Original Stories Fan Fiction / Horror Fan Fiction ❯ Plague 11: The Outbreak ❯ The Forest ( Chapter 5 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Chapter 5: The Forest
John slowly opened his eyes. Everything was very blurry and dim. As things came into focus, he saw that he was still inside the rescue chopper. He moved slightly, and a sore pain flew through his body. Voices came from the outside of the helicopter, which had landed in a way that broke off the rear door. John felt a stiff pain in his neck. He figured he could try to roll the pain away. He turned his neck with a healthy crack and dread filled his eyes. Hannah's body lay next to his with her head partially bashed in. Joh let out a fearful scream and scrambled away, forgetting about his sores. He fell back onto something soft and turned around. It was the body of Ryan. John let another shriek of terror fill the air. He stood up as fast as he could, stumbled slightly, and ran for the open door.

He stumbled into the daylight and was blinded after leaving the dark. He rubbed his weary eyes and saw multiple shadowy figures. As his vision returned, he noticed some of them. There was Officer Morrison, Officer Andrews, and a National Guard soldier. John turned to see who the others were. All of his fears diminished for a second as he caught sight of Trent and a bruised-up Lauren. He let out a laugh of relief. "You're alive!" he managed to say.

"Glad to see you made it, man." Trent responded.

"How do you feel?" Lauren jumped in.

"I'm fine, I guess. Just a little sore, but I'll survive. How long have you all been awake?" John said.

"Only about an hour. But we really need to get going soon. Franklin made it too and went to go look for a sign of which way to go. We're waiting for him to get back." Morrison spoke up. "By the way, this is Sergeant First Class Barker. He the only other survivor." Morrison motioned to the comoflauge armored soldier.

Barker spoke in a deep toned voice, "I think it's about time we get armed. I'll take out the weapons from the stash inside. There should be enough for everyone." he said, walking into the destroyed chopper.

John and Trent talked while they waited for Barker to return. They shared a mutual sadness at the loss of Ryan and Hannah. Even though they knew them for less than a day, if it wasn't for them, they'd be dead or worse. Lauren also spoke with them about their late friends. Eventually, Franklin returned and pointed out the way they had to travel. But this was paired with some bad news. From what he saw, that direction was overrun by infected humans that had left the city. They would need heavy artillery to make it all the way to the safety camp.

Barker walked out of the chopper ruins. "Jesus, it smells like shit in there! I found the armory shelf. Good news: we've got enough guns to accomidate everyone. Everyone will get either a machine gun or a shotgun and everyone gets a pistol. So go ahead and arm up. Let's go in ten minutes." He moved back into the chopper, followed by the others. They supplied themselves with weaponry and made their way out and into the forest, led by Barker and Franklin.

The team of survivors made their way through the woods. They passed tree after tree, rock after rock. The brush seemed to go on forever. They walked fast, but still cautious and alert. Off in the distance, growling sounds that could only come from the undead echoed through the trees. John hated that sound so much. He had lost two nights of sleep over it and the only real sleep he got was when he was forced into unconsiousness. Morrison and the other cops had grown used to the moaning and now simply wanted to put an end to it.

A rustling came from a nearby bush. It was a rather large shrub and it shook back and forth. Franklin walked to the bush. He held the M-16 assault rifle that Barker had given him. The shaking grew more violent and a low snarling was heard. Franklin took another step forward and turned back to his comrades. What came next would have never been seen coming. As Franklin turned back around, the creature behind the shurb rose. It wasn't a zombie like he thought. Instead, Franklin was face to face with an 8 ft. Grizzly Bear.

With a gasp, Franklin looked down to his gun for a second and held it up. When he looked back, the bear swatted at his face with a huge clawed paw. Franklin tumbled to the ground and the half-ton brutish monster fell onto him. The bear pushed against him in such a way, so that he couldn't move his arms. Within seconds of knocking Franklin over, the bear let out a howling roar and bit into his neck. The other were too horrified to move for a second, but by the time they had started to react, the bear had its teeth inside of Franklin's throat. Morrison fired a blast from his shotgun into the bear's side, causing it to shudder, but not flee. Franklin's only noises were him gagging and choking on his own blood. Morrison approached the bear and shot it two more times. John felt his courage returning and ran to the bear and shot it with two bursts from his machine gun. The bear bucked and roared, but was too injured to fight back. It retreated into the forest and didn't return.

They all ran over too Franklin. He made choking and gagging noises as blood entered his trachia and exited from the several large holes in his throat. Finally, he managed to muster out one sentence, "Please....save...me.." he said before choking more on the blood in his neck.

There was no chance of survival for Franklin. They all knew that. It was merely a question of who could euthanize him and put him out of his misery. Andrews stepped up. He pulled out his pistol and took aim. Just before he pulled the trigger he spoke to Franklin, "Sorry 'bout this, bud."

The gunshot rang out through the forest, causing birds to fly away from their perches high in the canopy. Franklin stopped making noises and faded from life. Andrews walked away from the body. The others looked at him in judgement. He quickly grew impatient. "What? I just did that guy a favor! At least he doesn't have to deal with this hell. That asshole got off lucky!" Andrews shouted.

After a moment of silence, they progressed further into the forest. By noon, they had been walking for and hour and a half without a single interference. But that didn't make every second of it any less frightening. They moved at a moderate pace, but even if they ran, reaching the safety camp in the same day would be impossible. Having walked for so long, they decided to take a break. While they rested, noises came from far away. They were the same growls and howls from the infected.

Morrison stood up and started walking off into the woods. "I'll be right back. I've gotta take a leak." he said. He moved through the forest until he found a spot he deemed appropriate. He took care of his business and zipped up. As he turned around, however, he was hit by someone. Morrison tumbled down a small slope, losing his shotgun in the process. When he regained his footing, he looked up the short hill and saw a zombie limping towards him quickly. Morrison realized he had no shotgun and reached on his belt for the pistol. Just as he pulled it, the zombie tackled him and started snapping at him. Morrison knew exactly what to do. He pointed the pistol to the man's head while holding him off and pulled the trigger. The lead projectile ripped through his head, killing him. Morrison pushed the body off of him and stood up, dusting himself off.

Back at the rest spot, the team was getting nervous about how long Morrison was taking. "I'll go see what he's doing." Trent said and walked off, still keeping some weight off of his wounded leg.

Morrison looked around a little having lost his direction in the fight. All around, the terrain looked the same. Morrison walked in one direction for a short time until he heard a familiar, yet horrid noise. He watched as several of the infected flowed out of the multitude of trees. Morrison pointed his pistol and fired well aimed shots. Every shot fired landed a blow to their heads. After nine shots, the clip was dry. Another zombie ran at him. The offier pistol whipped the zombie on the head and knocked it down. More came and he was quickly overwhelemed. As their teeth sunk into his flesh, he let out a loud cry of pain.

Trent completely heard Morrison's screams. He quickened his pace, moving past the brush around him. He stopped moving. Coming at him was around six zombies, one of which was the transformed Morrison. Trent gripped the machine gun that he got from the chopper tightly in his hands. As the monsters moved in on him, he pressed down on the trigger. A spray of bullets blasted from the barrel and tore apart the creatures. Trent aimed at their heads and never let go of the trigger. The bodies fell and and eventually, the magazine in the gun cleared. Trent looked forward at the only remaining zombie. It was Morrison. The man who saved them in Hunton City was gone and replaced with a white-eyed, pale beast. Trent plucked the pistol from his waist and took aim. Morrison flew at him and Trent pulled the trigger, blasting through Morrison's forehead. Trent lowered the gun and took a breathe. He turned around and walked back to the diminishing party.

John and Lauren saw Trent walking back. His face was splashed slightly with blood. John stepped forward. "What happened?" he asked.

Trent looked at them for a moment and collected himself. "I found Morrison. But I was too late. He'd been attacked. I had to finish him off." Trent spoke silently shaken.

Obsenities came flying from Andrews' mouth. "Son of a bitch! Morrison too? That bastard would have been the last one to die! What the hell happened?"

"I don't know." Trent admitted.

Andrews cursed about and started angrily pacing back and forth. Barker whistled to get their attention and waved his arm back. "We need to get moving again. Let's go!" he ordered.

Andrews looked into his eyes in irratation. With a sign and more obsenities, the started walking with Barker. John, Trent, and Lauren followed closly. They made their way around trees, up hills, past rocks, and over trenches. Another hour passed without any threats. But judging by how long they'd been walking, that would change very soon. Birds flew above in random directions, as if they were also dirsturbed by all of this. The group scaled a steep hill and made it to the top, dripping with sweat.

Atop the hill was a lone cabin. It was made of a dark wood and had diminished with age. They approached the doorway slowly. Figuring it was safe, they walked inside. It was dark in the cabin and it smelled of rotting wood and soaked dirt. Barker clipped a pair of flares off of his belt and ignited them. He tossed them around the room and brought forth light. John looked around and noticed a sheet of paper on a nearby counter. He picked it up and felt it was wet. Upon bringing it to the light, he saw the large red stain that he figured was blood. His eyes glanced over the paper and he found he was looking at a recently writen notice. Judging by the date on it, the paper was written on the day before. John read out loud:

"If you are reading this, then I may be nearby. I may also be dead depending on the circumstances. I need to write this down. In college, a teacher once told me to relieve stress, I could write my feelings and expiriences. I was never a diary keeper, but I need to say some things before they cause me to go insane. These things, these monsters are hell incarnate. That I am assured. They say nothing is worse than death. But I can fully disagree. This is worse. You don't die. You just become one of them. And the ones you care for become one of them. And when your loved ones transform, they aren't themselves anymore. They are simply the spawns of the devil. I was forced to kill them. I was forced to kill my wife and my own son. Just to survive. Their blood is on my hands. In my mind, I have lost all feeling. I'm writing this now just so I don't lose what little mind I have left. Once I finish this, I'll run and I'll try to surv-"

The letter ended in the middle of the sentence and all that remained was the blood stain. John realized that this man hadn't left. He was attacked. He alerted everyone, who then took up their arms and moved out of the cabin. The thought that there could one or more infected in the vicinity shook them to the core. Moving around the cabin, they saw what John had thought. A hunched over zombified man with a large bloody wound in his shoulder was scuffling around. John pulled out his psitol and aimed it at him. The zombie noticed sounds from behind him and turned to face them. John fired a single bullet into the man's brain and watched him fall to the ground.

The team had to carry on through the woods. Hours passed and just as they expected, the attacks came. Every so often, they would hear the sounds of a zombie ahead and could prepare. It wasn't difficult to defend themselves, with the exception of a few waves. By the time they stopped for another rest, three hours had gone flying by. While they waited to regain their strength, thunder boomed overhead. Minutes later, John felt drops of water fall upon them. The rain poured down on them heavily while thunder and lightning filled the sky above. They moved through the forest as fast as they could seeking shelter.

One thing that changed was that as the storm progressed, any left over sunlight diminished with the time of day. It was dark, raining, and because of the showers and thunder, there was no way to tell if something was coming. Things had gotten very dangerous.

Barker led them through the rain and trees. There was no sign of shelter and no sign of civilization. As Barker moved into a thick portion of the trees, lightning lit up the sky very brightly. The world around them was exposed and Barker jumped as a zombie leaped from the ground infront of him. As the monster bit into his neck, he fired off his gun to alert the others. "Run! They're here!" he said before falling silent. John fired a blast of bullets into the zombie as they ran by. Andrews pulled his pistol out and shot Barker in the head. Their number was down to four.

Foots crashed through leaves, dirt, and puddles as they ran for any safety. John, running in front saw something stumbling at them with zombie-esque coordination. He shot it dead and continued to run. Andrews followed next, with Lauren and Trent in tow. When Trent looked back for a second, he saw a group of the undead following them. "They're chasing us!" he called out.

John didn't miss a beat. He called back to his friend, "Don't stop! Keep moving!" he yelled.

Andrews and John were running almost parallel. The pain in their legs was excruciating. Trent and Lauren caught up with them. When John thought no more surprises were coming, he felt the ground under him disappear. He stumbled down a large hill, tumbling on his sides. The others didn't see the sudden slope either and fell victem to the natural visual trick. They thudded down the hill side and crashed into a trench below. John pulled himself up quickly and looked around. "Is everyone okay?" he asked loudly.

Everyone seemed fine except for Andrews who was dropping curse words like it was a nervous tick. They stood up and continued moving through the forest. They weren't running so fast now. John looked around and saw the trees thinning out. Infront of them was a massive clearing. The four survivors darted out of the trees and into the open field. A zombie lumbered up, but was taken care of by Lauren. They kept speed walking through the grass. The night sky was filled with bright and happy stars that seemed very ill-placed. John, Trent, Lauren, and Andrews stopped short when they reached another well hidden, yet much more trecherous, cliff. There was no way forward. They looked back and a mass of zombies ran at them. They were cornered.

Everyone opened fire on the oncoming infected. Some fell and the other pressed on. As all hope seemed bleak or worse, a light filled the darkness, literaly. A bright light came from behind the survivors, casting their shadow on the grass field. John looked behind and saw a large helicopter with machine gun turrets floating behind them. The pilot spoke through an intercom. "Get down!" he ordered.

As all four of them fell to the ground, the guns on the chopper started up and fired a blur of bullets into the zombies, ripping apart all attackers. The helicopter kept up the destuction, killing anything that got near the waves of bullets. After almost ten minutes of constant fire, the zombie hordes ceased and te guns cooled off. John and the others stood up and turned to the chopper hovering next to them. The pilot spoke again. "Get in! We'll take you four to the safety camp nearby."

The helicopter came closer and they boarded it. They were safe again, but were on edge for the whole helicopter ride. They didn't want a repeat of the last airlift. John looked at his friends and Andrews with a tired smile. They returned the face of happiness and fatigue. Andrew didn't smile, having lost his friends. But a definite look of relief was visible on his face. The helicopter soared through the air and after twenty minutes of flying, descended on the safety camp. They made it to safety, but John suspected that this nightmare was far from over.