This morning we went into the police station to stock up on ammo. We left Andrew and the two girls that Ben brought up on our floor. There’s no reason to risk all of our lives and Andrew definitely can’t walk on his own. We didn’t have much for weapons. Pete still had five rounds for his shotgun. Stephanie had a good amount for her rifle, but it wouldn’t be very effective in close quarters. Steffanie had plenty of grenade rounds left, but we told her that she is only allowed to fire it if she is sure that there is room so nobody else gets hit. BW has his revolvers and God only know how much ammo. Chuck and Ben are going empty handed and I’ve got the machete. We each brought one of the empty pistols incase we find any bullets on the way.
We had to go down to the second floor of the first building and into the skyway. Our path was clear. Good thing our barricades are still holding strong. Once we got through the bridge and into the second floor of the police station, we realized that this was not going to be easy. There was blood all over the floor and walls. A few dead bodies, ones that weren’t trying to kill us, scattered around. There were bullet holes all over the walls; there was a major firefight here.
We quietly made our way up to the door to the stairwell. Pete and BW aimed at the door while I slowly turned the knob. It was stuck. I shoved a couple of times, but it wasn’t going anywhere. BW told us to stand back so he could shoot out the lock. We took a step back and watched as he carefully aimed at the door. Just as he fired, the door swung open. There was a man standing there, covered in blood and wearing a mail man’s uniform. BW raised his gun to end the things’ second life.
“Wait, I’m not one of them. Don’t shoot.”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. This guy looked like shit. He was covered from head to toe in blood. His clothes were torn; he was carrying what was left of his mail bag, and looked as if he hadn’t eaten in a week.
“My name is Jeff, but everybody just calls me Mailman”
BW cut in, “We’ll have time for introductions later. How many of them are on the first floor? Is there any ammunition left in this place? Are there any other survivors here?
“The first floor isn’t too bad. I’ve been locked in this stairwell for a few days now, but every once in a while I peek out to see if they are still there. I’d say about twenty. Oh, and I’m the only one left. Those idiot cops thought they could fight em all off. Bad idea.”
“Well we don’t have a choice, where is the armory?”
“The cops were saying that it is somewhere in the basement. I’m not sure where though.”
We went down the stairs to the basement level. The door had been blocked by Jeff, but we were able to get in. The room smelled of death. There was only one light left on at the end of the room. It cast an eerie glow over the empty room. It looked as if the place was deserted. We quietly made our way across the room, checking each door and hallway before going past. At the far end of the room, where to sole light was dangling from the ceiling, we found a door with a chain link fence in front of it. There was a small window with a similar fence guarding all but six inches at the bottom. We found the armory.
Chuck kicked the door down and when we went inside I couldn’t help but laugh. The place was stocked full of ammunition. We started filling our bags as quickly as possible. There were plenty of fresh bullets for our handguns and shotguns. Each of us was able to sling an assault rifle over our shoulders and put on a flak jacket and other riot pads. Ben found a pair of sawn off shotguns and seemed to be happy. Steffanie took another handgun and a bag full of grenade rounds. Stephanie found more rounds for her rifle and grabbed a sidearm for herself. BW didn’t take anything. Chuck found himself a new machete and a couple of small machine guns. Jeff just took a lot of ammo that looked like it was for an automatic weapon. He said something about already having guns.
I opened one of the drawers and found a pair of brand new Desert Eagle .50 Action Express hand guns. These things were bad ass. I had to take em. I filled up a big back pack with ammunition and grabbed a shoulder holster to carry them. I also grabbed one of the newer machetes.
Pete was putting his pack full of weapons on when a huge man in a police officers’ uniform grabbed him from behind. Half of the cop’s face was missing. Pete hit him in the face with his fist, but the cop grabbed his arm and dragged him down. They struggled on the ground, almost wrestling. A shot rang out and the cop went limp. Pete shoved the big man off and got up. We all saw the huge gash on his arm and the bite marks on his face. BW raised his revolver again.
“Don’t shoot I’ll be fine.”
BW didn’t think twice and Pete dropped to the ground. Dead.
At the other end of the room we heard people coming. Footsteps, the slow, scuffling, footsteps of the dead. We moved to the other end of the room as they started piling in. We started shooting, but it wasn’t doing any good. They kept inching toward us. I backed up, trying to get as far as possible. Not that it would help. They would keep coming until we were out of bullets. Then they would eat and a few minutes later they’d get up and go look for more food. Then I backed into something cold and stiff. I jumped and turned around ready to fire at whatever it was. It was the elevator door. I quickly pressed the button and waited as it came down.
Jeff pulled two Uzi’s out of his mail bag and started blasting round after round into the dead. I guess it’s true what they say about going postal. He kept firing and just screaming at them. I yelled for everyone to get into the elevator and they crowded in. Jeff backed up to us, but kept on firing wildly at the crowd. They were only a few feet from him when I grabbed his shirt and pulled him, just in time for the elevator doors to shut out the dead.
Looking for more Zombie Fiction?
Click Here for my list of Free and Other Zombie Books