“...So, you built up a world of magic...

  Because your real life is tragic...”

  -Hailee Williams

  Malcolm stepped outside the main office just as the squad of seven started to fire their magazines through the glass. Malcolm looked for Liam, who had already vanished into the air and he was walking down the hallway as every rifle emptied. Macolm looked back to see the squad frantically reload; multiple riddled Berserkers hopped out from the windowpanes to tackle whoever they could grab. Two screamed as they were bitten, and the rest took off in both directions of the hallway.

  Malcolm turned a corner as others were bursting from the teacher’s lounge. Another Major had his sidearm drawn on Malcolm. “What the FUCK is happening!?”

  Two soldiers rushed up the hallway as Malcolm answered slyly. “The Apocalypse. Haven’t you heard?”

  More automatic fire sounded down the adjacent hallway. The Major cocked his hammer. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO!?”

  Malcolm looked down to see the Major was staring at his blood splattered torso. “I took control.”

  A soldier screamed and sprinted down the adjacent hallway, catching the two upcoming by surprise. One screamed, “SHIT!!!” He would open fire too late. A Berserker took the rounds and grappled him to the ground; as his buddy tried to help, he was pummeled by two.

  The Major mistakenly turned his focus to the scene of terror. Malcolm tackled the Major against the wall and unsheathed his own bloodied blade to sliced the Major across the throat. Malcolm grabbed the gun out the limp arm and popped a round through another officer taking aim, the forehead ruptured, and he fell. Malcolm saw one soldier spinning around to retreat as two more Berserkers skidded from the adjacent hallway. Malcolm fired another round into the soldier’s hip, plummeting him face down to the floor. He desperately tried to crawl as the berserkers descended on him.

  Malcolm turned right and walked away from the Major, writhing with both hands over the gushing wound. There was one more soldier who stepped out of the lounge and checked his dying major. He turned to aim the gun at Malcolm, who saw the Major keel over and grab the soldier’s leg. The soldier panicked as he was already falling to the floor; the Major climbed from biting the leg to his stomach, causing the soldier to shriek in pain.

  Malcolm had strapped a dropped rifle to his side and checked the bullets left in his second pistol’s magazine, then disregarded the second pistol and sheathed the mag. He entered the staircase to the first floor in time to encounter a platoon ascending. The front trooper held his rifle up and screamed, “FREEZE!”

  Malcolm unleashed a spray of bullets from the rifle at his hip, tearing through the clueless front soldier and three behind him. Malcolm stepped forward to throw the front soldier over the railing as the others fell atop their comrades on the stairs. The rest of the Platoon began to scream furiously, too late to stop Malcolm. The dropped soldier was ripping into the grunt he landed on, and the rest were sinking into anyone they fell into on the stairs. Suddenly, rifles were firing in any direction. Malcolm dropped the empty rifle and stepped back through the door.

  He looked down the hallway’s next direction and began to walk through a collage of technicians sprinting for the door Malcolm had just left. He came upon a hallway junction where an officer was on the floor, desperately holding a Berserker back. Teeth were ripping the muscles and he screamed terror. Malcolm placed a pistol round into the Berserker’s temple, spraying black blood. Malcolm didn’t acknowledge the curling weeps of the technician as he approached, another round spattered his brain before he could beg.

  Malcolm looked down at the hallway those two had come from, it was a blur of fighting figures. Soldiers tried to gun the berserkers down and others sprang for safety; no one could escape the Undead. Malcolm entered the next stairwell without notice.

  He hurried down to the first floor, Malcolm emerged and a squad halted him as another platoon entered.

  “Halt! Identify!”

  “…They’re all Infected.” Malcolm uttered, “Go and look.”

  Every gun pointed at him began to shake and another squad hurried into the stairwell. Suddenly, a rupture of automatic weapons echoed down one of the hallways.

  “FUCK!” A random lieutenant gasped. “SQUAD C! GET OVER THERE!” More soldiers sprinted down the hallway as the rest of the platoon shook. The Lieutenant screamed. “MCELROY!?”

  Malcolm had a second to act when the soldier holding the rifle to him turned his eyes. Malcolm grasped the barrel and spun behind the grunt; Malcolm shifted the rifle and fired a short burst into the loyal Lieutenant’s torso. Then Malcolm kneed his shield in the spine and shoved him into the falling Lieutenant. Immediately, Malcolm fired another burst into a nearby grunt’s face and a final burst sent another flying back with a swirl of bullet holes in his camo.

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  Malcolm dropped the empty rifle and drew his pistol. The rest of the soldiers were prepared to gun him from different angles, then they noticed the Lieutenant was embracing the pushed soldier; he screamed as teeth dug into a ripped cheek. As two turned to help, the third killed grunt sprang over to pull a random soldier to the ground. None of the squad knew what to do in their panic.

  Malcolm stepped behind, through a classroom door. A random operator surprised him, as he did the operator. With a smile, Malcolm pressed the pistol against the man’s throat as he pulled the trigger.

  There was four left in the science lab and a soldier tried to aim at Malcolm. Malcolm shot the soldier in the face as he aimed, the face broke and he turned limp before falling. Malcolm stepped forward and placed successive shots in two officers as a private fell to the floor, panicking. Malcolm shot both officers in the head as he passed them; the private fumbled to stand and pull his pistol out. “D-DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS, MAJOR!!”

  Malcolm’s head sunk, still staring as he walked over. Malcolm smashed the pistol’s grip into the private’s eye socket, collapsing the soldier into the door. Malcolm then tugged at the Private’s helmet strap and fired his pistol twice. Malcolm threw the Private across the floor; he skidded through blood and fell limp.

  The Private quickly squirmed to his feet while croaking blood out his mouth, Malcolm whistled as he opened the door to the next room where a fire team of five soldiers held their positions.

  Malcolm was shielded by the door and the Undead Private roared as he charged through it. Malcolm heard the squad panic and as every rifle opened fire, Malcolm loaded his last pistol magazine. Every rifle emptied and the zombie thudded against the floor; Malcolm bolted though the open doorway and rapidly fired his pistol atop a classroom desk. The loyalist squad was busy reloading, and Malcolm shot the Sergeant in the neck and another through his Kevlar.

  Now there were two Berserkers in the classroom, and they were trying to grasp at any of their former comrades. In the panic, Malcolm sprinted across the desks unabated before hoping in front of the door leading to the next hallway.

  Malcolm exited the classroom just after a platoon rushed past, they split up down different hallways while screaming for non-combatants to evacuate. Malcolm saw the double-door to the entrance lobby and pushed through them, he looked around and found only a chain pile to make use of. Malcolm quickly tied the chain around both door handles as a flood of officers and technicians were fleeing down the main hall. He pulled a tight thread in time to step back, the crowd of noncombatants smashed into the door; their faces expressed panicked desperation through the windows.

  Malcolm arched his back as he inhaled sharply; the sound of machine gun fire pierced from the outside. Suddenly, Malcolm heard rifles cranking and orders being shouted as more double doors flung open. The dots from a score of laser sights shined at him as the platoon stepped inside, all trembling as they fanned out. As he investigated every set of eyes, a familiar voice commanded, “Hold fire!”

  Malcolm saw Caleb ‘Bullet Tarry’ Garth; he held his fist firm to signal the squad as he aimed his rifle. Malcolm felt his eyes sting as the spattered blood leaked through his brows; he used a single, stained hand to brush off his face.

  Garth’s eyes darted from the drips of falling blood to the banging doors tied shut; the screams behind amplified before gradually turning to indecipherable shrieks. “Say something, Major.”

  Malcolm stared at the pooling red beneath him. Slowly clenching a grin, he looked back at Garth with his eyes stabilized. “…Everything’s going to be okay…” He shrugged. “We’re all infected.”

  All the grunts in the platoon looked at each other helplessly. Garth squinted as he listened to the ravenous shrieks. “Well then…fuck.”

  Malcolm spit a collection around his lips. “What’s the sitrep?”

  “Our little coup would be a hit if it weren’t for the corpses springing to life.” Garth answered.

  “Is the fighting Island wide?”

  “By now? It will be.”

  Malcolm nodded. “And the Bellevue Zone?”

  Garth shrugged. “Not that I know of.”

  “Well let’s find out then.” Malcolm sneered. “Contact the Cavalry Regiments and get us airlifted out.”

  “So that’s on your authority?”

  Malcolm gleamed. “It is now.”

  Garth smiled. “Well done.” He looked at one of his soldiers. “You heard the man, make the call!” The clawing against the chained doors became ravenously louder. Garth strode forward, and fired a shot that shattered the door’s glass. He then used the broken frame as a mantle for his rifle, free firing through the door. A score of screaming heads burst apart from the barrage.

  Two grunts approached Malcolm, hesitating to nudge him by the arms. “This way sir.”

  Malcolm stepped outside to see every watchtower around the fenced perimeter blazing the night. All along the fence line, soldiers stood and valiantly shot the face of anything that came clawing against it. Malcolm was brought to a clearing in the parking lot, where a headshot soldier lay every several feet.

  A squadron of chinook helicopters appeared from the sky. Malcolm was escorted first into the nearest; two squads followed him. Near the cockpit, Malcolm peered his stained head over, “Hey.”

  The pilot was nearly mortified. “…Nelson, Sir?”

  “Give me the radio; patch me to all channels.”

  The pilot did so as the hatch sealed, and Malcolm held the speaker as they took off. “This is Malcolm Nelson, broadcasting to all units. Mercer Island is falling; command staff is dead or M.I.A. All remaining forces retreat to the Bellevue Zone. Be advised, everyone who dies is turning Berserker. I repeat, everyone who dies is turning. Absolutely no wounded are to be evacuated to Bellevue, bite or no bite. To all units stationed in Bellevue, seal the civilian centers until clearances can be given. Nelson out.”