Epilogue - United States of the Dead

EPILOGUE

              Ken Thorton cursed as he crawled along the floor.  The room was dark, and he kept cutting his hands on glass and debris that was scattered all over.  He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that John Talon had bested him, then left him alive.  It just didn’t work with his way of thinking.
          It galled Thorton that Talon had beaten him.  No one had ever come close in his life, and the one man who stood up to him had taken him out with little effort.  The only consolation Ken could take from it was he was still alive, and his focus now was getting even with Talon.  No matter how long it took, Major Ken Thorton would get his revenge.
           These thought warmed the big man as he crawled towards the stairs.  He had bound up his leg with a strip of cloth torn from his dead companion, and he had managed to find his gun in the darkness that fell after Talon had left.  He didn’t bother with the rifle, figuring he would get another from the upper levels.  He had no illusions that any of his men were alive.  If the men with Talon were half as capable as John had proved to be, his men wouldn’t have stood a chance.
         Thorton was painfully making his way up the stairs when he heard the first sounds coming from the gallaries upstairs.  It sounded like stealthy  footsteps, and Thorton was cheered by the thought that one of his men might have survived.
         “Hello!  Anybody up there?  It’s Thorton!  Who’s up there?”  He called.
           Silence.  
            Thorton called out again.  “Hey!  It’s Major Thorton!  I need a hand here!  Get your ass down here, now!”
              Ken’s blood turned to ice when he received  an answer.  Instead of a sharp ‘Yes, Sir!’, all he received was a deep, soulful groan.
           “Oh, Jesus.  Oh Jesus.”  Ken turned around and slid down the stairs on the bannister, crying aloud when he hit the landing and tumbled to the floor.  His injured leg left a stain on the floor and part of the stairs.  He dragged himself up to the next bannister going down and slid down that one, holding back his cries when he landed on the next stairwell.  He out flung hands smacked against a doorway, and he quickly dragged himself inside. 
               The smell of the room told Ken he was in some sort of storage area for documents, and he had a brief thought of setting everything on fire, but he realized that would have trapped him as well.  He would have to hope the zombies would pass by the door and eventually go away.  
              He crawled along the stacks, feeling to see if there was any place he could hide, or anyplace he could light a match.  His flashlight was back at the examination room, having fallen off his belt when Talon had forced him to duck for cover.  Ken had to be careful.  If the zombies saw the light, they’d stay outside the door forever, but he was heartened by the fact that they couldn’t open the door.
              Reaching the back of the room, Thorton went to the nearest corner and grabbed the nearest piece of paper.  Thumbing a match from his pocket, he lit it, then the paper.  He didn’t care what it was or what had warranted it to be saved in the Archives, but he didn’t care.  He needed the light and so he did it.  A quick glance around showed him boxes and boxes of documents, stacked from the floor to the ceiling.  Where he was hiding was only partially hidden from the door, so Ken quickly put out the lit paper.  He pulled his knife out of its sheath and his gun from his holster.  From his corner he could only be approached from two directions, so he figured he was good for now.  He hoped he zombies would discover the fresh corpses, eat their fill, and wander off.
              About two hours later, Ken was awakened from a light nap to the sound of something bumping against the door.  He immediately became fully awake, and his ears strained to hear every small sound while his brain raced to figure out what each one meant.  As long as he didn’t hear anything that sounded like a latch opening or a door opening, he was okay.
              When nothing happened, Ken started to drift off again, his gun and knife hanging limply from each hand.  It may turn out okay after all, he thought.
                A loud bang startled him awake, and he struggled to drag himself to a standing position.  Peering over  the top of the stacks, he could see nothing, but he thought maybe he could hear better.  A creak sounded, then another bang.  He couldn’t tell for sure what was going on, and then he heard a strange sound.
              “Heee.  Heeee.  Heee.”
               Thorton froze, unsure of what to do.  If something was there, he had to move.  If he moved, he might attract it.  If he stayed still, it might pass by.  He didn’t think he could be smelled out due to the stench of the documents, but he wasn’t sure.
               Thorton kept his eyes and ears strained on the long pathway in front of him, waiting to see if there was movement.  Nothing happened, and he began to wonder if he had dreamt the whole thing.  Setting back to the ground, Ken turned his head to the left and screamed.
                Five feet away from him were ten sets of glowing eyes, all level with his own.  At his scream, the eyes and the little zombies they were attached to launched themselves at Thorton, knocking away his gun and burying their teeth into whatever they could reach.  Ken brought his knife into play, but screamed again when sharp teeth tore his thumb off.  The zombies ripped and shredded his fresh, tearing into his gut and pulling out ropy strands of bloody intestine.  Ken lay on the ground and screamed for all he was worth.
               His screams took a long time to die.  Other zombies, attracted to the noise, shuffled back to the feeding frenzy in the corner of the storage room, and bit off chunks of their own.  When the zombies finally had their fill and tasted the virus-infected flesh, they stopped eating and began to wander off.

               Ten minutes later, Ken Thorton opened his eyes and raised his dead head.  He could see nothing, but his dead ears picked up the sounds of other zombies and his nose was filled with the smell of his own blood.  He tried to get up, but his arms and legs wouldn’t obey.  They had been torn so badly in the feeding that they were useless. Zombie Ken could do nothing but stare into the darkness and shake his head back and forth. 
               Around his inert form, several small ghosts took a look at the monster, and smiled as they vanished.