Only Human Saga: Only Human

By TK Shideler

After a mysterious virus destroys mankind, two dozen college students find themselves as the only survivors. But a terrible truth lies behind their immunity to infection, along with a terrible question: how far are you willing to go to survive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781329813687

Book preview

Only Human Saga: Only Human

Only Human Saga: Only Human

Copyright © 2016 TK Shideler

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-329-81368-7

Cover photo taken by Hannah Shideler

Copyright 2016

We are only human. We have unlimited potential.

Never give up hope. Never stop believing. Never quit.

Everything will be okay.

Only Human

Part I

Cataclysm

A large-scale and violent event in the natural world.

Prologue

For a moment, it felt.

After sleeping for untold centuries, a flicker of consciousness came and went. It perceived the deep cold and unending darkness, the stars. Something akin to awareness reached into the depths of an ancient mind, sniffing the stars for a hint of the Enemy. It was close, so very close. After chasing its prey mercilessly across the stars, it was drawing near enough to taste him. A low rumble echoed through muscle, bone, and blood. The body creaked with an immeasurable amount of stillness in the depths of its galactic hibernation. Muscles twitched, metabolism spiked, and a brain began to fully awaken.

But, with the awakening, came memories. And with the memories came the anger.

Foremost among them was the Enemy and his Nine, these demons that had clawed their way from the abyss and haunted the galaxy. All his kind had ever done had been to stop the Enemy and the evil he held within. And now they were so close to finishing it.

Then it saw the great spreading of supernovas across the stars, serenity cooling the rage and replacing it with a cold and calculating reminder of its task. It would prove itself worthy. It would find the ancient Enemy, and it would destroy him.

Faced with the endlessness before it, it began to fade back into numb and ancient thoughts. The rage dissipated, the ancient heart slowed, and the beast sank back into hibernation. For now, it would bide it’s time, and feel no more. The galaxy would be at peace.

But change would soon come.

Chapter One: The Beginning

Morre Hall Dormitory/UNF/3rd Floor/ 1745 Hours

Dan’s curse was drowned out by the discharging shotgun in his hands as his next-door neighbor charged him with an inhuman, feral roar. The wall where the man’s head had been exploded in a cloud of white dust as his shot missed. Dan turned the weapon sideways across his body. The man struck him hard enough that he knocked Dan into the dresser and then to the floor, his gnashing teeth an inch from Dan’s face. He could smell fresh blood as flecks of saliva spattered his face and neck, his attacker’s eyes black with rage.

Wyatt! Ravin! Help!

The teeth were almost biting into his face when he saw something swinging. His chair smashed into the man’s side. It burst into splinters and the man’s weight fell from Dan. He rolled and scrambled away just in time to see the tall, lanky form of Wyatt grab their frenzied dorm mate. With a grunt Wyatt heaved the thrashing man into the hallway. The man’s landing hit with a sound like another gunshot as his arm shattered, bits of bone poking through the skin. Dan stood, cocking his weapon and raising it as the man struggled to right himself on his broken arm, snarling. Dan caught a glimpse of oily black eyes and a furious face before he squeezed the trigger. The man’s head disappeared. Blood and bone spattered the wall and carpet as the corpse dropped to its knees and then flattened. Beside Dan his girlfriend Ravin inhaled like she was watching a bad movie blooper.

Messy, she muttered. Cleanup on floor three.

No kidding, Wyatt muttered. He took off his glasses, wiping his face clean of blood with his shirt. He attempted to remove the blood from his glasses but, realizing it only smeared them, began to search for a fresh cloth. What the hell was wrong with him?

Dan didn’t want to say what he thought. He had seen the man’s eyes. Even now through the man’s pale skin he saw the veins were dark as if they were filled with oil. And that anger… Dan had some experience with tough customers before, but he’d never seen anything like that.

He shuddered and turned to Wyatt.

We need to get our bearings, he said. Wyatt shook his cellphone.

I was a step ahead of you, he said. No one picked up.

At least the towers are still up, Ravin muttered. Dan nodded.

If no one picked up that means they may all be gone. We need as many people as we can. He massaged his goatee, and then readjusted his hat backward on his head.

What should we do? Wyatt asked. Dan was about to reply but was interrupted as the door to the emergency stairs down the hall slammed. It was followed by rapid footsteps moving toward them. Dan pushed ahead of the other two and raised his weapon, timing his shot and squeezing the trigger…

…which clicked. He’d forgotten to cock the gun. He cursed and ejected the shell, loading a new one as a blonde-haired man that he recognized paused in the doorway.

Mind pointing that somewhere else? he asked Dan. Dan exhaled, lowering the shotgun.

Jesus it’s good to see you, he said. Ravin bounced forward, squeezing the newcomer, their friend Taylor, in a hug. As she stepped back, Dan noticed his clothes were splattered with blood, the red stains standing out against Taylor’s blue jeans and black shirt.

Hope that ain’t yours, he told Taylor. Taylor shook his head, and Dan noticed he was breathing heavily.

I ran out of pistol ammo, he said, Been using this. He raised a crowbar, the weapon practically dripping with blood. He looked like he’d been in more than a few scuffles: his jeans had been torn, and underneath his leather jacket Dan saw his t-shirt was torn too. The handles of a pair of pistols poked out from thigh holsters on his legs. Standing a little over six feet tall, half a head taller than Dan, Taylor was athletic but thin, his blue eyes hiding behind shaggy blonde hair. A silver band shined under the gore on his left finger. He looked up at Taylor as the man stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. He set down a backpack that resounded with a thud loud enough that Dan wondered what kind of supplies Taylor had tucked away.

What happened? Ravin asked Taylor as she came to stand beside Dan. He lifted his arm over her shoulders snuggly.

"Seventh floor is full of the things, Taylor replied through trying to catch his breath. In fact, I think the entire dorm is. Ran out of the two mags I had. The rest is all in Caitlin’s apartment locker."

Where’s Elizabeth? Dan asked, gesturing to Taylor’s ring. He groaned, putting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

I don’t know, he coughed. "I opened our door to get us out and they swarmed in before I could do crap. They didn’t even bother to attack, it was like they were trying to carry us away."

Is she alive? Wyatt asked. Dan reached out, slugging him in the shoulder, giving him a what’s wrong with you? look. When he looked back to Taylor, the man was staring at Wyatt blankly.

She’d better be, he said simply. I’ll burn this whole damn university to the ground if I have to.

Ravin stepped away from Dan and put a hand on Taylor’s shoulders. You did all you could.

Taylor shook his head. Not yet I haven’t. Taylor straightened himself. He glanced to the cell phone in Wyatt’s hand.

We need to get in contact with the others, he said, mirroring Dan’s suggestion. Have you heard anything? Have you heard from Erik? Taylor spoke the last words with an easily detectable glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Nothing, Wyatt told him, shaking the cellphone. No one’s picking up. Sorry man.

Taylor ran a hand through his blood-flecked hair. He paused, thinking, before he nodded, clapping his hands together.

Let’s pack up what we have, he said. We should move downstairs. We can collect survivors on the way.

"And we’ll run into those things," Ravin muttered. Wyatt shrugged.

Or we can wait here and starve. We’ve got no ammo.

Dan nodded in agreement.

That’s also where they took Elizabeth. Dan looked up as Taylor stood in the now-open doorway, gripping his crowbar with new determination. As Dan locked eyes with him, he saw a darkness in Taylor’s eyes that he’d never seen before. I’ll kill them all, Taylor growled. Dan nodded.

We go downstairs. Now.

+++

Goldstream Valley/ Off Campus/ Three Months Prior to Cataclysm

Dan chuckled at Taylor’s joke, almost coughing up his beer as the house became filled with laughter. Taylor’s dad slugged his son in the shoulder.

Don’t talk about your mother that way, he attempted to scold, but instead ended up chuckling himself.

What? Taylor laughed. Mom’s got enough gas to create a new galaxy!

I heard that! Taylor’s mom yelled from the kitchen. Dan laughed.

You didn’t hear anything, he called back. Taylor definitely wasn’t making a fart joke.

Yeah right. Terra left the kitchen, pointing to Taylor. You there. Get in the kitchen and carry the food out.

Taylor exhaled explosively.

Fine! he said with obvious sarcasm. He peeled himself from the couch, stepping over the two dogs and into the kitchen. When he came out he was carrying a large plate with a cooked turkey on it. Dan smelled it even more strongly than when they had first stepped into the house.

"Good God that smells good," Erik groaned, along with his stomach.

Well feel free to dig in, Terra sat down, smiling. Not gonna have any of Taylor’s friends starve.

Dan and the others stood, making a line to start getting plates of food. By the time he, Taylor, Erik, Ravin, Elizabeth, Seth, John, and Caleb had finished, there was barely enough for Terra and Richard, who gathered up their plates and sat down.

Dig in! Terra encouraged. You guys don’t need to wait, we know you’re hungry.

And they did. The house was quiet for some time, the only sound being the occasional clink of silverware against plates or the guttural swallowing of a too-large chunk of food. Dan took a sip of his beer, and was about to dig in to another chunk of turkey when the two family dogs jumped up as if they’d been shocked. They ran for the nearby back door that led to the porch, whimpering and scratching. Dan raised an eyebrow, looking to Taylor. He was watching the dogs warily, and glanced to his father.

They really want to go out, he said. Want me to? Richard nodded.

Sure. Taylor stood, squeezing between a pair of TV trays and moving to the door. He opened it, letting the dogs out and standing in the doorway. Dan hadn’t even noticed the cold of the wind blowing through until the hairs stood up on his arms.

Taylor, close the door! Richard exclaimed. You’re letting all the heat out!

Uh… dad, you may wanna look out the window.

Dan heard the door shut, and he turned, looking out the window.

Whoa.

He could think of no other way to express his confusion, surprise, and astonishment. The Raptures lived thirty minutes outside of town, a decent distance from Fairbanks. Seeing critters in the backyard was a pretty common occurrence; a moose or two, or a neighbor’s dog scampering about. But this? There were dozens of animals in the back yard; moose, hares, rodents, birds, wolves, and even a bear, all of them keeping pace and moving together as if they were part of a herd.

Jesus, Seth muttered as Taylor came to stand next to Dan.

Some of our neighbor’s dogs are out there, he said. What the hell is going on?

Maybe they’re running from an earthquake? Erik suggested. Richard shook his head, coming to stand next to his son.

Nah, he adjusted thick bifocals, staring out as the animals kept coming in a single, unending wave. Our dogs get agitated when an earthquake is coming, but this? This is… this is something totally different.

As Richard finished his sentence, the two dogs scampered to the edge of the porch, trying and failing to vault over the railings, howling and barking madly. Richard cursed, and Taylor ran to the door, moving onto the porch. Dan watched as Taylor grabbed the nearest dog, Riley, by the collar.

It happened so fast Dan didn’t see what happened. Riley yelped and spun, teeth bared. His jaw latched down onto Taylor’s hand, and Taylor cried out in pain, tearing his hand away. The other dog, Kavik, reacted as well, lashing out at Riley. In an instant the two dogs were on each other, a rolling ball of gnashing teeth, whirling claws, and flying fur.

Crap! Richard flew out of the house. Together he and Taylor pulled the two struggling dogs apart, both of them bloodied and whimpering. Terra stood, moving to hold the door open as Richard and Taylor came inside, holding the dogs by their collars so they couldn’t fight. Richard carried Riley to one end of the house, while Taylor carried Kavik into another, shutting the door.

Are you okay? Elizabeth asked. Taylor held his injured hand in the other one as blood pooled from the wound.

Sonuvabitch, Taylor growled. No. He got me good.

I’ll get some bandages, Terra muttered. She passed Richard just as he came back from the other side of the house.

Never in all my years, he grumbled. He looked to his son. He got you good huh?

Yeah Taylor muttered, holding up his hand. Dan looked, but couldn’t catch a real glimpse.

Let’s see it, Erik said, Come on! Taylor gave him a glance, then held out his hand.

Damn, Seth muttered. Even Dan inhaled sharply. Taylor’s hand was permeated with several puncture marks, each piercing deep into the muscle and bone. They observed the injuries with disgusting fascination until Terra pushed her way through them, holding several paper towels, bandages, hydrogen peroxide, and gauze.

Sit, she ordered, putting her hand on Taylor’s shoulder. She soaked a paper towel in hydrogen peroxide, and as she worked on the injury Dan looked out the window. The assortment of beasts that had once filled the backyard were now gone, moved on. Dan felt movement beside him and turned to see Ravin. She reached out, taking his hand and resting her head upon his shoulder.

What the hell was that? she asked him. I’ve never seen anything like that. Dan shook his head. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they hadn’t seen the last of this.

I dunno baby, he muttered. I haven’t either. But I bet you anything we’re going to find out soon enough.

Chapter Two: Erik

Morre Hall Dormitory/ UNF/ 5th Floor/ 1747 Hours

Gunfire was the only illumination in the dark stairwell. Two shots made Erik’s ears throb, knife-edged shadows fracturing his vision. His third shot blasted the black-eyed creature’s skull open, for a moment illuminating the ballooning splatter of crimson. It collapsed onto the floor, the wet splat of its body echoing off the walls. Erik stood perfectly still, listening for the telltale snarls of the creatures or pounding footsteps. When he was sure he was alone, he ejected the magazine of his Desert Eagle, checking the bullet count before sliding it back inside the weapon. That was stupid. One: going down a dark hallway. Two: using three bullets on one target. With only two magazines, he couldn’t afford to miss like that.

You’re an idiot, Erik, he muttered to himself. He turned from the dark stairway, gripping the door handle with a shaking hand and inhaling, giving himself time to calm down. He opened the door, and was met by one of the creatures hitting him at full sprint.

The wind exploded from his lungs. The thing slammed him into the wall, sending his head crashing into the concrete. His vision burst into starspots and his glasses went flying, clattering to the floor. The thing swiped at him, missing his head but catching his golden cross earring. Erik cried out as the earring departed from its anchor in his skin, and he reflexively reached for his ear.

The creature took advantage of his dropped guard. It snarled and then Erik felt teeth dig into his shoulder. Warm blood pooled from the wound, his muscles screaming in protest. Erik cursed, smashing his palm into the creature’s face and knocking it backward. It stumbled, relinquishing its hold. He grabbed it by the neck, and when it snarled he snarled back, shoving his Deagle into its mouth.

Welcome to Morre! he spat, before he pulled the trigger. The shot made his ears throb again, and this time he got to watch the blood spatter the ceiling. He rolled the corpse off of him as he sat up, clutching his shoulder.

Crap that hurt…

He reached down, picking his glasses up from the floor. Thankfully they were still intact, and he wiped them off with his shirt before readjusting them on his face. Using the lighting from the open door, he found his earring and pocketed it. Too bad; he’d liked that earring too. Damn thing’d been brand new. He moved into the hallway, pausing as the lights flickered once and then came back to life. He hoped that meant that ASYSMAN was back online. Erik looked left and then right, wondering which hallway to take in his search for the others. Both looked particularly unappealing: the normally bright and decorated hallways now unusually still and silent.

Finally, Erik sighed, pulling out a quarter. Heads right, tails left. He balanced it, and then flipped it. It landed on heads. Erik nodded. Trust in the coin.

He obeyed the coin’s omnipotence, moving down the hallway to his right. He took a left at the end of that hallway, heading for the emergency staircase. As he went he checked to make sure that every door was closed and locked. As he passed one, he heard something scraping and snarling inside. He made a mental note of the room for later… just in case. He paused as he turned a corner, seeing a hole large enough to fit a car in smashed into the floor, as if something huge and immensely heavy had been dropped into it. He stepped around it, barely, and continued on his way.

Finally, he reached the last room on the floor: his room. He moved past it, not thinking anything of it… but then paused as he heard scratching and moaning from inside.

What the hell?

He readied his weapon, gripping the door handle solidly. He gave himself a mental count of three before he twisted the knob and pushed.

The door swung open to reveal darkness. With the hallway light he couldn’t see anything, and he slowly stepped inside, finding the light switch and turning it on. The door began to close, though, and the lights did not come on. When it shut, they still hadn’t.

When they came on, he found himself facing another snarling Infected.

Erik cursed. The thing lunged for him and he brought his shoulder down into its chest, knocking it backward.  It’s flailing knocked his pistol onto his bed, and it came at him again. Without thinking, Erik reached for the closest thing he could: his guitar.

Take this! he yelled, swinging the guitar. The wooden instrument struck the Infected in the face and sent it spinning around to the ground. Splinters flew as the guitar shattered. The Infected drunkenly attempted to push itself upright, stunned. Erik grabbed the remaining pieces of guitar, pinned the creature with his boot, and wrapped one of the instrument’s metal strings around its neck.

"That was my favorite guitar!" Erik snarled, pulling with all his might. The Infected howled —perhaps realizing its fate— before its head disconnected from its body, the bloody guitar string giving a last twang. The head rolled away, still snapping its jaws at him. Erik tossed the ruined pieces of the guitar aside, taking his pistol from the bed. He looked down at the gnashing, black-eyed head, still reaching for him. It did that until he brought his foot down on the skull, crushing it and splattering its blood and brains across the carpet. Erik stood there for a moment, then gagged, sticking out his tongue and wiping his shoes on the carpet.

Gross!

He paused, shuddering. Well genius. What now?

Erik sighed. He wished Tay was here. He’d know what to do. Taylor had been there for him since the two of them had been freshman. They’d met and become as close as brothers, taking on any challenge together. He prayed that he was okay.

For now, though, he had to keep himself safe. Erik shifted his shoulders, pausing as pain forked along his shoulder where the last creature had bit him. He moved to the mirror of his wardrobe, pulling off his shirt and looking at himself. His skinny face stared back at him. In their circle of friends, Erik was always teased as being the only one skinnier than Taylor. He was as tall but even thinner. Erik gave himself a look in the mirror before he looked to his injury.

He narrowed his eyes, looking closely in the mirror. The wound had already clotted, thick scabs forming. The bleeding had stopped completely, and Erik slowly reached up. At first he gently brushed the wound, and then poked it. Nothing happened.

Huh, he muttered. Whaddya know. He threw on another shirt and paused. Something was going on outside. He went to his window, trying to look down. At this angle, he couldn’t see anything though. He opened the window, immediately feeling the harsh kick of wind and cold as Fairbanks’ 40 below December chill struck him like a hammer. He punched out the screen covering, looking down.

Half a dozen figures were sprinting from a patch of trees, making for a tool shack nearby. For a moment, Erik thought they were more of the Infected heading for their next target. As the group moved closer to the shack though, a much larger group came from the forest… and kept coming. It grew into a dozen shapes, all of them closing on the humans sprinting to the shack. Erik’s mouth felt like it was full of sand. He wanted to cry out, but couldn’t; frozen there not by the cold, but by the thought of turning the attentions of the creatures to himself. The humans met a patch of deep snow. It slowed them down, but not the Infected. The creatures were unheeded by the cold, striding through the snow as if it wasn’t even there. They descended on the humans like a pack of wolves.

The humans didn’t even make it to the shack. They turned, one of them drawing a rifle from their back. Whoever it was got off three shots before the Infected tore their arms from their shoulders.

Erik couldn’t watch anymore. He pulled himself back into his room, shutting the window in an attempt to drown out the howls of the Infected and the screams of their victims. It didn’t help. His stomach churned, and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick. He sank to his knees, gripping his pistol and closing his eyes as he prayed that the sounds would stop.

And then, there was silence.

For a time, Erik sat there on the floor, his head leaning against the wall. Guilt tugged at him. What could he have done to save those people? They had already been doomed, hadn’t they? In those numbers those things would’ve gotten them anyway. And what the hell was going on? Was this the end of the world? He didn’t remember the Bible saying anything about flesh-eating monsters showing up.

Erik stood, trying to decide his next move. He was halfway through debating when screams echoed above him, followed by the howls of Infected, and a series of gunshots. The gunshots ended in silence… and a door slammed above him.

That was all the evidence he needed. Erik opened his door, sprinting up the stairs to the next level. As he got onto the sixth floor, he heard another door slam around the corner. Excitement granted his exhausted limbs new energy. As he turned the corner he halted midstride as he found himself facing a dozen of the Infected.

Ah crap.

They turned, lips peeling back to reveal teeth with recently devoured flesh still hanging in the gaps. Black eyes glinted, and Erik turned and ran.

+++

UNF Indoor Shooting Range/ Two Months Prior to Cataclysm

Erik’s Deagle kicked harder against his hand than it had yesterday, and he wondered if his hand placement was off. He squeezed off the nine rounds in the magazine, then waited patiently for Taylor to finish. In the lane beside him, Taylor was firing a pair of Springfield XDMs, squeezing so fast that Erik thought he might as well have been throwing the .45 rounds downrange. Erik ejected his magazine, laying it and the weapon down on the bench as Taylor finished firing. A second later the red light filling the room turned green, and then shifted to the wary soft yellow. The two of them withdrew their targets from downrange, and even as the paper slid toward him along the retraction rail Erik knew he had done well: his bullets had all ended up in a group of about an inch and a half. He pulled down his ear protection.

How’d you do? he asked. Taylor leaned around their divider, holding up his target. All of his rounds had landed in roughly the same group, dead center of the target.

I think I beat you, he said. Erik grinned.

Maybe tied, he said, smacking Taylor’s target away with his hand. Besides you have three times as many bullets as me, asshole!

Taylor laughed.

You seem awful sensitive, he told Erik. Maybe you should get another gun. Then, in a voice rich with sarcasm and mockery, he quoted the speech given by the President earlier that day: We all must remember that it is our responsibility to be prepared for the possibility that dangerous riots and uprisings may plague our beautiful nation in this current Crisis.

I do fine with just one, thank you, Erik turned up his nose. You should try it sometime.

Next one. Taylor glanced downrange and loaded his pistol. Thirty meters?

Yea, thirty sounds good.

They placed their ear protection back on, wheeling fresh targets downrange. Then Taylor pressed the range button. The lights went green, and then red. Erik loaded his magazine and racked the slide.

Range clear, he heard Taylor call, loud enough to be heard under the ear protection. Fire free.

They opened up. Erik focused on his trigger pull. While he was shooting he did his best to drown out Taylor’s rhythmic shots and stay focused. He lined up each shot carefully, keeping his breathing calm; line up the notches, squeeze, repeat. When he finished, he waited for the range lights to change again, and pulled off his ear protection. They pulled their targets uprange.

How’d you do one-handed? Erik asked, frowning as he noticed a single shot had broken his group. Taylor shrugged and held up his target, where the center bubble was gone.

Yourself?

Erik showed him his near-perfect target, and Taylor grinned.

Nice, he held out a fist to Erik, and Erik bumped his fist against it. You done for the day?

Yeah, Erik replied. I gotta clean up before class. Erik retrieved his magazines, pistol, and case, moving to a table set up nearby for cleaning. Taylor followed, sitting beside Erik as he began to strip his weapon. The two of them worked in silence, only grunting occasionally when a sharp part slipped and cut them or to pass oil and cloths between themselves. As they worked, Erik happened to notice Taylor’s titanium band resting nearby. He gave Taylor a look.

Come on dude, really? Taylor glanced from him, to the ring, then back.

What? Erik shook his head.

"It’s titanium, he said. I think it can handle a little grime." Taylor shrugged.

I just don’t like getting it dirty, he said. I always take it off when I do stuff like this. I mean… my uncle gave it to me when I was a kid and my friend died. Plus it doubles as an engagement ring. Taylor paused. Speaking of which, you and Marlene are gonna be able to come to the wedding in June right? Erik waved his hand, making a sound of nonchalance with his lips.

Don’t worry about it, he said. We’ll be there. We’ve got eight months after all.

Yea, but it’s hard to get flights out of here, and you’re gonna have to save up. If our economy don’t pull itself out of the crapter…

Yea, yea, I know, Erik growled as he finished cleaning his pistol and put it back together. First food shortages. Now ammo shortages and the Crisis. I had stocks in good companies and they all dropped like rocks.

Nuclear technology is the way to invest, Taylor replied as he put his first pistol back together. But I also get a discount, since it’s my uncle’s. Even if it goes to half, I could sell it for a fortune.

Lucky prick, Erik teased. Taylor stuck out his tongue, reaching for his second pistol and starting to clean it. Erik chuckled, leaning back in his chair and making a show of putting his hands behind his head, yawning.

Laugh all you want, Taylor said, But I like being able to handle twice as many rioters.

I’m more accurate.

Not worried about accuracy, Taylor said. Just want to hit them in the chest.

Erik shook his head, Tsk tsk. Headshots are better, young one.

Taylor rolled his eyes, I’m older than you! He paused, then kept working. Besides, the day that rioters need headshots, I’ll switch to one gun. He wiped down the second pistol and assembled it, packing it up as Erik packed his away as well.

I’m just sayin’ dude, what if they’re zombies, hmm? What then Captain Many Bullets?!

Taylor laughed, You believe in that crap less than I do. Religious freak. Erik smiled.

I don’t wanna rule anything out.

They left the range still bantering, locking up after they left with the master university key Taylor used for his student job. Then they left the warmth of the building and faced the cold. Erik sighed, watching a puff of steam rise from his lips. The ground was dying, the trees bare, snow starting to appear in places, along with sheets of ice. For over a month, the temp had been dropping steadily, as it usually did, to below zero degrees. Since he’d grown up here, he was used to it. Erik pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag.

That’s bad for you, you know, Taylor sing-songed, shaking a finger mockingly. Erik shrugged.

Bad for you too, asthmatic, he said, blowing a mouthful of smoke at Taylor. Taylor waved it away, coughing and shoving Erik.

That crap ain’t funny, he said, failing to suppress a smile. Erik grinned.

It is to me.

They walked in silence for a time, and Erik took another drag. Taylor’s silence bothered him. It was deeper than usual.

You’re brooding, he said. More than usual, too." Taylor didn’t respond for a moment. Finally, he spoke.

Erik… if anything happens during this Riot crap… you’ll help Elizabeth, right? Erik rolled his eyes, tossing his butt aside.

Goddamn dude, we’ve been over this, he said, Yes. Not that she friggin’ needs it.

Sorry, Taylor shrugged. Then after a few seconds, That’s the kinda crap that keeps me up at night, you know?

Erik nodded, then paused as he noticed they were coming up on a checkpoint. He and Taylor both groaned. The checkpoint consisted of a pair of cement roadblocks, set back at angles to sweep at a ‘V’ shape past a sentry gun at their point. Currently in hibernation, the weapon was a modified chaingun, able to cut through anything that got too close. If it was unsatisfied with their ‘identification’, it would tear them to ribbons.

Friggin’ checkpoint, he growled as he reached for his wallet. I appreciate the military and all, but… goddamn, they need to protect students from the Riots this badly? Why couldn’t the campus cops handle this crap?

Taylor shrugged, pulling out his ID, No idea bro.

The two of them drew closer, approaching the blockade. About ten meters away from it the sentry gun came out of hibernation. It whirred to life and locked onto them with a metallic click as if they had startled it awake. The slide locked and slid into place, the barrel starting to whir as it prepared to fire.

State your name and student identification number. The machine’s words were monotonous and deep, as if some malevolent conscience was watching them. It made him nervous. Taylor went first:

Taylor R. Student ID 30762266.

Repeat, the machine ordered, its sensors locking onto Taylor. Taylor sighed. Repeat, the thing ordered again.

Taylor R, student ID 30762266! he said more loudly this time. The machine paused, clicked, and then warbled.

Confirmed, it rumbled. You are clear to proceed.

About frickin’ time, Taylor grumbled as he passed the checkpoint. Erik stepped forward, his heart jumping into his throat as the fearsome rotating barrel turned to face him.

State your name and identification number.

Yea, yea, Erik said, and the machine let out a warning buzzer sound.

Unacceptable identification, it stated. State a valid name and student identification number. Erik felt his cheeks warm as a flush of anger brushed through him. He squared his jaw.

Erik S, student ID 30728892, he spat. The machine warbled again, and then spoke:

Confirmed, it told him. You are clear to proceed.

Yea, and screw you too, Erik said, hitting the gun barrels as he walked by and the thing fell slack again.

Junk piles, Taylor muttered. Erik nodded in agreement.

"I had to go through five of these damn things yesterday and two guarded checkpoints, he said. They made me late for a quiz."

At least now you have an excuse, Taylor chuckled. They rounded the Commons and headed up the walkway past the English Commons building, Grenning. Its dark and somber concrete walls glared down at them. Eight stories tall, six of which were above ground, the building was literally a fortress: built during the first Riots decades ago, the thing had its own miniature generator and emergency supply stores. Erik wondered if they had re-stocked it with supplies in the current, looming Crisis.

He also hoped he’d never find out.

Wanna take some of the back trails? he asked Taylor. Dodge a point or two?

They blocked off the last ones today, Taylor said. No way to get past them. Pairs of sentry guns on some of them. It’s ridiculous.

Really? Damn.

No kidding.

Taylor cursed as they approached another checkpoint. A trio of gun nests, a pair of sentry guns, and a dozen armed guards soot behind three concrete barricades, a line of students forming in front of them. Along with the guards stood three men in all black armor and clothing, wearing complex-looking masks and wielding heavy-duty rifles and military gear. Deathwatch. Erik shuddered.

Here we go again, he said as he reached for his wallet. So sick of this crap.

Chapter Three: John

Morre Hall Dormitory/ UNF/ 5th Floor/ 1730 Hours

The first thing that told him he was alive was the pain.

John coughed. Fire ripped through his chest and his lungs felt like they were made of sandpaper. He groaned, moving his arms and causing pain to shoot along his limbs. What the hell had happened?

John suddenly paused, listening. He heard a sound, like someone tearing or shredding something…

…or chewing…

With agonizing slowness, John turned his head, looking toward the door of his room. The door was blocked by an arm, and blood was seeping from the gap between the door and the floor, soaking the carpet. Immediately, John tensed. He pushed himself up, ignoring his screaming muscles and aching bones as the arm started to shake and shudder. John reached out a hand, grasping the handle of his katana from his martial arts gear. The blade sang softly as he pulled it from the sheath; with his other hand he grasped the door handle.

He pulled and swung in a single motion, letting out a fearsome cry… only to find himself facing an empty wall. His foot bumped the detached arm and hand, and John looked around him. What the hell had that been?

John turned, coming face to face with his roommate, snarling at him. The rest of the corpse he’d been chewing on lay at the other side of the hallway. The thing that had been John’s roommate lashed out, its black eyes burning. John ducked, shoving the creature back with his arms. The thing stumbled, tripping over the corpse and hitting the wall. John didn’t hesitate. He swung the katana, slicing through the creature’s skull. Its howl was cut short; the body swayed before slumping to the ground to join its victim.

John paused, his chest heaving. What the hell had he just done? Had he killed his roommate? For a second the fear of what he had done made his stomach flip. Was he a murderer?

Then there was a thundering sound. The lights flickered and died, bathing him in darkness, before coming back on. John acted on instinct, checking his surroundings. He was still alone. He moved back into his room, shutting the door and locking it; he didn’t particularly feel like being in a hallway with those things if the lights went out again. His body was barking orders at him, and through the organized chaos of his room, John began to pick out supplies: things that he had smuggled into his room as soon as the Riots had started after the Crisis. He was glad that he’d listened to Taylor’s advice.

Wiping his blade clean of blood, John sheathed the katana, throwing the family relic over his back. Then he moved to his closet, reaching through rumpled clothes, snowboarding gear, and school supplies. He finally found what he was looking for: a long, black rifle case. John threw it onto his bed, keyed open the miniature lock, and opened it to see his AR15 and the three magazines of ammunition he had smuggled in. Thankfully he had more downstairs, but three would have to do for now. He pocketed two of the magazines before loading the third, letting the rifle hang on its sling.

John had a thought, and moved to his roommate’s side. His roommate also had a weapon, and John had a feeling he’d need every weapon he could get. He exhaled with relief as he opened his roommate’s desk drawer, and was met by the sight of a pistol case. John reached down, opening the pistol case and pulling out a .44 magnum, loaded and safetied. He holstered the weapon, finding several speed loaders and pocketing them. That was a nice break.

As quickly as he could, John moved through his room with his backpack. He shoved food, water, batteries, anything he thought he’d need into the pack, pausing as his shaking hand knocked a picture frame to the floor. He knelt down, picking it up and turning it over. In the glass, he saw the picture of himself and his girlfriend Brianna at prom. Her long, blonde hair, blue eyes, and smile shone up at him, along with his happy, goofy grin. John sighed, shoving the picture into the backpack too. He might need a reason to smile in the coming days.

Brianna and her mother had driven up from Anchorage to help celebrate John’s graduation. They were staying in a hotel in downtown Fairbanks, and he knew she was alive. She had to. And, sooner rather than later, he had to go get her.

Crap, John thought to himself. That trip’s gonna suck. Talk about a bad vacation.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his pocket, exploding into song. John scrambled to get the phone, heart jumping into his throat. Was that her?

He was somewhat disappointed to see that the text was from one of his 7th floor friends, Austin.

WTF IS GOING ON???

Idk, John texted back. Where r u n Sarah?

He waited, before the phone buzzed again with Austin’s response.

6 floor lounge meet us there.

K. John pocketed the phone, slung the backpack on, and turned to his door.

Here we go. He drew his magnum and reached for the door. He hesitated as he reached for the handle, sweat forming on his brow. He took a few deep breaths, exhaled, and tore the door open. He paused, listening, before he stepped into the hallway. The main lights had died, the only illumination being the emergency lights in the hallway. John checked the corner with the magnum. Slowly, he crept down the hall and toward the emergency staircase.

Halfway down the hallway, the emergency lights died. John found himself surrounded by a solid wall of darkness.

Damn. John reached into his pocket for his maglight, digging. When he retrieved it he crossed his wrist under his gun hand, clicking the light on and illuminating everything in front of his barrel. It illuminated a grizzly scene: a body, intestines strewn across the floor and its ribcage sprung open. The face had been shredded so badly that John barely recognized Derek, his floor’s Resident Assistant. John kept his pistol trained on the body as he moved toward it, testing it with his foot. It fell forward, and John inhaled before he raised his boot. He crushed the corpse’s skull with his foot, apologizing to the body. But if every horror movie was right, he didn’t want that thing getting back up.

He continued down the hallway, his light pointed to the floor in order to prevent alerting anyone —or anything— to his location. In the very dim light, he would have thought that he wouldn’t be able to see as well. But he could see fine, his eyes adjusting well to the low light. He didn’t bother to question the boon, and kept moving. He paused, however, as he heard a noise; snarling, the pounding of footsteps coming behind him. He swung around, magnum raised… and found himself facing an empty hallway. He waited, but when nothing happened, he lowered his weapon. Was he hearing things?

And then his mind wasn’t his own. John felt himself sink into blackness, images flashing through it as his ears rang. He saw a great beast hulking through the corridors; then a planet, with ancient rocks like bladed talons reaching toward an unforgiving sky; a mass of malevolent flesh, a great beast that devoured everything it touched; and then a tide of darkness, held back by a single pinpoint of burning light. John