Life After Death (Final Chapter)

M saw the saw blade that missed his head by inches bury itself in the concrete floor behind him, he ignored it. His keen eyes scanned the people that were currently running around in a panic, looking for Chelsea. A cold feeling crept up his spine when he didn't find her there, amongst the others, the cold feeling turned into a full body shiver when he finally found her: At the wall, next to her usual roost. She peeked over and shot, pulling and closing the bolt on her rifle with expert speed. M knew every shot was a kill, she was a good sniper, but she needed to get away from the wall. He screamed at her, trying to tell her to get down, but the fervor and noise of the people running and shouting drowned him out. 

He waved at her, trying to get her attention, while trying to keep his balance as others pushed by him, either trying to find their way to the fight or run from it. She began to peer over the wall while reloading, he screamed louder. She withdrew from her peek over the wall, her rifle full of bullets and ready to fire again. She finally looked at him, she drew a breath and looked like she was going to shout something. A spear, the thickness of an arm, tore through the sheet metal wall, the strut holding it, and Chelsea's chest. M's world went silent, the people around him disappeared. The people in Hadley's Hope were scurrying around like ants in a panic, but he was focused on her, and he got to her. 

Her eyes were wide, nearly bloodshot, her lips stained red, her teeth coated with blood. M was trying his hardest not to cry, not to panic, “You're okay, Chel, you're okay...” he tried so hard not to let his voice tremble, but it did. He examined the sharpened metal spear that had her pinned, looking for a way to try and save her, there was none. She looked at him, her face strained, she tried to speak, but could only get out a grunt and some wet gurgles. Tears filled M's eyes, turning the world into a melting painting as he tried to fight the hysteria that was building inside him. “Don't speak, Chel, I can fix this, I can fix this, I can fix...” She finally did speak, “Don't...let this....change...you...I love...” She went slack, her arms hung lifelessly, her vibrant eyes closed. 

M cried out, the only word he knew at the moment was 'Please', and he repeated it, over and over. It was like a bad dream, it was like finding his brothers and mother, again. He reached out for her, but her body was pulled through the sheet metal, to the world beyond the walls of Hadley's Hope. He screamed as she was jerked away, his hands finding his weapon and shouldering it. The world was covered in a red fog, no faces, no identifying marks, just bodies for his bullets. No words were said as he fired his silenced rifle through the hole that was just created, screaming at the top of his lungs until his throat was dry and raw.

Chests exploded into red, heads turned into flying chunks of grey, if one bullet didn't do the job another quickly followed. It seemed like a never ending sea of bodies, every one that fell was quickly replaced, and it wasn't until he had to reload that the attackers spotted him. Shortly after, flying blades and objects aimed to maim were flung at high speeds towards M and his perch, some flying by, some burying themselves in the thin metal next to him. His rain of fire and lead had ended and he leaped from the perch to the floor below just as two metal hooks were slung over the edge of the doors to the community.

Engines and savage voices joined together in a song of shouts and roars, the doors groaned while trying to hold on, M ran for the back of the community, unable to do anything but watch as the women and children were shoved into the awaiting cars and trucks that were setup for an escape, should this kind of thing happen. A thick red line of paint ran across the entire settlement, it was their marker, their last line of defense, but for some it was the point of no return. M joined the other men at the line, armed to the teeth, ready to defend their settlement when the gates went down. Adrenaline, liquid rage, pumped through every vein and muscle in M's body as he stared at the metal structure that would give way any second. While they waited for the inevitable others were still running around, trying to decide what to leave behind and what to take. 

Spears, sharpened saw blades, butcher cleavers, and all sorts of sharp pieces of metal were launched over the wall, aiming to harm and disarm the ones inside. They all fell short of the red line, some skipping along the pavement and spitting sparks. Somewhere to his right there were orders being barked, giving direction to the men, instructing them on what should be used first. It was all just buzzing in M's ears, he couldn't hear them, he was focused on the incoming threat. The gates gave their final metallic scream and gave, falling outward and landing with a huge thud, kicking up snow and dust alike. For a moment the world was still and silent, the view from inside the community was obscured by the plume. The young man with tears in his eyes searched for the first sign of life; to end it.

Chaos had come. The plume lit up with truck lights, what looked like dozens of them, screams, muzzle flashes from guns, and various objects thrown. All at once they came pouring into Hadley's Hope, men and women, dressed for the winter, but savage at the same time: mohawks, warpaint made of dried blood, animal hides, various bones that were easily identifiable as human. Some brandished axes, others machetes, some bats with various blades attached. The people that were still scrambling and trying to get to the evacuation point were lost. The savages descended like rabid dogs, tackling the ones still fleeing. Few were lucky, having their heads bashed in or their throats cut, others weren't. They were still screaming as the raiders began to eat them. Some cried out for help, others just screamed as they tried to fight off their would-be devourers, it was all in vain. 

M opened fire with his rifle so did several others, bottles with trails of fire flew over his head, landing and lighting several attackers on fire at a time. M finished off the few on the ground that were still alive and bleeding, waiting for a death that would've been slow coming, otherwise. More people were coming out of the settlement, some were able to dodge the gruesome savage, others were carried away, past the gates, into the outside world, still screaming and pleading. That wasn't the only form of attack, M and the line of the other men were still firing, as blades and other weapons flew at them. Some of them connected, some didn't, grunts and screams of pain from both sides of the fight filled M's ears as he kept firing, he was indifferent to them. 

The first truck grill push through the wide gates, it was adorned with lights, the same war paint, and lastly, the bones of people. Some of the decorations still had flesh attached, grizzly trophies of the past settlements conquered. Several of the other men stopped at the sight, M aimed his scope at the driver and pulled the trigger several times. The windshield turned white with the holes, then the glass was splattered with red when a bullet found the driver. That truck was pushed further in as another emerged from behind it, decorated just the same, the windshield was armored and hidden under bleached bones, except for a small slit in the makeshift protection. It was enough for M and his skills and soon the driver met the same fate as the first, the spray of blood just as violent as the last.

More of the raiders ran around the trucks, some underneath, all trying to get inside Hadley's Hope, screaming their battle cry of 'Fresh meat!' The savages were nothing but moving targets to M's angry rifle, fueled on by his untethered rage that was directed at no one, he dropped his empty magazine, replaced it and hit the bolt catch. He was concentrating so hard on taking down the incoming horde he didn't feel the three nails, launched from someplace beyond the two crippled trucks, bury themselves in his left shoulder. The marauders were easy prey for him, the ones running, the ones trying to climb the tires of the trucks, trying to gain control of them, the ones still eating citizens of the settlement, they were all prey. His mag ran empty, again, but there was no more to replace it.

The furious young man unstrapped his rifle and laid it on the ground, then ripped out the nails in his shoulder. For the first time this entire fight he felt the weight of all the blades he carried, he took stock, counted each one, planned something gruesome with every inch of steel he had. He stood and dropped his outer coat, revealing his cache of weapons to enemies and allies, alike, he delved deeper into rage as he pulled the first two blades, rushing headlong into the oncoming crowd. Somewhere behind him there were shouts, probably cautionary, but he didn't care, he wanted to use what he had in his hands. He wanted to cut through them. The other denizens, still fighting for their lives, tried to shoot around the charging young man, sometimes missing him only by inches.

His rage had given way to instincts and training, he moved almost silently, the occasional clacking of one of his knife sheaths was all that gave him away, but he doubted they were trained to listen for that. The first three he met died with a look of shock on their faces, two cleaved nearly in two, more came, M welcomed them. He never missed, never made a mistake, never paused. The raider's sloppy and wild swings left them open to be butchered, cut open, sometimes to the bone. They were fodder, he was the cannon, and he destroyed them all, just the same. When he lost a blade he simply produced another, if he threw one, he'd recover it. He moved through the small horde like an arrow fired through rain drops, unstoppable.

With only a few weapons left M had finally come upon the final truck, where he could smell the bodies of the victims trying to rot, but the cold wouldn't let them. He saw bodies laid out by the back tire, some of them dead, some unconscious, and Chelsea, herself. He had sustained a few hits during the fight and they became more and more apparent as his rage subsided, but it was all turning numb as he walked to her, wanting nothing more, than for this to be a bad dream. The baseball bat that collided with the side of his head shattered, knocking M into the snowbank next to the truck. He recovered quickly, rolling and facing the threat. The man was huge, at least a foot taller than M, muscles thickening his limbs, a shaved head, colored with what looked like dry blood. The man tossed the stump of the bat aside and roared at M, his teeth had been ground down into points, like a shark.

M could feel the blood start to trickle from the impact wound on the side of his head as he stood and faced the raider, “I got something special for you, big boy!” M drew one of the last of his blades, a tomahawk, but with a modern make-over: a longer handle, a broader head, the blade forged in sharp angles. The man produced a machete of his own, rusted, and chipped. M stood, challenging the savage, who responded by opening his arms in a threatening gesture, baring his naked chest at the smaller man. It was the opportunity M needed. As fast as he could, as hard as he could, M threw his tomahawk and buried the angled edge in the sternum of the savage. The shock of the attack brought the giant to his knees as he struggled to try and pull out the blade, but it was stuck fast.

The young man walked around the marauder, picking up the dropped machete, and stood behind the man. “This is for Chelsea.” He uttered before he focused all his energy, all his frustration, all his rage, on this man. He finally had a target to direct himself at and he planned to take it all out on the giant savage, the machete broke only a few heavy chops later. M walked back into Hadley's Hope with Chelsea in his arms, he was covered in gore, sweat, blood, and was obviously exhausted from what he'd done and the head of the giant raider was stuck on his axe. The few people left standing, more than M had expected, let up a cheer. He remained silent as his tomahawk thumped on the floor, the head a prize to put atop the gates. He made his way through the bodies of friend and foe, knowing how much they'd all lost, yet he could only think of Chelsea and her kindness.

It took hours to clean up everything, the marauder's bodies were piled atop each other and burned, family members of the fallen gathered themselves to mourn. People in charge loudly argued about how to improve the strength of Hadley's Hope. It took all this time for M to bury Chelsea in the frozen ground, so many offered to help him, but he declined every time. The remaining doctors patched him up, cleaned his wounds, and even asked if he wanted to help them even further. He appreciated their offer, their genuine care, but there was nothing left for him in this place. He packed his things, and Chelsea's rifle, and walked out of Hadley's Hope at dawn the next day. He swore to himself that it was the last time he would be around other humans. The road greeted him with a blast of cold air and a flurry of snow that danced past him. His journey began again.

Life After Death (Original Series)

It was a slow night for Jerry, not another living soul outside the wall. He counted the times he'd heard a ghoul, counted the times they stumbled over something like a branch, and the times they'd see him and try to moan to others their find of fresh meat. It never lasted long. The rifle he'd borrowed from that new kid, M, was amazing. He wondered to himself how he'd gotten it, but remembered that in this world there weren't too many rules. It was funny, in a way, how that kid showed up out of nowhere, swept in with all sorts of training tactics, and managed to get Chelsea to leave her post every now and again.

Maybe it was his older age talking, but it seemed a little off how quickly the relationship between those two took off. He decided not to read into the whole thing too much. After all, he liked being on the wall. It let him think, even if he was bored as the day was long. Jerry adjusted his heavy jacket and gloves, re-positioning his beanie on his head so the small bill would help clear away some of the falling snow, it would get stuck in his beard and hair sometimes, and that annoyed him. The thermos was still hot, a wisp of steam curling up from it every now and again, and the liquid chocolate was begging to be sipped at. So the man with the fancy rifle complied with it's wishes.

The grey day soon began to fade to a bruised twilight, the sky was always beautiful during the winter days. Jerry smiled a small, sad, smile as he remembered the world before. He could still hear the noise of the cities, the constant buzz of people, the roars of engines and planes. In some odd way he missed it. Now it was so quiet, even with the generators on full throttle, and the people of Hadley's Hope at their most active, it seemed like whispers compared to the world before. He stopped thinking there, not wanting to follow the natural progression of the timeline, from his busy world to the day of the Great Panic. He didn't want to remember that day, at all.

It was easy to divert his attention to the nest of robins not too far outside the wall, the small birds were always entertaining. He picked up his scope and looked down it, spotting the little nest of twigs, resting on the branch he'd memorized. The nest was empty. Jerry let the scope fall away from his eye and concentrated, listening for any bird, at all. There were none, not a chirp, a peep, or a cry from the heavens above. It seemed even the ghouls were distracted, as even the moaning and shuffling had gone away. A cold sense of dread crawled into him, deep into his very bones. He stood up and looked down the scope, down the road that lead to his new home.

What he saw took his breath away, so much so he almost couldn't find the silent alarm to hit it. Four giant trucks were barreling down the road towards them, the men and women inside whooping and hollering. The trucks were painted red and black with fresh and old blood, bones of humans gave the things a hellish look. Half a human skeleton hung from the grill of the first truck, skin still attached here and there, the mouth agape like it was screaming. Though Jerry couldn't hear them he could read their lips clearly as they kept yelling 'Fresh meat!' Memories pushed their way through the block that was put up and now the Great Panic flooded through the man on the wall's mind.

He almost didn't hear the voices behind him shouting for an explanation, couldn't hear his own hyperventilating at the things he'd just seen, and remembered. It was Chelsea's voice that finally broke the stillness of terror, "Jerry! What is it?!?" All he could manage to do was turn to the small, blonde girl with the pretty eyes and say the only word that made sense and made everyone below him run with urgency to the armory, to their positions, to pray: "War."

Life After Death (Original Series)

The blue SUV that had sped by had woken up more than a few of the dead, leading them on a slow, but determined chase. Ryan watched them all, shuffling, rotting, half-frozen, as they all marched after a thing they couldn't hope to catch. He couldn't catch it, either, but he did have an idea where they were going. The least he could do was take a trip out of his way to warn the little community about their impending visitors, and possible doom. The harbinger of doom thing was not how he liked to be, but he figured the more people in this world, the better. Hidden in the woods, just off the road he began his trek, working his long legs through the slushy snow and mud. Though his frame was thin, he did have an exceptional coat, thanks to that sporting goods store in the town over, and some very nice boots and galoshes. What he didn't have was food. He was afraid that his stomach might actually tip off the dead.

Ryan'd been traveling for days, trying to find a place to hide out or sleep in, but nothing was available. Each place was soaked with dead or had some very inhospitable people living there. Almost every time he'd encountered them, either the living or the dead, he'd chosen the non-violent route. He was taller, thinner, faster, than most individuals still living, so it was to his advantage. He paused for a moment, letting the ghost of a memory scream across his thoughts. Ryan shook his head, his long hair swaying back and forth in front of his light brown eyes, some strands sticking in his ever growing beard. 'No. That wasn't his fault. He didn't do it on purpose. Circumstances are what they are, and they.....' A gust of ice wind carrying crystals that stung his face broke the thoughts. It was an easy decision to keep walking for a while in complete silence, physically, and mentally.

The rhythmic crunch, crunch, crunch, of boots on snow was comforting to Ryan, the moans of the dead interrupting the steady sounds every now and again. Although they were easy to ignore, each new one gave the snow trekking man chills, especially the children. Again his mind tried to go to a darker place, but he fought against it, changing his course deeper into the woods, but keeping the direction the same. This was more dangerous, but the moans were a lot quieter, and allowed him to think without having to think about what happened. The moaning picked up for a second, one moan, more specifically, rose above the rest. It was a single dead, shambling through the woods, turned towards the settlement before Ryan's crunching caught his attention. He seemed to be freshly turned, a young black man with a bow across his chest, and one hand. The dead bared his teeth and moaned, turning fully towards Ryan, reaching out with a hand and a stump.

He had to be quick, those moans attract other dead. The long-neck hammer came free of it's leather harness on his hip, ready for the kill. Crunch, crunch, crunch, his steps went as he closed the gap between him and the dead. Ryan's long arm arched from above his head, coming down on the dead's skull. The sound was dull, but it reminded Ryan of when he used to bite into an apple, wet with a snap. The dead went down with no further incident, and the victor began to collect his winnings. Out of all the weapons and useful things he got Ryan was the most excited for the food. So excited he climbed a nearby tree and slowly ate a half frozen can of peaches. He didn't believe he'd ever eaten something so delicious in his entire life. After making sure the entire can was empty he picked up his trek again.

Dusk loomed on the horizon like a threatening shadow, ready to swoop down and take away the light, and leave the world in darkness and turmoil. Ryan's weary legs had lead him back to his original course, closer to the road, his stomach finally stopped grumbling and groaning from hunger. Soon he'd have to stop and find a tree to sleep in, but he'd continue just a little longer. Ryan used to love the night, used to love the sunset, especially when it turned red, the same dark red as her hair. Those thoughts of what he'd done finally caught up with him, finally found him weak enough. All at once, though, the dead stopped their march. Collectively they turned around, facing the opposite way of the settlement. Ryan's blood ran cold.

The roar of three engines began as a soft purr in the distance, but grew to ear splitting levels as they approached closer. Whooping, yelling, heavy metal music, all made the air thick and violent. Ryan hid behind a nearby tree as the three monster trucks with giant tires began to clear through all the dead on the road, the ones that weren't caught under the tires were bashed with long lead pipes. The man hiding behind the tree was still, eyes wide and staring, and utterly terrified. The one man driving the lead truck leaned out the window and pointed towards that settlement a day out and shouted "Fresh meat, boys!" Again the engines roared and they rolled forward.

Ryan couldn't control his legs, his thoughts, his panic, he started running. The rumors of marauders were true. Cannibals seeking easy prey. As he raced to try and save them her image came back, the last one he had of her when she was still alive. His sweet Bea, his only daughter, bitten, but never turned. He made sure she never wandered the earth like that. He saw her matted hair, even redder with blood soaking through it, her pale skin, her lifeless eyes, her smile that she wore all the way until he buried her along side her mother, her sister, and her brother. Ryan wasn't a religious man, but he prayed, now. "Please, God, please let me save them! Let me save one! Just one, please!" His breath, in the forms of clouds, carried his pleas upward and onward.