After the Pandemic: Genocide (11): The Battle Cry of Freedom (920 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesLabels: After_the_Pandemic
Rating: 1.87 on 16 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Axolotl (View user info) at 2006-02-25 19:40:31 EST
Jack McCallum's Introduction - http://www.ubersite.com/m/61238
After the Pandemic: Genocide (1): The Variants - http://www.ubersite.com/m/79933
After the Pandemic: Genocide (2): The Armory - http://www.ubersite.com/m/80119
After the Pandemic: Genocide (3): Times Square - http://www.ubersite.com/m/80429
After the Pandemic: Genocide (4): The Highbridge - http://www.ubersite.com/m/80522
After the Pandemic: Genocide (5): Stars and Stripes Forever - http://www.ubersite.com/m/80836
After the Pandemic: Genocide (6): Against the Grain - http://www.ubersite.com/m/80897
After the Pandemic: Genocide (7): Infiltration - http://www.ubersite.com/m/81839
After the Pandemic: Genocide (8): The Crucible - http://www.ubersite.com/m/82506
After the Pandemic: Genocide (9): Justice Under God - http://www.ubersite.com/m/83249
After the Pandemic: Genocide (10): The Feeding - http://www.ubersite.com/m/84178
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PART ELEVEN - The Battle Cry of Freedom
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Praying came hard to Gordon. He had not done it since his childhood, but now it was different. Stationed out in the muddy soft earthen trenches, guns of his platoon facing out toward the dark night, he felt he had to put his faith in something.
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," Gordon breathed. Next to him was Delaney, Hammond, McDougal, Weir, Garcia...all the men he had known for ages, and who now would be thrust into this fight of humanity against evil, never again to return.
The lines were closed. There was no escape.
"He maketh me to lie down in verdant pastures, and he leadeth me beside the quiet waters."
Out on the line were the men of the armory, all available males between sixteen and sixty. They were mostly armed with obsolete rifles, although some had only pikes and knives. They were frightened, and looked prepared to run away at any moment. Major Hammond had promised them that any deserters would be shot.
"He restoreth my soul."
"Fix bayonets," Hammond ordered. The soldiers who had them stuck them on to the ends of their rifles, and continued aiming out along the torn-up lawn. "They'll be coming with sword and with shield."
Dost thou mock me to come to me with sticks and stones? rang a voice in Gordon's head. Turn back, or I will kill thee, and give your flesh to the birds and beasts of the field. Almost in reply, Gordon saw the words and thoughts in his mind say, Yea, so all shall know there is a God in Israel.
"He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil."
Hammond was ready to die. His face was painted black, and lines and bandoliers of ammunition were draped across his shoulders and neck. He had been passing out long knives and tomahawks to be used when the bullets ran out.
Out across the field, Tobias looked upon his zombies. Armored and deadly, they were armed in cruel ways with all manner of weapons, from rifles to swords to long spears to swinging maces. Kessel's band was with him, and more reinforcements from all over New York. The Variant B's gnashed their teeth madly, and the Variant C's coldly drew up war paint under their eyes in preparation. The full moon rose. Night came, light departed.
"For thou art with me."
Hammond paced up and down his men, bolstering their spirits. "Set your courage at the sticking-place, and we will not fail," he said.
"Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me,"
"Fight for your wives and children! Fight for every last little girl and little boy in there!" Hammond cried. The zombies' voices rose hundreds of yards away in mocking excited terror.
"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over."
"By God, let me not be ashamed," Hammond said quietly. "Guide my hand, and make it your arrow. Strike down the demons before me with all of your power, and deliver me, O Lord, from Egypt. Make me your servant, instrument of your might, and smite the wicked that come against me. Though they may sear my flesh and break my bone, let me overcome the Enemy, that they shall know that there is a God in Israel. "
"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever more," finished Gordon out loud. "They are coming."
* * *
"Send them forward," Tobias said. "I'll be going with my men. Robertson?"
The platoons of Variant Cs prodded forward the Variant Bs into battle. With some calls and harsh orders, the subhuman zombies rushed onward across the streets.
"The enemy!" Hammond cried. "Open up!"
In a roar of gunfire, machine guns cut down the first lines of the Variant Bs. They charged blindly into the fray, their bodies piling up, shredded apart by the SAW fire. Most of the Variant Bs were unarmed, and they mindlessly threw themselves into the battle on each side of the armory.
"Slaughter them!" Hammond roared, firing his 9mm Glock into the zombie attack. "Kill them to the last zombie!"
The Variant Bs attacked not like individuals, but as a single organism, each brainless zombie a tendril of the creature. The behemoth probed with its tentacles at each weak point of the armory's defenses, but was repulsed by machine gun fire and mortar rounds.
From the roof of the armory soldiers fed yards of bullets into heavy motor guns, which cut large swaths in the Variant Bs, cutting them entirely in half with the powerful spray. John Gordon kept up a steady stream of fire, pausing to throw grenades.
The Variant B charge was not meant to be decisive, but just to weaken the garrison and deplete their ammunition. Indeed, most of the mortar rounds and bullets were being used, and Hammond grew worried during the intense heat of the fight.
"Don't let them through, but conserve your ammo!" he cried into a megaphone. "One shot per zombie! Single out your man!"
Tobias and Kessel watched, standing side by side, as the Variant Bs broke like water against the rock. The armored Variant Cs lay in wait, crouched behind the hedges of the dark suburbs, spears and bayoneted rifles at the ready. The Americans were firing less, and the Variant Bs were gaining ground, but their bodies were piled five and six deep along the line of battle.
"Will we commit the C brigades?" Kessel asked.
"Soon...give it time, we must time this perfectly," Tobias replied. "Let them waste their bullets on the Variant Bs. I will be going into the battle myself." Tobias brandished a sword in his hand, and a .22-caliber pistol in the other.
"As will I," Kessel replied curtly, drawing forth a heavy chain coated in sleek spikes. "Let me kill and eat the commander of the defense."
The Variant Bs had broken through at points in the line, and the Americans were frantically trying to repel them. They were shooting one another in the close combat, and wielding knives and bayonets against the unthinking zombies. Gordon bashed the butt of his rifle into a leaping zombies' stomach, and finished him off with a bullet to the head. The Variant Bs were bloodthirsty, and ripped into their prey without a thought for their own safety
Gordon saw the kind of people making up the Variant Bs: doctors, old women, young men, men in suits, and even children. They were all united by the disease that bonded them into the service of the zombie allegiance, but were all different.
"Send in the Variant Cs," said Tobias. "Robertson, follow me. We will take the armory by morning."
"Forward!" Kessel shrieked, holding aloft his blade; the Variant Cs stood up, and began a quick march into action, crouched low to make themselves a lesser target.
The Variant Cs were clad in black armor, and many had old WWII-era helmets and rifles. They fired into the trenches as they approached, being sliced down by the gunfire coming from the trenches and roofs.
"Bayonets out!" Hammond cried as the Variant Cs approached in a single metallic mass, roaring and shouting as they charged the Americans. "Break them!"
The Americans swung their rifles and stabbed with blade and bayonet as they met the zombies. These creatures were intelligent, and talked in language they could understand as they fought in brutal hand-to-hand combat.
"You are dead! We will kill everyone inside!"
"Your God is dead! Give up, give up, and let us eat you!"
Hammond was firing at the zombies with his pistol, and swinging a long blade at approaching Variant Cs. He had picked the blade off the ground after a fallen zombie had dropped it, and was proficiently wielding it against the zombies. It was wet with dark, unnatural blood, and had dispatched many a Tobian and Kesselite.
With a battle cry Kessel himself leaped into the trenches, where the Americans and zombies were already in hot fighting. He whipped his chain through an American squad, tearing their chests and intestines with his spiked mace, and cutting down the defenders, including Delaney. Gordon and Weir together repelled part of the attack, but Kessel would not consent to death.
Kessel was hacking left and right, a sword in one hand, and a swinging chain in the other, covered in spikes. He was armored heavily, with large metal plates on his legs, arms, stomach and chest. He had a thick helmet on that looked as though it was forged by he himself, and there were scars on his armor from knife-thrusts.
Private Garcia grabbed his rifle and bayonet, and stabbed forward into Kessel's stomach. With a sharp clang, both stepped back, and Garcia, shook up by the clash, looked at his blade: it was notched. Kessel reared back and furiously whipped the mace into Garcia's head, shattering his skull and dropping him to the floor.
"Hold on, I'm-a coming!"
With a roar, Hammond stepped before Kessel, blade out. The bodies of Delaney, Garcia, and four other men lay at Kessel's feet, but Hammond didn't back down.
"Show me what you got, you evil fucker," Hammond said, in a defensive position, his sword out before him.
"Fool," Kessel said with a smile. "Do you not think that I have the strength of forty humans? Come to me, and I will kill you, and consume your flesh. Turn back now, human, your time is drawing to an end."
"Then I'll go down fighting," Hammond spat. He leaped forth with his blade shining before him, and struck a blow against Kessel. Kessel turned the blade with a grunt, and forced Hammond back. Hammond relentlessly swung at Kessel's armor-plated feet and stomach, but Kessel lightly stepped backwards, mace preparing to strike.
"Let me help you!" Gordon cried, but there was a troop of zombies about to attack. Gordon aimed down the sight of his rifle and punched several holes in the black armor of the Variant Cs.
With a shout of pain, Hammond went down with a crushing mace-blow to his hip. He stumbled, and fell onto the ground. As Kessel laughed and stabbed downwards, Hammond brought his leg up quickly into Kessel's unarmored testicles.
Kessel screamed, and Hammond drew himself up, groping for his blade. In a furious wrath, Kessel whipped his chain and sword around; Hammond was cut on his forehead by a shallow wound, but seized the blade and brought it into contact with the chain.
The mace's chain wrapped around Hammond's blade, and Hammond cried out in joy, trying to wrench it away. With a look of pure hatred and humiliation on his face, Kessel gave a short, quick thrust with his sword - the tip entered Hammond's belly.
"Major!" Gordon cried, in the midst of fending off a zombie attack. Hammond fell slowly, as if in a trance, and blood blossomed in his stomach.
"Never...never have I..." Kessel groaned, tenderly stroking his groin. "I'll drain every last drop from you, human."
"Do your worst, you pathetic..." Hammond breathed. He couldn't finish.
"You should have turned back," Kessel sneered. "You should have ran."
"An American soldier never runs," Hammond hissed.
"Nice to know that," Kessel said, rearing up with his sword blade. It hung in the air, ready to be plunged into Hammond's heart. Kessel began the descent, when all of a sudden, John Gordon stuck a blade into Kessel's heart. He had come from behind, and stabbed him in surprise.
Kessel gasped in horror, and struggled in Gordon's death-embrace. He gibbered madly and his muscles spasmed, and he sunk to his knees in the muddy trench, his heart pumping his blood out into the soil.
"Major!" Gordon said.
"Just go...defend those inside..." Hammond grunted, clutching his torso. "Go...that's an order..."
"Retreat!" someone cried from far away. The remaining Americans abandoned their dead and rushed in toward the armory doors. Gordon took one last look at Hammond, and followed the retreat down the war-scarred lawn to the armory gates. It was there they would make their last stand.
"Jennifer...Jennifer..." Gordon muttered, throwing open the doors and walking into the armory gym, where the hundreds of refugees were arrayed.
They were huddled together, family by family, praying with each other for deliverance, to a God that would not answer. The gym was deadly silent, and there was nothing on the air except the screams and gunshots from the battle outside. Despair was in the air, so heavy that Gordon's heart sank.
"Jennifer! Jennifer? Where are you?" Gordon cried, walking up and down the aisles. He tried to search out where Jennifer had been; the eyes of the armory were all on him.
"Jennifer?"
"John," said a voice, grasping his shoulder. Gordon turned around; it was Brandon Dicambrio.
"Brandon! Is Jennifer and Michael—"
"They're gone, John. They left early this morning. They're safe."
"Thank God...they're okay..." said Gordon. He was happy, strangely enough, that Jennifer was not going to die here, or be damned to be a zombie. He would go down himself, but not her...she would be safe.
"How is it out there?" Brandon asked.
"We're...bad," Gordon said quietly. "They'll be at the gates soon."
"Go out with me!" Brandon said. "Let's go out and die together, instead of dying here in this gym. We'll fight, though it may be pointless."
Gordon grasped Brandon's hand, and they walked down the aisles of humans, all doomed to death, and approached the door. This would be their last moments on earth, and they would live them well. They stepped across the threshold, and the last door they'd pass through closed behind them.
Weir and McDougal were two of the last soldiers remaining. The zombies were closing in on all sides, and it had been reduced to hand-to-hand combat. Gordon picked up a discarded sword, as did Brandon.
"Let's roll," Brandon breathed.
They launched themselves into the battle, hacking down the armored zombies, cutting their way through the pack. Weir was knocked unconscious and taken away to be infected, and McDougal was beheaded by a Variant C. They fought until only maybe fifty US soldiers were left defending, just a handful from the original amount.
"Take those two. They are strong." said a cold voice. Brandon and Gordon looked and faced down a long-haired, sallow youth just a little older than Gordon. Next to him was a middle-aged priest with a collar, black clothes, and a bayoneted rifle.
"Us" Gordon replied, in a defensive position with his sword. "Not if we can help it."
"We'll see...Father Robertson, help me take the white one. I'll kill the black," said the youth.
"Aye, Tobias," Father Robertson replied.
Gordon swung his sword and locked arms with Father Robertson, coming within inches of his face, while Brandon and Tobias clashed blades.
"You fool, do you not know who I am?" Tobias asked, parrying Brandon's thrust. "I am the leader of this entire attack. I control the zombies from Manhattan Island all the way up to Teaneck."
Father Robertson adroitly dodged under Gordon's swings, but was unable to get a hit with his bayonet. Gordon brought his sword down, and cut across Robertson's shoulder; his black shirt was stained with blood. Robertson angrily shoved his shoulder into Gordon, who stepped back, ducking a bayonet.
"That may be so, but I can still—" Brandon said shakily. With a sickening crack Tobias' blade cut through Brandon's leg, breaking his shin bone. Brandon cried out and fell to the ground, breaking his fall with his shoulder.
In triumph, Robertson bore down on his prey, but John Gordon dug the tip of his blade into Robertson's ankle. Robertson gritted his teeth in pain, and hesitated. Gordon slashed at Robertson with his sword, and the priest fell.
"You lose, human," said Tobias, raising his sword blade up. As Brandon looked upward at his death, Gordon once again came to the rescue, his sword whirring through the cold night air. Tobias' looked in shock as his hand, along with his sword, fell to the ground. He stared into Gordon's frightened eyes for a moment, and then punched him hard in the stomach.
Gordon doubled up as Tobias' razor-sharp fingernails entered his intestines, twisting as Tobias cut apart his organs from the inside. As quick as he had stabbed inward, Tobias pulled out his invading forearm, and a torrent of blood fell from Gordon's viscera.
"You stopped nothing," Tobias sneered, putting his boot down on Brandon's prostrate skull. "Are you alright, Robertson?"
"I should ask you that," the priest replied, helping Tobias bind his hand with his shirt. "Will we take the armory?"
"All defense is washed away in their own blood," Tobias noted, unperturbed by the loss of his hand. "Kill half of the occupants for my army's sustenance, and infect the rest. I will tend to my hand."
"Let's go! Into the armory!" Robertson cried, rallying the zombies. The Variant Cs charged into the armory, and Gordon listened to the screams of terror from inside as the zombies pillages and slaughtered the refugees.
Lying on the muddy, blood-soaked ground, Gordon felt the last wisps of life drain from him. The sun was just about to rise, and the clouds on the horizon were pink and rosy. The Variant Cs consumed and destroyed the entire population of the armory in less than an hour.
Jennifer was safe at least, Gordon thought. Death was nothing but the next new frontier, and Gordon was welcome to meet it. He closed his eyes and sunk into his earthen pillow, and slept. The Variant Cs would pick his bones clean in several hours.
Gordon simply slept. He was at peace.
User Reviews
Submitted by awesome_face (user info) at 2006-03-31 12:14:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Ok look and see what you done now! New Orleans is flooded again.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-02-27 18:13:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
shoulda used the self-destruct
Submitted by simple_catalyst (user info) at 2006-02-27 00:37:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-02-26 08:58:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
oh yeah. that's the shit i'm talking about bAby.
i'd go zombie in exchange for a large gatorade.
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-02-26 01:00:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
that song's gonna haunt me huh?
that's ok, because i like it.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-02-26 00:43:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-02-26 00:17:46 (#)
Ranking: 2
you sir, rock at life.
----
Why thnak you Ghola
She walked up to me and she asked me to dance
I asked her her name and in a background voice she said
Ghola
G-O-L-A Ghola
I'm not the world's most physical guy
But when she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine
Ghola
G-G-G-Ghola
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-02-26 00:17:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
you sir, rock at life.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-02-25 22:05:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Ax - yeah, born up north, w/ family all over New England.
Bubs - you and me both. Looooooove the 'matron' drops. An animal kept for breeding? What am I, a second wife??
Submitted by Amorphous (user info) at 2006-02-25 21:01:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Rape.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-02-25 20:55:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Axolotl, this was great, as usual.
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O'man, I LOVE it when they call you "Matron."
......
Main Entry: ma·tron
Pronunciation: 'mA-tr&n
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English matrone, from Middle French, from Latin matrona, from matr-, mater
1 a : a married woman usually marked by dignified maturity or social distinction b : a woman who supervises women or children (as in a school or police station) c : the chief officer in a women's organization
2 : a female animal kept for breeding.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-02-25 20:40:24 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-02-25 20:37:48 (#)
Ranking: 2
"Yes we'll rally 'round the flag, boys,
We'll rally 'round the flag
Shouting the battle cry of Freedom
The Union forever, hurrah, boys, hurray
Down with the traitor, up with the star..."
We used to play this Union victory song all the time in college to upset our *very* southern suitemante.
Ah, good times.
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We'll welcome to our numbers all men loyal, true and brave
Shouting the battle cry of freedom
And though he may be poor, not a man shall be a slave
Shouting the battle cry of freedom
I was in Gettysburg a short while ago, and our tour guide, despite his being born in Pennsylvania, had a VERY southern viewpoint. Different cultures. I take it you're from the north, Matron?
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-02-25 20:38:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2006-02-25 20:32:12 (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked the description of the fight. Uh, but take note. This:
"Never...never have I..." Kessel groaned, tenderly stroking his groin. "I'll drain every last drop from you, human."
Sounds so very, very gay out of context.
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Ha ha...
Attn: Ghey Zombies.
Stroking his groin...didn't notice that bit. Sounds like he's gonna felch Hammond.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-02-25 20:37:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
"Yes we'll rally 'round the flag, boys,
We'll rally 'round the flag
Shouting the battle cry of Freedom
The Union forever, hurrah, boys, hurray
Down with the traitor, up with the star..."
We used to play this Union victory song all the time in college to upset our *very* southern suitemante.
Ah, good times.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2006-02-25 20:32:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked the description of the fight. Uh, but take note. This:
"Never...never have I..." Kessel groaned, tenderly stroking his groin. "I'll drain every last drop from you, human."
Sounds so very, very gay out of context.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-02-25 20:21:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,
for I am the meanest son of a bitch in the valley."
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-02-25 20:17:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I was going to put the Civil War song Battle Cry of Freedom in here, but switched it with Psalm 23. Now the title doesn't really make as much sense, but it's not too big a loss.