Chapter 1

For the first time in months, Captain Erik Ingman found himself waking up to
the tinny electronic beeping of the alarm on his watch. He looked at the
digital display on the face of the watch and read '06:13'. Taking a deep breath
he threw aside his heavy blanket and started the long rehearsed routine of
quickly suiting up into his uniform. Despite the constant 65 degree temperature
in the facility, ever since he had been assigned to this station at the bottom
of the world he felt a constant chill. Once he had gotten dressed, stomach
rumbling, he left his bunk and headed down the hallway that lead out of the
dorms and moved in the direction of the dining hall. Glancing out the window he
saw the red and green dancing lights of the aurora australis over the barren
white landscape of the southern pole and for a moment had a palpable sense of
the emptiness of the base and the continent.

Erik had been 26 when he had decided to join the Army. After getting his PhD in
electrical engineering he'd been disappointed to find that there were few
industry jobs in his career for someone with a PhD and no practical experience,
and teaching positions were rare and highly competitive. He'd hoped that by
joining the Army he could get practical real world experience, and if he was
lucky a research job with the DOD after his tenure was over. He regretted his
decision after his first deployment to Iraq. Working as a glorified mechanic on
the electrical systems of APCs, the scorching days and freezing nights, and
sand in everything from his nostrils to his ass crack. The deployment had
lasted 8 months, and when he was called in to talk to one of his superiors
before his next deployment about a 'special assignment' he was sure that
something worse was on the horizon. He had been told that he was going back to
the desert, but this time he would be assigned to the coldest desert on earth.

Monroe station was a research station operated by NASA, The national science
foundation, and the Department of Defense. The primary purpose of the research
station was to study technologies for building sustainable habitats in low
light, low temperature environments. The research done at Monroe would be used
to develop the first semi-permanent human habitats for Mars. As an electronics
engineer, Erik had been stationed at Monroe to assist the scientists in
developing and repairing equipment used in their experiments.

He had arrived at the start of the arctic summer and was shocked at the size
and modernity of the base. There were approximately 100 people including
scientists and support personnel living at the base. There was a telephone,
computers with Internet access, and even several televisions with new shows and
a large collection of DVDs. Erik enjoyed the work and had little difficulty
adjusting to the environment, other than the perpetual feeling of being cold.
When the arctic winter came on, three quarters of the base left and the 25
remaining researchers and support staff became something like an extended
family.

The arctic winter was a tougher time than the summer however. Weather patterns
made the satellite connections unreliable, and worse made it nearly impossible
for planes to land or ships to arrive on the coasts. Aside from aerial supply
drops which contained letters, and bulk email sent and received when the
satellite communications were up there was little interaction with the outside
world.

It was the difficulty of getting anyone on or off the continent during the
winter months that had made the announcement of evacuation the third month
after the start of winter so shocking. The email that came through was sparse
on details, but the message was clear. There had been some sort of a disaster
that had refocused all resources. There was no more funding for supplying the
base, and at any rate the best minds were needs to focus on... whatever it was
that was happening. Evacuation would be done by plane. Since only small
aircraft could manage the landing the 25 people on base would be evacuated in
three groups. Two groups of 10 researchers, and one group of 5 along with
whatever valuable supplies remained and could be salvaged. A list of names was
sent for who was to be evacuated in what group and a list of probable dates for
pickup. In the first group was a group of biologists who had been researching
plant life that could thrive in cold low-light conditions as well as the
facilities medical staff and a group of structural engineers working on
buildings that would withstand the cold and the winds while using minimal
energy. Next to be evacuated was the bases civilian support staff along with a
couple more scientists.

The last group to be evacuated consisted of the bases entire military
contingent: Erik Ingman and Sgt. Marcus Brown, as well as tech sergeant Sam
Talman and Sgt. Amanda Weiss, airmen who operated the bases communications
equipment, as well as Dr. Scot Thompson, a materials scientist who had been
researching nanofiber materials for use inflatable buildings and the only
civilian currently left at the base.

When Erik arrived in the dining hall he was surprised to see the bearded face
of Scot Thompson sitting at a table. "Leave anything for me?" Erik asked
jovially sitting down at the table opposite the doctor and gesturing at the
heaping plate of eggs and sausage on the mans tray. Although they had packed up
as much of the food as they could for their evacuation they would be leaving
behind easily enough to sustain the five remaining residents for a year. "I
think I need it more than you" he responded, gesturing down at his lanky frame.
The mans meager frame and habit of large meals had been a running joke. "Heard
anything from Weiss or Talman this morning?" Scot asked Erik between mouthfuls
of eggs. "Not yet, thought I'd head down to chow and give them a chance to see
if there's anything new on the sat-com." "I'm sure if there was we'd have heard
about it already." "Maybe, with the weather like it is it might take a while to
pull anything down; either way I need to get something to eat"

Erik stood up and walked over to the kitchen. Grabbing the bowl left by Dr.
Thompson he filled it with a couple of scoops of dried eggs and water and
stirred the mixture, adding in as he always did copious amounts of Tabasco
sauce. He reached into the freezer, cooled by circulating air from outside, and
grabbed some frozen sausage patties and a handful of frozen hash browns and
threw them into the bowl. He stuck the bowl in the microwave and pressed '4:00'
then set about to make some coffee- thankfully not of the freeze dried variety,
he thought. When the microwave beeped he pulled out the plastic dish and
fluffed the egg mixture with a fork then dumped it onto a tray and set back out
to the dining hall.

Returning to his seat opposite Scot he sat down and started eating. After only
a few mouthfuls Marcus Brown's long shadow preceded him into the dining hall.
"Sir," he said, addressing Erik, "Tech sergeant Talman wants to see you in
the Comms room." "Alright, thanks Marcus." and with that he stood up with a
wave to Scot and walked out of the dining hall.

Erik, as he had done before, wondered at Sgt. Brown's formality. Before he
joined the Army Erik, like most people, had the impression of the military as a
strict and regimented existence with "Sir!"s and salutes flying left and right,
but the reality, he found, was that most of the time, especially at Munroe-
which was not a military base- the military personnel were fairly casual and
easy going.

The communications room for Munroe station was not part of the main building,
and Erik had to suit up in heavy winter gear. In the blistering cold an
ungloved hand could get frostbitten in the minutes long trek to the
communications building. When he arrived he saw Talman leaning over Weiss's
shoulder reading something off a terminal. "What's up? Brown said you wanted to
see me". "We got orders down on the sat-link; I think you need to see this."
Talman's voice had an edge to it that Erik hadn't heard before and quickly
stepped over to read the message on the screen.

The orders started out as Erik had expected, with information on the arrival of
the plane that would take them back to the states and details of the cargo they
should have ready for transport. The plane would be arriving in three days at
1300 Zulu Time to transport them to Andrews Air Force Base outside of
Washington DC. The choice of Andrews struck Erik as strange. Neither Talman nor
Weiss had been stationed at Andrews, and there was no Army contingent there as
far as he knew. Furthermore there were several bases that were closer to
Antarctica that would have made more sense, he'd expected them to fly into
Okinawa. He kept reading. As he neared the bottom of the document he still
wondered what had put the edge into Talman's voice, and then he saw a line that
made the airman's reaction clear. 'ALL SURROUNDING REGIONS SHOULD BE CONSIDERED
HOSTILE TERRITORY'. Whatever was going on, the area outside the base was
considered hostile.

"Hostile territory?" He repeated the last words of the sentence to the room.
"You know what we know captain" Weiss said. "Could it be terrorists?" Talman
wondered. "Doubtful, it sounds like whatever is going on in the area isn't
limited to just a few hostiles" Weiss replied. The three of them discussed the
matter over the next hour, but as they all had the same information little was
gleaned from the discussions.

When they had finished talking they suited up and made the trek across the
snowy landscape to the main building. In the living area Scot sat cross legged
in a recliner typing into his laptop. Marcus sat at a table reviewing an
inventory of recoverable supplies at the station. "I got this" Erik said to Sam
and Amanda. They nodded and headed off to the dining hall. At his words Scot
and Marcus looked up. "We received word, the flight to pick us up is scheduled
for 1300 Friday to take us to Andrews Air Force Base. We've been given a
revised list of supplies to bring when we evacuate, so we'll need to start
gathering things up today and get it out to the landing zone ASAP. We weren't
given details, but we were informed that we could encounter hostiles outside
the base, high alert. I don't know what's going on, but it sounds like whatever
it is, it's bad."

"What can I do to help?" Scot asked, closing the lid to his Laptop. "Based on
the supply list we got, it looks like they are after food, medical supplies,
and the spare generators. Marcus and I will handle moving the spare generators
to the loading area, Scot, you can go grab the medical supplies from the
infirmary. Talk to Talman and Weiss and find out how they're going to pack up
the food, If they are going to tape it up onto pallets you should be able to
get the medical equipment in there too."

It only took the group a day to gather the supplies near the landing zone. Most
of the supplies were still on pallets from their delivery, so they just had to
be tied to the facilities' snowmobiles and hauled out to the landing zone. When
the days labors were over everyone returned to their bunks to get some rest. As
Erik lay down, staring up at the metal ceiling of his room and pondering what
they would find when the landed at Andrews he heard a gentle knock on his door.
Opening it he saw Scot Thomposon standing there, holding his laptop.

"Do you have a moment?" he asked Erik. "Yeah, what's up?" Erik replied,
gesturing for Scot to come in. The doctor entered, shutting the door behind him
and took at seat at the small beaurue in the corner of the room, sitting his
laptop on it. "This emergency that caused them to evacuate the station- what
information do you have on it?" he asked. "I told you all they told us. They
evacuated because they couldn't spare the resources, and whatever is going on
they think the area outside of Andrews at least is considered hostile." Scot
sighed, causing Erik to ask "What?". "Well, I- I just, they really didn't tell
you anything more than that?". "Man, I dunno, something is going down but yeah,
they didn't tell me any more than I told you. Do you know something?" "Know?
no, I don't know anything really, but I've heard things. Things that I didn't
think much of at the time, but now..." "What's up?" "You remember Olivia
Tress?" "That red headed chick you had a thing for?" Scot blushed for a moment
then proceeded "...Well yeah... the Biologist. I remember hearing her talking a
couple of months ago to Dr. Jacobs about her research getting diverted. And Ted
Palmer mentioned a few times some research he was working on that didn't fit
well with what he was supposed to be studying either. I never thought much
about it before, you know how these things go, funding for research gets pulled
or else the uppity ups want to show results for some trendy buzz-word, but I
realized that a lot of the biologists and structural engineers all seemed to
have their research focus changed on them shortly before the winter season.
That's when I started going through some old emails and I noticed a few
references here and there to other areas of research that seemed to be related,
but only partially, to the fields of study of several of my collegues." "Hmm,
interesting, but it doesn't necessarily mean anything, someone on one of the
comittees funding the research could have retired. For that matter since the
summit in Coppenhegan the president has been focusing a lot of funding toward
climate research." Scot stared at Erik for just long enough to make him ask
"What?" "Sorry," Scot replied, "I just forget sometimes that you were a
scientist to." "Gee, thanks." "Anyway, I don't disagree that the change in
research could all be political, it even fits, it seems like most of what
people were working on was related to low-energy ways of growing food and
building low-cost defensible buildings. All stuff that's reasonable for any of
the scientists here to look into, but I still feel like there's something
there, I just can't seem to make the connection..." he tapered off.

With the packing done and their departure time set, Thursday at Munroe station
was tense but uneventful. Scot, Erik, Sam, and Amanda sat in the common room
discussing the apparent disaster in a fruitless attempt at gleaning some new
information. All agreed that it was likely that the DOD was attempting to
gather as many cleared scientists and engineers as possible to work on solving
some problem, and that the severity of whatever it was had drastically
increased sometime in the last three months. Marcus sat in the common room
apart from the rest, not participating in the conversation. That evening
everyone went to sleep feeling a mounting anticipation, wondering what news
they would hear tomorrow.
Chapter 2

Erik wasn't used to flying on military planes. Outside of his trip to and from
Iraq, and the trip to Monroe, he'd only flow on commercial airliners. The jerk
from the turbulence and the air blowing through the cargo hold, where he sat
with the other four remaining members of Monroe station, was enough to keep him
on edge even though he hadn't slept in nearly 24 hours. He had first tried to
carry on a conversation with Sam and Amanda, surprisingly the two members of
the airforce both had an aversion to flying, but the racket of the flight made
listening difficult and conversation didn't last long. At least they were warm,
thanks to the arctic cold weather gear they were still wearing. The two pilots
who had picked them up hadn't been willing to provide much information about
the disaster they would soon be facing, but the grim looks in their eyes told
the group that whatever it was, it was going to be worse than they had
imagined.

Erik hadn't been able to get a good look at them when the arrived, due to the
face masks they wore as part of the cold weather gear, but 2 hours after they
had started the flight one of the pilots had entered the rear area where they
all sat and laid down on the cargo net hammock situated next to the chemical
toilet. He knew, from his previous deployment, that on long trips airforce
pilots traveled in pairs. One would operate the plane while the other slept,
and they would trade off, ensuring that no pilot was operating a plane while
suffering from sleep deprivation. The man looked terribly ill, and Erik was
surprised that he'd been allowed to go on duty in his condition. As he lay down
his skin looked pale and clammy, and he had dark circles under his bloodshot
scarlet eyes. He couldn't hear the man over the sound of the plane, but he
could see his body jerking in, Erik supposed, fits of coughing.

Erik leaned his head back against the inner fuselage of the plane and shut his
eyes, hoping for sleep. Minutes, or hours, after he drifted off he was torn
awake by a loud guttural scream. His eyes snapped open and he turned his head
in the direction of the cries. Five feet away, near the front of the plane, he
saw the pilot bent over the large frame of Marcus Brown. His breathing eased up
for a second, whatever had happened to Marcus had woken the sleeping pilot who
was trying to help the man. It took another second for Erik's reason to catch
up with his senses.

They say that smell is the sense tied most strongly to memory. The smell of
freshly baked cookies or turkey transports one back to childhood memories of
Christmas mornings; the earthy smell of freshly cut grass to memories of
running free under the warm yellow glow of the summer sun. Now the metallic
smell of blood mixed with the musk of torn intestines brought Erik back to his
time in Iraq, to a day when an IED had exploded, killing three of his team
members. He saw the scarlet pool creeping along the floor. To his right Amanda
screamed "Oh my God! Oh my God! What is he doing!" In front of him Scot
screamed "No!" The shouts caught the pilots attention and he stood up. His eyes
were vacant, painted marbles in a death mask.

He walked toward them like a drunken marionette, limbs jerking inhumanly. His
skin was a clammy translucent yellow, like Vaseline spread over vellum.  Blood
stained his cheeks and chin, turning into a black stain on the front of his
navy blue flight suit. Behind them they could see Marcus sprawled on the
ground, his black skin ashen, features distorted into a caricature of terror.
His abdomen was torn open, viscera pulled out, torn bits of intestine dripping
blood and a sickly yellow mixture of bile and the remnants of his last meal
onto the floor.

The pilot turned to Scot, who was nearest, and let out a low gravely moan. In
shock and with no idea what else to do, Scot let loose a punch with all 120lbs
of his lank frame, hitting the pilot in the face. The creatures head snapped
back but it's body continued forward, arms outreached and grabbed Scots still
extended arm. Jaws open, snakelike, it pulled its head forward as though to
strike. Before the bite landed the creature crumpled to the floor as Sam kicked
it's legs out from beneath it. Another kick to the chest knocked it back and it
crumpled into a heap against the wall that divided the cargo hold from the
cockpit. Sam turned to Scot, his mouth starting to form the words "you okay?"
when the creature moving again, slowly pushing itself back up to it's feet.
"Fucker won't go down" Sam shouted. The pilot moaned. "Here!" Amanda shouted
from the rear of the plane.  She was working on unlatching the nylon cargo
netting that housed one of the spare generators. Erik ran back to help her,
understanding immediately her plan. Grabbing the opposite side of the cargo net
he turned toward the front of the plane, intent on capturing the pilot and
binding him in the netting.

As he turned to the front of the plane he saw the metal hatch that led to the
cockpit open. The other pilot had obviously heard the commotion when the
creature had hit the wall to the cockpit. Erik hoped that auto-pilot was
standard on airforce planes. He wasn't the only one who saw the hatch open. As
the pilots hand pushed the door open into the cockpit the creature that had
been his copilot, now on it's feet, grabbed the arm just within its reach and
sunk its teeth into the pilots arm. The pilot shouted and jerked away, leaving
the creature to chew the chunk of meat left in it's jaws. Once he had regained
his balance, the pilot pulled a hunting knife from the sheath strapped to his
thigh and stepped back into the cargo hold. Sidestepping the creature as it
lunged for him again, he drove the blade of the knife into its ear and the
creature dropped to the ground, lifeless.

Mirroring the creature he had just killed, the pilot sunk onto the floor,
cradling his wounded arm. Scot rushed forward first and dropped down to one
knee to examine the mans injury. His call for bandages was staunched by the
sound of ripping cloth and Sam stepped over Marcus's bleeding frame to hand him
strips of cloth ripped from his uniform. With Scots help the pilot bandaged the
wound and then struggled to his feet, bracing himself against the wave of
dizziness brought on by lack of blood and the adrenaline leaving his system.
Easing his way back to his seat at the helm of the aircraft he blinked to focus
his eyes then checked the instruments to make sure that they were in no
immediate danger of crashing. "Anyone else know how to fly this bird?" He
shouted the question, though he needn't have done, the entire group was huddled
in the cockpit, speechless and staring at one another, trying to cope with the
shock of what had just happened.

Amanda was the first one to speak, "Captain...", she'd seen his rank on his
uniform but he had no name. "Call me Dave" he said.  "Dave...what the fuck?"
Inarticulate though it might have been, Erik felt that Amanda's question had
summed up his feelings perfectly. "Linden musta got infected while we was
clearing out the runway, but I didn't see no bite, shit!" When they had spoken
to the pilots while boarding the plane Dave had spoken with a generic American
accent, but the stress of his injury had caused him to revert back to a
southern dialect that none of them could identify. "Infected?" Sam asked.
"Don't nobody told y'all anything 'bout what's going on out here?" he asked.
"We haven't heard anything from anyone for the last few months, except for the
evacuation order." Scot answered. "Shit" Dave said, then standing up quickly he
said "SHIT" again and pushed his way through the group, knife again at the
ready. Through the doorway they saw the body of Marcus roll over, intestines
spilling out onto the floor in a bloody pile as the corpse began to push itself
up. With one blow Dave drove the knife into Marcus's eye socket, giving the
handle a quick twist before removing it, wiping the blood and what was left of
Marcus's eye onto his uniform.

This was too much for the group to handle. Erik, standing behind Sam, threw up
chunks of sausage and dehydrated egg onto the back of the mans uniform while he
braced himself from collapsing with shock. Scot, with nothing to brace onto
fell to his knees. Amanda stared at the scene, stoic aside from the tears that
welled up behind her eyes. Dave pushed his way back through the group and
retook his seat in the cockpit. "When y'all was askin' questions earlier I
didn't know that y'all didn't even know about the infection. I can't believe
them sorry sumbitches didn't tell y'all what ya was flyin' into though. Shit,
s'pose they figured if ya'da knowed what it was like y'all'da never come back."
"What can you tell us about what's going on? What the hell was Linden doing
attacking Marcus, and how the hell did Marcus manage to move after having half
his guts ripped out?"

"The whole world's done gone ta hell is what's happened." Dave said. His voice
was shaky and Sam wondered if he'd lost too much blood from the bite before
they'd gotten the wound bandaged. "I don't know all'a what happened but I
s'pose I best tell ya what I can. Back maybe six months ago there was some
rumors of a plague goin' around, it was on the news but not much got made of
it. After West Nile, then Bird Flu and then Swine Flu I guess them TV people
decided there weren't much money in more stories of plagues, but a bunch of us
started getting orders out ta a few bases, and then they said they was gunna
pull outta Iraq and Afghanistan and they pulled out most of the troops from the
other bases all over the world. We knew something was up but nobody made the
connection to the plague right then. Anyways they set us all to building these
new buildings and ramping up defense on our bases, and they brought a bunch of
civvies ta live on the bases too. We thought maybe the spooks dug sumthin' up
about a attack against the US. Twern't too long after that the first infected
showed up." He stopped and took in several heavy breaths before continuing.
None of the group could find words to interrupt him. "So these infected, they
ain't just carryin' some flu, when people got infected they died, or I guess as
close to died as you can get, but they was still walkin' around all slow like,
like the zombies from them movies I guess, but they was real, and they would go
after people and try to eat 'em. Didn't matter if they was family or friends or
just some guy off the street, and they was slow but strong and they could take
down a big dude just a couple of 'em. Nothin' would stop 'em 'cept ta destroy
the brain. Shit, I saw one of 'em get 'is head lopped off and they damn thing
kept tryin' to bite like a goddamned rattler or something, but once anybody got
bit they ain't got long and then they go into a coma I guess and real quick
afterwards they come back as one of 'em."

"But you were bit." Erik said, still processing the horror of what was
happening. "Yeah, and I hate ta tell y'all but if ain't none of the rest of
y'all can fly this bird I'mma haveta put us down right quick else we're gunna
fall outta the sky." "I don't understand how" Scot started, but Dave cut him
off, "Look, y'all need ta go buckle up cuz we're about ta have a hell of a
rough landin' but if I get us down in one piece I'll tell ya whatever else I
can on one condition" he said. "What's that?" Amanda asked. "That when I drift
off one of y'all put a bullet in my brain before I come back as one of those
bastards."

With that the group buckled themselves into the bench seats in the cargo hold
of the plane and braced for the landing ahead.
Chapter 3

The landing had been rough, as Dave had promised, but it wasn't as bad as they
were expecting. Thankfully none of the group suffered any major injuries as the
plane dropped out of the sky and skidded across a soft plowed field feet away
from a lone one lane road. Even the fuselage of the plane was largely intact,
although the damage to both wings and the landing gear meant it wouldn't be
airworthy without significant repair. After the landing Dave had been able to
muster the energy to help them try to pinpoint their location, somewhere in
south western Missouri, before succumbing to the infection and falling into
coma.

International treaties prohibited any military action on the continent of
Antarctica, except for military involvement in scientific research, and because
of that none of the soldiers at Monroe carried weapons. Dave had given Erik his
sidearm, a standard issue 9mm M9 Beretta, along with his hunting knife. Amanda
took Lindens sidearm, and between them they had 3 full 15 round magazines, less
the single shot from the clip in Erik's weapon.

Erik had never killed anyone. He had seen death, been under fire, in the heat
of battle. He'd carried a weapon, and never thought he'd have trouble using it,
if it came down to it. He wasn't a violent man, still, "Better them than me" he
thought. When he was stationed in Iraq he'd mostly worked to repair the
electronics on the equipment that the other soldiers had used: cameras, radios,
computers. When APCs or tanks were attacked and disabled on patrol he would
have to leave the base. The vehicles were stuffed with valuable electronics,
and if they couldn't be repaired the equipment was destroyed so the technology
wouldn't fall into the hands of insurgents. The enemy knew the MO, and on more
than one "repair or disable" mission they'd been ambushed. He'd laid down cover
fire, but as far as he knew no bullet had ever found it's mark.

Scot had never been in the military, Sam and Amanda had spent their entire
Airforce careers stateside before their arctic deployment, working on computer
networks and communications equipment. When it was time to pull the trigger,
on one of their own no less, Erik had volunteered. He didn't know what would
happen. What if there was a cure, what if Dave hadn't succumbed to the
infection, but they had all seen what had happened to Marcus, what would have
happened to Dave if he hadn't been quick enough to prevent himself from being
torn apart. Not that his reflexes had saved him. If the infected were truly
mindless then it was Dave or them. Erik had never killed anyone, but he had
still seen enough death. He was already damaged, he though, no sense in
traumatizing the others as well.

When Dave had fallen into coma Erik had ushered the others into the cargo hold.
He took the pistol that Dave had given him, placing it a few inches from the
pilot's right temple as he sat at the helm of the aircraft, and pulled the
trigger. When his ears had stopped ringing from the report of the weapon in the
small cockpit he clicked the safety on, holstered it, and walked through the
cockpit door to the area where Scot, Sam, and Amanda were already in
conversation.

"So, what do we do now?" Scot asked.

"Well, we can't have much light left, we don't know the area, and it's raining,
I don't think there's much we can do right now except wait for tomorrow and
hope that someone shows up. If not I guess we walk to down tomorrow." Sam
answered.

"And after that?" Scot asked "Are we going to even discussed that we were
apparently just attacked by a Zombie?"

They all stared in silence at this for a while. "It's obvious that some sort
of, I dunno, virus or bacterial infection or something is going around, but I
don't think we can call them 'zombies'."Amanda answered.

"Dave did, and I don't know what else you'd call a dead guy getting up and
trying to munch on people." Erik responded.

At the mention of Dave they all became quiet, an unacknowledged moment of
silence. In the distance wind howled through the trees as rain continued to
pelt the side of the plane. Inside, there was a whistling draft blowing in
through the no longer airtight gaps in the cargo hold of the plane.

"He said they weren't dead, he said they were 'as close to dead as you can
get', and besides, I didn't hear anyone screaming about brains." Sam retorted.

"Marcus was dead." Erik said flatly.

"Maybe it was just latent electrical activity in the muscles causing some sort
of spasm, we never saw him actually get up." Scot said.

"If it were that he should have been twitching the whole time he was laying
there though." Erik answered.

"Not if, I don't know, if it's some sort of bacteria that causes the muscles to
move." Scot said. They again stared for a while. "Have any of you ever eaten
frog legs?" Scot asked.

Nobody answered. Intermittently hail dinged against the plane, mixed with the
sound of the rain, creating a cacophony of noise echoing around inside the
plane and competing with the voices of the group.

"We used to have them when I was a kid. When you skin frog legs and put salt on
them, they'll start hopping around. Not just randomly, there's muscle memory
there, they move like there was a brain attached to them, hopping or trying to
swim.  Even hours after the legs have been severed from the body. Maybe
whatever is happening here is the same thing. The virus, or bacteria, or
whatever infects the body and it's metabolic activity generates chemicals that
cause the muscles and nerves to move."

"It didn't look like muscle memory to me, the body was coordinated, at least to
some extent, and if it were just some sort of anaerobic metabolizing process
caused by the bacteria then it shouldn't have stopped when the brain was
destroyed." Erik responded.

"Unless the bacteria was acting as a colony, some sort of advanced parasite.
Bacteria in the brain could hijack the nervous system and send signals down the
nerves that triggers the rest of the colony to produce enzymes that complete
the ADP/ATP cycle and cause muscle movement." Scot answered.

"Since neither of you geniuses has a degree in biochemistry why don't we skip
over the debate about why dead bodies are trying to eat people and focus on
what the hell we're going to do about it?" Amanda said, irritated with Scot and
Erik's argument.

"Well," Scot started to answer her question "If we have some idea of what is
causing this, then we'll have a better idea of what we're up against. Right now
we have no idea what we're up against. I mean, do the infected collapse after a
day or two, once the energy in the muscles is used up, do they keep going for a
week, is the infection spread only through fluids or do we need to be concerned
about water, food, hell even transmission through the air? What's the status of
this thing, are we talking 5 percent of the population infected, 10 percent,
fuck 25 percent!? How well is it contained? Are there quarantine zones for the
infected, is there a vaccine yet? Based on the 'hostile area' line in that
message we got it sounds like there could be rioting too."

"That's exactly my fucking point" Amanda said, "All we've got right now is
conjecture. We don't have any evidence, any idea of what's going on, so
guessing at it isn't going to give us any real information. Our best bet is to
figure out how to deal with whatever the situation is, rather than guessing at
how it came to arise, at least until we have something to go on."

"She's right" Sam agreed. "Rather than thinking about how the infection is
operating, let's look at what information we have and decide what to do from
there. The Airforce at least is still operational enough to send a plane down
to pick us up. Given that they pulled troops out from all over the world it
sounds like there is, or they fear there could be, civil unrest. Given that
it's been a couple of hours since we landed and I still don't hear any sirens
I'd guess that all the first responders are tied up, so either there is
rioting, or martial law was put into effect, maybe both. Based on what Dave
told us, the details might not all be worked out yet, but it sounds like they
know enough about the infection to stifle the spread. I think our best bet is
to hoof it to the nearest town tomorrow morning. From there we should have a
better idea of how things stand."

The rest of the group agreed with Sam and it was decided that they would head
out and attempt reach Joplin the following day. Before anything else though,
they would lay to rest the bodies of Dave, Linden, and Marcus.

Moving Dave and Linden was relatively easy, physically at least. Careful not to
come in contact with the men's blood, they positioned them onto the cargo
netting that Amanda had disconnected in their original attempt to stop Linden.
They drug the bodies down the cargo ramp at the back of the plane. It took all
four of them to move Marcus, and had they not had access to gloves and masks
from the salvaged medical equipment they wouldn't have been able to do so
without coming into contact with the fluids pooled in his empty chest cavity or
the organs themselves that had spilled onto the floor. When they had finished
they rinsed themselves and the contaminated parts of the plane as well as they
could in rubbing alcohol, hoping it would be enough to kill the unknown
contagion.

The sun was setting behind the line of trees in the distance by the time they
had drug the bodies of Marcus, Dave, and Linden out of the plane, located the
topographical maps of the area, and narrowed down their location to a stretch
of farmland 20 miles east of Joplin, Missouri. From inside the plane they could
hear the thunk of raindrops hitting the fuselage.

With a plan laid out for their journey the following day, the group set about
trying to get themselves ready for the trip. Scot and Amanda started sorting
through the supplies they had brought with them from Monroe station, deciding
what would be the most useful to bring along. Sam sat examining the maps of the
area by the glow of the emergency light situated above the door to the cockpit,
familiarizing himself with the terrain and plotting the path they would take
the next day. Erik was rifling through the electronics on the plane. They had
no radio nor a portable light source, and he hoped to be able to salvage some
of the equipment on the plane to build a few small flashlights and, with any
luck, a radio receiver.

"Looks like this is going to be the best we can do" Amanda said a couple of
hours later.

Sam and Erik looked to see what the pair had come up with. Four makeshift
rucksacks sat in the middle of the floor. They'd been made using spare material
from the heavy parkas that the group had abandoned once they had made it north
of the arctic circle. They were stuffed with MREs that had served as an
emergency backup to the store of frozen and dehydrated foods on the base. They
had also managed to create a few empty bladders that could hold water if need
be, but they had no water in their supplies.

"That should be enough to last a couple of weeks at least" Sam said. "Hope to
God it's not bad enough out there that we actually need all those supplies." he
added.

Having gotten supplies ready, Scot and Amanda laid out the remainder of the
heavy winter clothing they'd been wearing to create a pair of makeshift beds
and laid down for the night. Erik and Sam joined them shortly after. The group
started to drift off to the rhythmic sound of the rain beating against the top
of the plane when the realization started to creep over them that the rhythmic
pounding was more than just rain beating against the metal shell of the
aircraft.

Amanda was up first, followed by Erik. There were no windows on the plane, save
in the cockpit. Scot moved to the front of the plane. He knew what he was going
to see before he ever caught the silhouette of the first infected in the
moonlight shambling toward the plane. Returning to the group he didn't have to
tell them what he saw.

"How many?" Erik asked in a loud whisper.

"Four or five from what I saw, but no telling how many are around the plane"

"Fight or flight?" Erik asked, looking more at Amanda than the others, as she
was the only other member of the group who was armed.

"Running's going to be a bitch in this field with all the rain." She said.

"Hope you're a good shot." Erik replied, flipping the safety on his weapon.

After a quickly whispered discussion on tactics Scot and Sam dropped the cargo
ramp at the back of the plane and Erik and Amanda darted out. A quick
assessment showed the area behind the plane was clear. The headed left around
the side of the plane. A single ghoul at 50 yards away was staggering through
the soft earth toward the plane. Deciding that the distance was too great for
their hand guns they fought against the mud pulling at their boots and
continued to the front of the plane. As they rounded the corner a withered hand
shot out and caught the sleeve of Erik's uniform. Spinning on the spot to face
the attacker he saw what had been a young man of perhaps twenty. The creature
wore blue jeans stained with earth and dried blood, and a tattered blue flannel
shirt marked with bullet holes, the black craters in it's chest and abdomen
showing through in the moonlight. As he turned Erik slipped on the slick mud of
the field beneath his boots, as he fell back he pulled himself free of the
creatures grasp. Seconds after he hit the ground a shot rang out from behind
him and the creature toppled backwards, a glob of black gelatinous blood oozing
from a hole on his forehead.

Amanda reached out a hand to help him up and, giving the corners of the plane a
wider birth they rounded the side of the plane again, ignoring for now the
corpses Scot had seen shambling down the road toward them. Three ghouls stood
at the side of the plane, their mindless pounding interrupted by either the
gunshot or the smell of the two potential victims. Erik took aim and squeezed
the trigger. His shot went low and tore a hole in the throat of the creature,
who continued onward oblivious to the damage. A second shot just above the
right eye felled the creature but it's two companions were closing in. Amanda
fired and dropped the closest one with a shot that caught the creature just
above the mouth. As it fell Erik took out the last one with a shot to the
center of the forehead.

The pair now turned their attention to the five that had been approaching from
the front of the plane. Whereas before they had been meandering only roughly in
the direction of the crash site, they were now plodding purposefully toward the
origin of the shots.

Still fighting the sucking earth beneath their feet, Erik and Amanda made their
way to the paved road only a couple of yards away. Unencumbered by the terrain
they jogged the dozen yards to get within firing range of the ghouls, who
altered course to meet them. Even in the heat of battle the pair lost their
breath at the horror of the nearest ghoul. The skin on the left side of it's
face had been torn away, leaving only tendons and muscle cleaning to the bone
around the empty socket where there had been an eye. Much of the flesh too had
been torn away from the shirtless torso. A few clumps of fatty tissue hung from
a flap of skin where there had once been a breast, beneath it the jagged
remains of broken rib bone peeked out from the gaping void in the abdomen where
the lungs and a few organs dangled visible behind the torn muscle and fat.
Though Amanda was closest to the creature she seemed transfixed by the horror
of the spectacle, weapon only half raised, and Erik had to take several shots
before a bullet found its mark in the creatures skull and it fell to the
ground. Brought to her senses again Amanda dropped three more ghouls in quick
succession, leaving Erik to pick off the last as it struggled through the damp
ground.

As they returned to the plane the one remaining ghoul that they had left was
within range now, and Erik quickly dispatched it before giving three quick,
sharp knocks against the side of the aircraft. The pair scurried up the ramp
and Scot and Sam pulled the cargo door closed as Erik and Amanda fell onto the
benches, hearts racing and both trying to avoid getting sick as the adrenalin
slowly faded from their systems.

Chapter 4

The sun directly overhead was welcome on their shoulders as they traipsed
single file down Route V headed due west. They had left the plane behind an
hour ago and had yet to see any sign of civilization aside from the fenced in
tilled fields and telephone poles spaced out every few hundred feet along the
side of the road. No sign of life, or unlife, had greeted them since the
previous evening, and under the clear blue sky and wispy clouds, breathing in
the smell of rain-washed earth the group found themselves optimistic about the
future. Nearing the top of a slowly climbing hill they saw a glint of sunlight
coming from the metal top or side of some building set back in the fields off
in the distance. Approaching they saw a long winding driveway leading back to a
farmhouse and a collection of buildings.

"Think we should check it out?" Scot asked from the middle of the line.

"Couldn't hurt to see if anybody's home I guess." Sam said from behind him,
adding "I know I could do with a glass of water."

As they neared the end of the driveway they saw a mud spattered blue Ford F-350
parked in front of the house.

"Looks like someone's home" Amanda said.

Continuing forward they saw that the front door was hanging open. Erik, who was
leading the group, put up a hand to indicate that they should stop. Amanda,
seeing him unlatch the strap on his holster readied her weapon and moved from
from the rear of the group to join him.

"We gonna go check it out?" she asked Erik.

"I'll go check it out, wait out here in case any unfrendlies show up. How many
shots you got?"

"Twelve, you?"

"Eight. Swap?" she asked, looking at his weapon.

"I think I'll be fine. If eight shots won't do it I'll be hightailing it outta
there anyway." Erik answered.

Taking a few steps toward the front door he turned to the group and said "Okay,
I'll see if there's anyone inside. If I come out running try to keep up." He
gave a half-chuckle, hoping he wouldn't regret the joke.

Walking up the steps onto the porch, Erik could see the inside of the living
room. Nothing looked out of place, and he knocked on the inside of the open
door and said "Hello?" before stepping in. Unlike the images he had in his mind
of quaint old farmhouses with wood burning stoves and rich mahogany furniture
this house had a sleek modern look. To his left he saw the interior of the
kitchen, with granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances. To the right
a large plasma screen TV hung from the wall between cases full of DVDs in front
of a black leather sofa that sat on finely polished hard-wood floors. He
checked the corners of the room, looking for any signs of movement, but there
was nothing. Down a hallway the right was a bathroom. Carefully checking to
ensure nobody, or nothing, was laying in wait he stepped in. On a whim he
turned the faucet on and water came pouring out of the tap. He cupped some in
his hands and took a drink. The house either ran on a well, or the city water
was still flowing. He decided to empty his bladder before continuing through
the rest of the house.

At first he thought it was knocking in the pipes when he flushed the toilet.
Perhaps the water hadn't been flowing and what had come out of the tap was the
water that had been sitting in the pipes. Then he heard it again. Thud.
Silence. Thud, thud. The house wasn't as empty as he'd thought. Back in he
hallway he stood, barely breathing, listening for the sound again. It was
coming from behind the closed door at the end of the hallway.

Erik's reason fought his instinct as he looked at the closed door. His
training, and his experiences back at the plane told him that it was better to
control the situation. Better he go in and put down the ghouls than leave them
to possibly attack him or another member of the group at unawares. His training
told him to confront the situation, but every nerve and muscle fiber in his
being told him that anything he could do to avoid a confrontation with the
ghouls was preferable to walking, guns ablaze, into a potential ambush. The
fact was that, by all appearances the house had been abandoned, but there might
be supplies that the group could use. They needed water, urgently. They had no
flashlights, no radio, only a sparsely detailed topographical map of the area,
and no idea what was really going on in the outside world.

He walked to the door. It looked like a hollow interior wooden door; he might
be able to kick it in. He raised his boot and thrust it forward toward the
center of the door, and a second later realized what a bad idea kicking the
door in had been. The door didn't open. His foot had gone through the thin wood
of the door leaving him standing on one foot with his leg pushed absurdly
through the door, trying to balance himself while he freed himself from the
splintery trap.