Episode 202 Marshall Law

Previously, on Dead Limit:

“Name’s Jericho, I’m head of the Grave Club.” The leader said, forcing out a welcoming hand.

 “What’s the Grave Club?”Paul  asked as he nervously shook it.

“Us,” one of the guys answered. “And many more.”

“This is just a chapter of a growing group,” Jericho explained. “The young will adapt to this new era, and triumph over the old and the dead!” he chanted.

“Of all the mistakes your friend could make today, he had to associate with them,” Pierall growled at Rick. Mason, who had been in one of the other RVs walked up to the Grave Clubs’ vehicle and twisted the door handle, only to find it was locked. Before any of the other men could reach him, Mason kicked open the door, knocking it clear off its hinges. He took no hesitation, jumping the steps into the cabin, where he, followed by Pierall, Carlos, Rick, and Roger; beheld a gruesome sight:

Paul was against the wall, an oozing bite wound on his shoulder and his arms tied behind, struggling against a Seeker that was missing its arms. “Kill it!” He yelled. Pierall took a knife from his belt; the only weapon in the room, and lunged at the Seeker, driving the blade deep into its skull.

=====

Day Twelve of Infection:

A lone man stumbled down the tracks, not caring anymore for his surroundings or that he was in the heart of a city over run by undead. He trudged on, not looking up as a corpse in a nearby backyard got to its feet and started after him. Each step was all he thought about, not his tattered clothes, or his dead friends, or anyone or anything else. He focused on the track at his feet, on each footfall. He had walked so many miles. In his left hand he tightly clutched a ragged book, in the other a pistol. He would walk on, without stopping, until the nightmare was over.

Even as the creature clambered over the fence and came towards him, all he gave was a glance up, straight ahead. The railroad stretched on endlessly ahead. Without looking, he lifted his gun and fired a shot behind him. The monster collapsed, and he kept walking…

"They're all dead. We burned every last one of them."

Mason kicked a black bone across the road, shaking his head. Roger watched as his friend picked up a skull and tossed it into the field beside the highway.

“Why was it so easy?” Mason wondered aloud. All around him were the charred skeletons of the Mockers from the attack the night before. The Sun had risen an hour ago, giving good light to the leftovers.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Mason, “That thousands of soldiers and others were killed by these things, but we slaughtered a few hundred in minutes.”

“We better prepared. We knew to burn them before they attacked again.” Roger replied.

Mason nodded, “Sure, we destroyed them before they came back. I bet the military shot once and thought the things were dead-” he stomped on a rib cage, “-and when their backs were turned they got bit in the ass.”

Roger looked back at the camp, trying to think up something to change the subject.

“What are we going to do about Paul?” he finally asked. Nobody had mentioned him since yesterday at dinner.  He was improving last I heard, he thought. He started walking towards the camp entrance, with Mason close behind.

“The kid’s a disaster just waiting to happen,” Mason said unpleasantly. “He should have taken the stupid shot. Now we’ll have to put him down.”

Roger stopped abruptly. “Paul is not an animal!” he exclaimed, turning to face Mason. “Paul is a friend. He’s gone through a lot-”

“So we should put him out of his misery!”

“His condition was improving yesterday!  He was getting better.”

They continued arguing as they reached the camp, where Mary, Pierall, and Gloria were quietly conversing on the same subject:

“He’s so young…we should let him live his last few hours, shouldn’t we?” Gloria was saying.

“I’ve seen this too much lately- they turn when you least expect it,” Pierall told her.

“I think he might not even be infected,” said Mary.

Gloria smiled. “That’s right! Didn’t your ex- sorry, Roger, clean up the bite real well?”

Mary blushed. To have her ex-husband in the same camp as her and not causing gossip would be next to impossible. Several men had already openly shown their opinion on them being back together. She blushed again at this thought- of all the free guys in the camp she’d gone for her ex.

“I think that as long as he stays in that trailer everything will be fine.” Pierall asserted.

“But then he’s all alone in there and bored and-” Gloria whined before Pierall cut her off.

“He should be kept alone. It’s dangerous to be close to him. If you want to risk being eaten alive then go in there. Be my guest.”

Gloria got up and stomped away, tears in her eyes.

“She likes the boy,” Mary observed.

“I hope I don’t have to tell her ‘I told you so’ later,” Pierall replied, watching as she disappeared into the late Ms. Irene’s RV.

Mary nodded, then saw Roger approaching and ran over to him. They had a short, awkward embrace before Mary spoke:

“What’s the damage report?” she joked. Roger chuckled.

“There’s nothing left but bones and ashes.”

“Good,” Mary muttered, resting her head on his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Gloria was cautiously approaching the bed at the back of the old RV, not wanting to surprise Paul, who was sleeping under a pile of blankets. Just in case, she placed her pistol on the counter for assurance. She knelt beside him and put a hand to his forehead. His skin was shockingly cold. He needs medicine, she thought. She quietly stood up to leave, but a hand shot out of the blankets and grabbed her wrist.

“Water…” Paul gasped. Gloria jumped in surprise.

“You need...water..?” She stammered. “Okay, just a second-” Paul let her go and she went over to the sink, filled a glass from one of the cabinets, and returned to Paul with the drink. He took a few sips then downed the whole glass in two large gulps.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Can I have a little more?” Gloria nodded and went to refill the glass. Paul drank it all in a few gulps again. He managed to sit up a little.

“What’s your name?” he asked, tossing several blankets aside.

“I’m Gloria,” she told him with a smile. Paul smiled back. “I guess they gave me the shot, huh?”

Gloria shook her head. “No, they didn’t. I guess you’re special.” She blushed, and Paul smiled. Then, suddenly remembering something he said: “Where’s Richie? I bet he’s been worried sick about me.”

Gloria’s smile vanished instantly. “I’m so sorry,” She whispered.

“No!” Paul exclaimed, sitting up too fast. He collapsed back against the wall, hitting his head. Gloria helped move him back into a comfortable position.

“What happened to him?” Paul stammered. Gloria thought for a moment, trying to find the best explanation. After a short silence she said, “Your friend was very brave. He helped us fight the camp’s leader. He gave us freedom.”

She felt guilty for lying, knowing that Richie had barely participated in the battle the night before.

“He was my only friend,” Paul whispered mournfully. “At least he died doing what he loved best…” he took several deep breaths, and then went silent. For several seconds his chest stopped moving. Gloria nervously stepped back.

“Paul?” she asked. He continued to lay limp and unmoving. Cautiously, she reached for his arm. Holding her fingers to his wrist she searched for a pulse, but found none. She noticed that his eyes were still open, but frozen in the blank stare that could only mean death.

“I’m sorry,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. Leaning forward she kissed his forehead, then reached for her pistol. Clicking off the safety she took aim, and closed her eyes. She began to squeeze the trigger, but could not bring herself to do it.

Shaking, she backed away from the bed. Again she raised her gun. And suddenly the most unexpected thing happened: right before she was going to shoot, Paul shot up out of the blankets, taking in huge gulps of air and sweating. Seeing the gun he waved his hands in the air.

“Whoa, I’m not dead yet!” he exclaimed. Gloria stared in shock, then smiled in relief.

“How? You were dead! You-”

“I don’t know. Something just… brought me back. Still feel like crap though.” He said, confused.

“I can’t believe this! I need to tell the others!” She said excitedly. She decided she would leave out the part about him almost dying. Paul coughed and shyly said,

"I haven't talked to a girl in two years."

She stiffled a giggle. "Really?"

Paul shook his head. "I kinda lived in Richie's shadow. Even though he was my friend." he coughed again. Gloria saw him wince slightly.

“I have to find some medicine for you.” she told him.

She got up and headed for the door. She could see tears forming in Paul’s eyes. “Please stay,” he begged. “I’ll be back soon,” she promised.

“Wow, she survived,” Pierall retorted when he say Gloria come out of the RV.

Mary rolled her eyes. They were eating breakfast with Roger, who said:

“She’s a young woman, not a teenager. I’m sure she can handle herself.” They watched as Gloria enter her tent, and come back out with-

“Speaking of handling herself…” Mary muttered, getting up. Gloria was carrying a backpack and her weapon of choice: the modified weed-whacker, ‘Flesh-Ripper’.

“What are you doing?” Mary inquired as she approached her.

“I’m going into town,” said Gloria, “Paul might need medicine, and god knows the whole camp could probably use some too.” She started towards the parking lot but Mary angrily blocked her path.

“Definitely not. You are NOT going into the city! Do you know how many risks-”

“Relax, I won’t go far in. I think there’s a Walgreens or something on the other side of Fort Carson.”

Mary still shook her head. “Too dangerous. Especially if you go alone.”

“I won’t then,” said Gloria. She then turned around and yelled, “Hey, Charles!”

A middle-aged tan man with a short mustache and a brown cowboy hat clambered out of one of the nearby tents. “I’m up,” they heard him grumble.

“Want to go to the city with me? Just real quick?” Gloria hollered.

Charles blinked in the morning sunlight. “Hwa? Oh, yeah, sure..” he answered. “I can, now that I have my revolver back.”

Mary sighed. “Fine, you can go.”

“Yes!” Gloria exclaimed.

“However,” Mary added, “if things go bad you can’t rely on us for backup. Still, take a police radio before you leave. And please, don’t take to long.”

“Got one already,” Gloria told her, pulling it out of her backpack.

“And you have gas for your…weapon?”

“There’s enough in it to last.”

“Alright. Be safe.” Mary advised. Gloria gave her a quick hug, yelled “Bye!”, then took off towards the parking lot, with Charles trudging behind.

“Take care of her, Charles,” She instructed.

Paul was devastated. His best and only remaining friend was dead. It’s all my fault, he thought. That girl was so nice, and she wants to help me… Suddenly he sat up, this time only feeling dizzy. She’s not leaving the camp is she?  he though in horror. No, not her. Please not her! He slid out of bed and tried to stand, but fell to the floor. He crawled to the sink and pulled himself up. Gloria had left the glass out, and he filled and drank from it several times before having the strength to stand, and open his door…

Pierall was the first to see, drawing out his pistol before anyone could react. “Wait! Stop!” Mary yelled, knocking the gun aside just as Pierall fired a shot. Paul ducked but the bullet missed by several yards, hitting the RV’s front tire instead.

“Dammit, Mary! I had that shot!” He roared.

“Is that how you treat all your injured?” Paul cried out, stumbling over to the table. Pierall scooted to the opposite end, watching Paul questioningly.

“How are you doing, kid?” Roger asked calmly.

“Great, just dehydrated is all.” Paul assured with a smile.

Mason came over carrying his axe and panting. “Heard a shot and came as quick as-what the hell? Who let him out?”

Roger stood up and confronted Mason. “Listen, he seems fine for now. Just keep an eye on him if you feel it’s necessary, but leave him be, please?” He whispered. Mason nodded, but was none to happy. He stared at Paul menacingly. Looking around, Roger realized that pretty much everyone was watching Paul. Paul seemed to notice too, because he stood up and shouted, "I'm fine guys, really. I feel better than ever!"

Of course he then slumped back down on the bench. “I could really used some water,” he replied.

The rest of the morning went by without incident. By lunch, Paul was up and walking, and he even helped set out the sandwich ingredients. Then everyone in camp sat at the tables and ate together, enjoying a nice meal on a peaceful afternoon.

Roger, who was sitting next to Paul, told a joke that made the whole table laugh. Paul laughed and took another drink of water. He set his cup down and reached for his half-eaten sandwich, then went completely slack, his head falling face-first into his meal. The laughter quickly died, and everyone backed away from the table. Slowly Paul raised his head, then muttered, “What’d I miss?” A couple guys laughed, for there was sandwich all over his face. Paul wiped it off and reached for his cup, but winced and looked at his shoulder. His whole left arm was beginning to bulge and grow, and he grimaced and watched in shock. Several people went for their weapons, and Mason already had his axe at the ready.

Paul stood up, holding his now gruesomely large arm, and vomited all over the table. Roger noticed that his eyes had changed. He’s turned, he knew. One of the other campers approached Paul with a pistol.

“Get back, you idiot!” Mason yelled. The man was still yards away, but Mason was watching the enlarged arm, which was now a foot thick and nearly reached the floor. The zombie Paul spat out more clumps of vomit, and staggered towards the camper. “Get away from him!” Carlos ordered, arriving at the scene with a shotgun. The camper took several steps back, but Paul followed at a slow, lumbering pace. The man took off, and zombie Paul roared, charging at the camper faster than anyone would have thought possible.

“Get away from me you monster!” The man screamed, firing his pistol. The creature stopped charging, but still lumbered towards the man. Carlos came up behind it and fired his shotgun. Paul turned and swung his giant arm, knocking Carlos aside. The man fired at Paul’s head, putting holes in it but otherwise not stopping him. Everyone who had a weapon was about to charge and fire when, out of nowhere, a single bullet pierced Paul’s heart. He growled and raised his arm, but suddenly screamed as he burst into flames. A second, third and forth hit his chest, and soon he was immersed in hot fire. He fell to the ground, already charred. Someone pushed through the circle around the monster. Roger saw it was Gloria, who was crying heavily.

“Incendiary ammo. Charles preferred it,“ she explained. She looked sadly down at Paul, now a black, writhing mass of flaming flesh; and fired one last round into his skull.

. -. -..

On the Next Episode:

“Have you heard this yet?” Pierall asked. “It’s been playing all morning.” He was inside his RV with Roger, Mason, and Carlos. They listened to the static as Pierall tuned his radio. On almost every station the same message was playing:

"This is a broadcast from F.E. Warren Air Force Base. We offer food, shelter, and security for all surviving personnel and civilians in Colorado and Wyoming."

“Not saying much,” Mason muttered.

“You know what this means, right?” said Carlos. They all looked at each other.

“The virus is still spreading.” Roger whispered.

“I think it’s worth a try, going to Cheyenne.” Pierall announced.

“Your friend better watch his temper,” Pierall stated.

“He’s just been through a lot,” Roger explained.

“Still, I don’t trust him. His aggression seems a bigger threat than the Mockers.”

“I’m going to kill them. All of them.” Mason growled, “Every last damn zombie in this town, MY town, is going to pay. I will send them back to the depths of hell.”