The Fall of Society Read online

  Sometimes two or three gunshots.

  Many were crying as their loved ones were taken away from them. Some of the naked ones walked quietly toward the hangar while others cried and fought every step of the way. A few resisted so strongly that they were shot before they even reached the hangar. Their dead, limp bodies were dragged to join the large pile behind the structure.

  “Where are you taking me?” a woman with a wounded leg demanded in fear, but she already knew the reason.

  They forced her into the spotlights and surrounded her.

  “Take off the bandage on your leg!” one soldier barked.

  “It’s just a cut from when I fell in the street!” she said.

  “Take it off!” the soldier ordered, but she refused so the soldier looked to his four comrades. “Take it off her!”

  The soldiers subdued the woman and tore the bandage off her leg to reveal—

  A distinct human bite mark.

  “Take her away!” the soldier ordered.

  “Mother!” her seven-year-old daughter cried.

  Four soldiers forcibly escorted her toward the hangar—they passed by dozens and dozens of clothing and luggage piles that were never collected by their owners because they were shot.

  “Katia!” the mother reached toward her daughter.

  Her daughter wanted to run to her mother, but her father held her tightly, and he held his lips tightly together; tears ran down both of their faces as they took her away.

  The mother kicked and screamed, but they still got her behind the hangar, out of sight and then—she was silenced.

  The daughter flinched at the single gunshot.

  Other citizens that were nowhere near the front of the line tried to sneak away, for obvious reasons, but the moment they broke from the line—

  They were shot.

  Bursts of automatic gunfire rang out every few minutes from people that tried to run, there were just as many soldiers as there were evacuees, more even, they were surrounded. Others that were too scared to run, just stood in line, even though they knew what was going to happen when they took their clothes off. Many people soiled themselves from fright, the only thing that was more pungent than the smell of urine was the scent of blood from so many that had been shot, and the smell that was stronger than that, was the stench of the dead outside the walls.

  But the smell of fear overpowered all of that.

  If a person was infected, there was no escape; if they weren’t, then the helicopters that were coming would save them and take them out of there. The choppers were landing every thirty minutes or so, usually two or three at a time. When they arrived, groups of people were moved into position for pick up. The helicopters descended like fiery angels of mercy, saviors of steel and bright lights. The rotor blades swept their hair as they were given the signal to board. They didn’t hesitate and climbed in as fast as possible; many cried as they sat down because they couldn’t believe that they had actually made it. They went through so much to get there, and now they were going to get out—they had to get out of there.

  They had to get out of there.

  All of them had to get out of there.

  Because more than 60,000 undead corpses were clawing outside the base’s walls.

  They were surrounded, there was no escaping them, the only way out was by air.

  The situation was beyond desperate.

  It was grave.

  There were five or six soldiers in every guard tower on the wall and all of them were firing into the horde, but the moment when one was shot in the head—it dropped and disappeared into the rest, which was a so tightly knit group, that the ground couldn’t be seen. The soldiers were also tossing grenades into the horde and firing RPGs, rocket propelled grenades, into them, but the explosions resembled firecrackers bursting in sand. Thousands of hands clawed at the walls for a way in, any way to get in—

  And it was only a matter of time…

  Back at the examination lines, an older man was just twenty feet away from reaching the front, and what he already knew was visible in his eyes. This man was lean, in great shape for his age, which was about eighty, his chiseled face and leathered skin were a clue to his life, and he wasn’t a farmer. A patrolling soldier was about to pass him, and the old man addressed him. “Comrade, may I approach?” he said to the soldier.

  The young soldier was hardened by all of this and he answered him that way. “What is it?”

  The old man stepped out of line and took three steps toward him and the soldier prepared to use his weapon. “That’s far enough.”

  “I would like to respectfully request a favor?” the old man said in a solid voice.

  “What, old man?”

  “I would like to borrow your sidearm.”

  The soldier immediately raised his rifle to the old man’s face. “Why? Are you crazy?” he said aggressively.

  “You know why.”

  The soldier was no more than nineteen and he was aiming his AK-47 at a man that reminded him of his grandfather. “What are you talking about?” the soldier demanded.

  “My wife,” the old man said. “She was bitten by one of those beasts, and we didn’t know that the bites kill a person and brings them back.” He held his tears so strongly that the young soldier couldn’t tell. “She came back to life while we were trying to bury her, and she killed our son, and then I had to kill her with a shovel.”

  “Everyone has lost people they love,” the soldier said sympathetically.

  “You look like my son,” the old man said and then he opened his shirt to reveal the infected bite wounds on his chest.

  “Infected!” the soldier yelled and others came to his aide.

  “My wife did this to me when I tried to pull her off my son,” he said calmly.

  Three other soldiers surrounded the old man with their weapons ready.

  “Come with us, this way!” the soldier demanded and motioned toward the hangar.

  “No,” the old man said.

  “I will shoot you where you stand!” the soldier shouted.

  “No, you won’t, Son,” the old man said and then raised his voice. “I served in the people’s army when your parents were babies, and I will not be shot like a common dog!”

  The soldiers didn’t shoot him but they didn’t know what to do, either.

  The old man calmed down and regained his rock-solid composure. “Your sidearm, please, if you will?” he said to the blue-eyed kid pointing the assault rifle at him. “One soldier to another.”

  The soldier was confounded then made a decision—he lowered his rifle and then took his pistol out of its holster; he removed the magazine, and then checked to see if a round was chambered…

  One was.

  He held the pistol out to the old man.

  “Mikhail, what are you doing?” one of the other soldiers asked him.

  “Be quiet,” Mikhail answered.

  The old man looked at the pistol before him.

  “Out of respect, sir,” Mikhail said.

  He calmly took the pistol into his hand and the other soldiers became very nervous.

  “Thank you,” the old man said.

  He turned and walked with his head held high.

  Everyone watched as the old man walked toward the hangar with the gun in his hand and four soldiers tailing him. He disappeared behind the hangar, and the soldiers stopped at a distance.

  A moment later—

  A single shot rang out.

  And it wouldn’t be long before others did the same…

  From fifteen stories up, the view of the air base was panoramic, and he could see everything. He closely watched the chaos with the group of survivors in the examination lines—he watched what transpired with the old man. He looked at the helicopters that landed, picked up people, and then took off. They headed in the same direction toward the coast, and helicopters could be seen returning from there for more pick-ups. He looked at all the dead that surrounded his base; they were even out
in the woods at the back of the base.

  He could see them everywhere.

  Death reflected off his eyes.

  Colonel Gregor Krasin was a man in his fifties, but his face and eyes were wiser and older than that. His eyes didn’t—couldn’t—blink as he watched the horrors below. He was numb, he was tired, and he was the base commander. He stood in the control tower and it was currently manned with several of his men that sat in front of computer screens and communication equipment. It was easy to see and smell that none of them have bathed or even been able to change out of their dirty uniforms for a few days now.

  “Ivan?” Gregor called to his second in command.

  A man in his forties approached in a formal military manner. “Yes, Comrade Colonel?”

  “Enough with the ‘Comrade Colonels,’ Ivan,” he said frustrated.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Any word from the Ministry of Defense?”

  “No, sir, we haven’t heard from Moscow in over twelve hours.”

  “Then Moscow is lost,” Gregor said direly as distant fire danced off his face.

  “We don’t know that, sir. It could just be a communications problem.”

  Gregor turned to Ivan from what he looked at outside the window. The city of Saint Petersburg was several miles away, and it was on fire…the entire city was an out of control inferno.

  “Yes, the same problem Saint Petersburg has,” Gregor said.

  “We must have hope, sir.”

  Gregor looked him with hard eyes, “I know that you have family in Moscow, Ivan, as do I, but don’t fool yourself, my friend.”

  “Sir?”

  “What are the current numbers of the evacuees?” Gregor asked.

  Ivan checked his clipboard—“As of an hour ago, sir, there were 785 evacuees on base, but at last count that has dropped to 614, sir.”

  “We’ve evacuated that many in an hour?”

  “No, sir.” Ivan paused. “Most of those were infected that were removed from the group, sir.”

  “You mean, shot?” Gregor said with increasing anger.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then just say that we shot them, damn you!”

  “Yes, sir. Forgive me, sir.”

  Gregor calmed himself, “No, I’m sorry, Ivan.” He patted him on the shoulder.

  “It’s fine, sir.”

  “What’s the estimated time to evacuate everyone?”

  “Including all of the base personnel…” Ivan looked at some calculations on his clipboard. “…A little over nine hours, sir.”

  Gregor glanced at all the dead at their walls, at some parts; the dead were piling up so high, that they were starting to spill over the top of the wall. Soldiers acted quickly to kill them and bring the pile down with explosives. Two tanks were firing their machine guns at any dead that got into the base. The large caliber gun clapped loudly, and the projectiles turned corpses to ground meat.

  “We don’t have that much time,” said Gregor.

  “Sir, we can cut that time in half if we have the helicopters drop off the evacuees five miles away in the countryside, instead of taking them all the way to the coast.”

  “No, the ships at the coast are their only hope of escaping this hell.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They watched as three helicopters made their approach to land after two others took off. The first one touched down, a group of evacuees moved in to get aboard, and then the second one landed, followed by the third.

  Suddenly, they heard a desperate voice shout over the radio—“The wall is collapsing! The wall is collapsing!”

  “Oh God!” Ivan cried out.

  Gregor looked at the wall and saw a thirty-foot section by the main gate crumble and come down—he watched as the dead spilled in and their roars suddenly filled the base, along with their pounding dead feet.

  “All firepower on that breach!” Gregor ordered.

  His orders were relayed and many soldiers ran to the break in the wall, they fired everything they had at all the dead that rushed in, but hundreds were already inside and the flow wasn’t stopping…

  Sixty thousand of them wanted in…

  “Warn all aircraft to move away from the base at least ten miles!” Gregor ordered and a radio operator did as instructed.

  “Why ten miles?” Ivan asked but Gregor ignored him.

  One of the tanks fired its main cannon at the wall breach and simultaneously headed toward the wall, the shell thundered when it exploded and killed dozens of them, but they kept coming, and the tank kept firing, along with its machine guns. The 42-ton tank reached ramming speed and plowed right into the wall breach in an attempt to stop the dead and they just flowed over it as ocean waves to rock.

  The tank disappeared beneath them—

  And it kept firing all its guns…

  All of the civilians were already running toward the three helicopters.

  Six hundred desperately scared people ran toward three helicopters.

  “Tell the helicopters to take off!” Gregor shouted.

  Ivan relayed the order, but it was too late for one helicopter—

  The civilians surged all over the first helicopter as it tried to lift off, and it managed to get airborne, but with thirty more people than it could handle. They stuffed themselves into the doors; they hung from the sides and the landing wheels. They held on to anything for dear life, but the helicopter spun out of control and plunged to the ground. It crashed into the civilians and killed dozens, many with its rotor blades.

  The second helicopter safely lifted into the air with a group of civilians aboard, and it left the area in favor of the coast, as the crashed aircraft exploded violently beneath it. The third helicopter got into the air with no civilians—it moved back away from them and the door gunner signaled some of their soldier friends on the ground to catch up with them for pick-up—but the soldiers couldn’t get away from evacuees, even as they fired their weapons at them to get away, the civilians kept coming, they didn’t care about being shot.

  Because the horde of corpses was right behind them…

  The helicopter couldn’t rescue any of the soldiers, so they fired on the dead with their machine guns and rockets.

  The slaughter had commenced.

  Colonel Gregor Krasin watched helplessly as his base was overrun, and there was absolutely nothing that he could do to stop the horror. His men fought to their last breaths as they were ripped to shreds one by one. Gregor picked up an AK-47 and loaded it. “Gentlemen,” he said to his men. “It was an honor to have served with you. This is my last order—I relieve all of you of your duty.”

  All of them were dumbfounded on what to do.

  The last helicopter stopped firing and moved farther back to an empty part of the base, it landed, and they waited as a dozen soldiers ran to them to be saved, but the soldiers were being followed closely by dozens of civilians and the undead. They were all mixed together in an undistinguishable panic.

  “Hurry! Run!” the door gunner screamed.

  The soldiers reached the aircraft and jumped in, one of them was Mikhail.

  “Take off! Go! Go!” the gunner shouted.

  It was too late as the civilians and the undead, alike, reached the helicopter and engulfed it. The door gunner fired his machine gun and the ones that he missed—flew by him and got onboard. The helicopter lifted into the air with bodies hanging on it and a couple of the ones inside were the undead—a struggle broke out in the helicopter, blind gunshots burst, civilians and soldiers were shot. The undead attacked the pilot and tore out his throat and then his eyes—the flight controls were let go and the helicopter went out of control—

  It headed toward the control tower…

  Gregor’s men still hadn’t left the tower and then they saw the massive aircraft coming at them.

  One stood up and pointed at it. “Colonel!” he shouted.

  Gregor turned and saw it—a hundred feet away and growing bigger—“Down! Get down!” he s
houted.

  The helicopter collided with the tower in an explosion of metal, glass, and concrete shards. What was left of the chopper, spun away, and crashed on the other side of the base. The air was thick with blinding dust and after some of it cleared, the damage was visible—most of the tower roof and walls were gone, one soldier leaned against his console with a softball-sized concrete rock imbedded in his face. A couple other soldiers were just gone, no bodies to be seen.

  Gregor got up from the floor, along with Ivan, and a few others that were still alive and caked in dust. The Colonel grabbed his rifle from the floor and looked at his men. “Don’t just stand there—run! Run for your lives! Every man for himself!” he shouted.

  Some of them ran down the stairs, others were still in shock and staggered aimlessly. Gregor ran to an outside ladder to climb down.

  “Colonel, where are you going?” Ivan asked suspiciously.

  Gregor spoke quickly in a panic—“Moscow and Saint Petersburg are gone! The base is lost! I’m finishing this!” and he was gone down the ladder.

  “No!” Ivan yelled.

  As Gregor slid down the ladder, he saw the zombies everywhere in the base, civilians, soldiers, and the dead were scattered all over, running without direction. Undead were attacking anyone within their reach. Blood was thick in the air, that, and screams of horror, sewn in between nonstop gunfire.

  It was insanity.

  Gregor got to the ground in the middle of it and was immediately attacked by several corpses—he shot them dead and then ran with everything he had toward a concrete bunker a quarter mile away. He fired more as others tried to attack him and disappeared into the blood-slicked night.

  A moment later, Ivan slid down the same ladder into the midst of chaos. He looked for Gregor in the direction of the bunker, but couldn’t see him.