, and saw through it her coming up the stairs. She was naked, short, blonde. And she was wailing. He almost wavered, almost gave in. Almost. Then he heard it. She was pounding on the barricade, schreeching. But he still heard it. One of them, maybe more, coming up the stairs. He saw it move. Up the stairs, quickly. She never looked back, didn't see it coming. It leaped. The scream ended abruptly, when it locked it's jaw around her neck. It's teeth bit into the flesh, blood spurting like a fountain. She saw him, stared. She didn't understand. He could see it in her eyes, even as the light faded from them. He was glad the barricade was more solid at the bottom. He didn't have to see it eat.

It stood, it's feast over. It could see him. It saw food. It charged, but it hit the barricade and couldn't get past. It tried again. Nothing happened. It slammed it's fist into the glass, but he was lucky enough that it didn't shatter. It hit it once more, then started to shuffle around, looking for some way past. It pooked, prodded, and slammed it's hand against anywhere that was just glass. Nothing broke though, and like a dog faced with food it can't get, it turned and shuffled away, looking over it's shoulder once to make sure nothing had changed.

The body of the girl was still sitting on the other side of the barricade, but they'd been lucky enough to be shared any sight of the corpse. He'd been holding his breath, and he hadn't noticed. Letting it out in a sigh, he turned around. No one was crying, but it wasn't a good thing. They were too scared, too shocked, to do anything but stare at him. They needed his guidance, needed him to reassure them. What was he supposed to do, though? He had no one to help him, no one to tell him what to say to these people. He has to do it alone, and he has to do it quickly.

"People," he says, plotting quickly, "There was nothing we could do. Even if we had tried, we wouldn't have cleared the barricade in time. She would have still died, and that thing would have gotten in. Now, it will go look for easier food. It, and hopefully those it meets, will not come back here until all other food sources are exhausted. Which gives us time. Which means that now, we might be able to survive. She gave her life, and because of that, we can live. Now, everyone, we need to organize better. You two, watch the barricade," He said, gesturing to the original guards he positioned there. "And this time, DO NOT TRY TO OPEN THE BARRICADE! Now, the rest of the players, and anyone who thinks they can fight or plan, come with me to the other room, and we'll discuss strategy." With this, he hefted his bottle, and stormed into the room, waiting for anyone to follow him.

He wakes without her this times, since he had a late watch and did not want to wake her if he did not have to. He has only been active for thirty minutes, just enough to consume his morning rations, when they find the station. It's a lone man, broadcasting on a home-made setup, he can tell. This man must be good with electronics, though, because he's got a very good signal. This is not important though, what's important is what he is saying. He has news. Pure, unfiltered news, and he is talking about what is happening at the university. He has to be nearby, or have very good contacts. His words are amplified through the tiny speakers of their radio, but what he says brings hope to them all.

"Well, I don't know what happen'd, but people ain't moving at the university anymore. It's all quiet now. I think 'twas yesterday when them cops showed up, and they closed the whole place down. No traffic in or out anyways, but they got out their tape. Section'd themselves off the whole thing. Then they start'd goin' in ta check the place out. I reckon they din't like what they found, 'cuz they called the army in. And I may be wrong, but I swear more cops went in then came out. They'll find me soon, I don't doubt it, but til then I'll update you on what's happenin'. Them army boys look like they're doin' sweeps of the place, lookin' for something. You'd think that there was some kind of attack on the place, what with the way they're acting. Who knows? Maybe them terrorists bombed it 'er something. I'll give regular updates til they shut me down, but for now, this is Whiskey Bob signing off."

The signal dropped out, but he had someone man the radio anyways. He went to the windows and checked. If there was someone military out there, they were taking their sweet time in getting here. He did not blame them though. Not at all. With those things our there, he would understand if it took them a month to find them. If they lasted that long. Still, he was glad for the news, and so was everyone else in the room. If the army was here, someone knew something was up. And the army had a policy of looking for, and taking care of, survivors. He liked that policy, actually. Maybe if he survived he'd join up again, this time in a less covert role. Wishful thinking, for sure, but it helped.

The rest of the day passed in a buzz of positive talk, amplified whenever Whiskey Bob came back on the radio. He didn't bring a lot of news, but he brought enough to encourage hope. From the sounds of his reports, parts of the campus were being cleared, and unless heavy resistance was encountered, they should be rescued within a week. It was late in the evening, just before the sun went down, that Whiskey Bob came back on, shaken this time.

"I saw me what they're against there. It wasn't right, I tell you. It ain't right. It was dead, and it was movin'. Dead things don't move, dammit. But it was. Don't ask me how, don't ask me why. But it was. That's why they're goin' so slow. They're up against something that's unnerving even the veterans. Dead things don't move, God dammit. Whiskey Bob, signing off." That was it. News of what this was had reached at least part of the outside. He didn't know whether to be glad, or mortified.

It was just as he considered this thought that the glass shattered. It was the door. No one had been paying attention, and three of the things had snuck up to the barricade. He should have known better, but he'd never seen any of them move quietly. He watched horrified as they grabbed the leg of one of the guards, and pulled. The guard was jerked off his feet, and fell. His face smashed into the floor, and the leg went through the hole. They kept pulling, but the other leg was caught outside the opening. He saw it stretch, saw the muscles and bone strain. Then it snapped, and the guard slid farther through. His hips stuck though, so the trio started gnawing on what they could reach. He was horrified, but glad that the barricade still held. Had it not, this scene would be multiplied many times.

They stripped his leg to the bone. They stood, still hungry. They tried tugging on his leg a few times, but nothing more would come through. Bored, they moved down the stairs, this time making a lot more noise then they had made coming up, for certain. No one inside the room had moved, but once those things left, they started to move towards the door. But he felt uneasy, he knew something was wrong.

"Stop!" His orders, as before listened to, without hesitation. It was something about the group, something in how they moved. Or how they should have moved. They didn't move like the first one, didn't move like a spurned animal. They moved with more menace. Not resigned, like the first one, but something else. They were... They were... They were waiting! Oh god, know he knows what it was. It was her, the short blonde one. She was the one killed outside the door. And they killed the guard. The guard! He's going to turn! How soon? Too soon, it seemed, for it had started to twitch. There was nothing for a weapon nearby, and if he left, he didn't know if he'd get back in time to stop it.

It was standing now, somehow it's skeletal leg could still support it. Was it smiling? He thought it was smiling at him, mocking him. Somehow it knew there was nothing he could do, no weapons near by. He had left the pistol in his jacket, still in the other room. He wasn't even wearing his mildly protective clothing, having removed his shirt at some point. He felt naked in just pants and a muscle shirt. And when any wound might be fatal, he didn't want to risk unarmed combat. What then, could he do? Let it attack another while he went to get a weapon, also risking himself to attack at some point? No, he'd have to try. Maybe someone else could get a weapon by the time it took this thing to kill him. It rushed, but so did he. Neither had a fear of death. He however, had tactics on his side. As he neared it, he dropped onto his back. Confused, the thing could only continue it's run. He wasn't about to let it pass him unharmed, though. As he slides up to it, his boot came up, and caught it under the chin. The hard heel of his combat boot sank into the soft tissue, and his foot went up and into its chin. Vicious as the wound was, it wasn't enough to kill this thing. It was stunned for half a second, just long enough for him to track it's movements. Down came his foot, and out went the other. Both connecting with the thing's skeletal leg. It shattered. It took a swipe at him as it went down. It connected with his right forearm, and tore a large chunk out of it. He saw something multicoloured flash down, and then its head exploded. He looked up to see the small girl from the panel standing over the thing with a red and black plastic guitar in her hands, the body broken, the neck twisted.

"Thanks, I guess. A shade late though," He said, indicating his bloodied forearm. "Gather the rest of the advisers, I need to make a quick speech." The girl nodded, turned around, and went in search of the rest of his panel. He stood, wrapped an offered cloth around his arm, and helped to dispose of the body by pushing it through the hole. They moved a couch that was being used for sleeping to cover the new exposure, and then the people went back to what they were doing, with new and now more alert guards.

He entered the newly dedicated meeting room, and went to the head of it. Steadying himself, putting his mask back on, he turned and began to speak, slowly, softly, but without weakness. "I've suffered an attack from one of the creatures. We do not know what causes a person to turn into one of the creatures, so now I fear that I may become one. Therefore, I have decided, that, for an appropriate period, I will sequester myself away from anyone else, so that if I do turn, we will understand how much it takes for one to become a creature, and how long it takes for a living person to turn. Now, as for dealing with me in case of conversion. I will surrender control of my firearm to the one who feels most confident with such a weapon, and they have complete permission to dispatch me should such a case occur. However, if I do not turn, I expect to return to full command, and regain control of the pistol. Does anyone have any objections with any of this?"

There was a resounding lack of response, which he took to mean it was acceptable. That, or no one had a good way to express their dissent. Either was fine with him. "Now, on to the other matter. Who would feel comfortable with using the pistol? More importantly, who would feel comfortable enough to use it on me?" His second question killed any response he might have had. "People, we have to face reality. If I turn, someone will have to shoot me. And since I'll be contained, it won't be during an adrenaline rush. It will be calculated, cold, and merciless. Who can do that?" No response still. Then he heard it. No one on the panel, but a voice from the door. It was her.

"I can do it. If it's absolutely necessary, I can do it." Her voice was just a whisper, but she meant it. He was shocked for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure and accepted this. He handed the pistol to her, changed the wrapping on his wound, and went into an isolated, secured room to wait. Wait to see if he changed, wait to see if he was going to stay human. He didn't want to know, if he did change. He wanted her to shoot him if it started. And he knew, from how she looked at him when he went in there, that she would. She wouldn't if it wasn't necessary, but if he turned, she would. No hesitation. But for now, he just knows this room, this couch, and this wait.

If you want the rest, just PM me and I'll send them to you if you're interested or email them or something.