After escorting Jodi, Pierce, and the others out of the area, Fanmer set up shop at the National Guard Headquarters’ building in Mount Mitchell State Park. He waved good-bye as they rode away in military Jeeps. A pity they couldn’t wave back, hands tied behind your back don’t allow such movements. It would be hours before President Reilly made it to the area. That would give him enough time to rest before going to the base of the mountain to await his illustrious hero. He turned up his nose at the thought. Thinking about the man produced a nasty taste of bile in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard and thought of pleasant things: his money.
Fanmer stood with a well-earned grin and watched a series of small explosions take place on the mountain. He impatiently twirled his beverage to kill time as the final explosions were put in place and all was made ready for Reilly’s arrival.
President Reilly sat on board his helicopter as it made its way to the area. He relished his plan. Soon, the evidence Fanmer and others placed would be made known and prove once and for all the BLP was responsible for Connors’ assassination. That alone was enough to bring a twisted smile to his spacious face. As he thought of retrieving Connors’ body, his thin lips curled more. The plan was brilliant, the classic killing two birds with one stone. His mother would be proud.
The helicopter bearing the Presidential Seal descended to the area. Reilly was anxious and moved before the customary waiting-until-the-blades-ceased-spinning period. He stepped out to a multitude of flashbulbs and a barrage of questions. His pudgy hands went high to calm the pathetic litany as he approached a small platform nearby.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, distinguished colleagues, and members of media. Today, we retrieve the body of our beloved fallen hero, President Connors. If I may direct your attention to the mountain above, we shall precipitate these proceedings. Without further ado, Fanmer, if you will?”
Fanmer nodded, then spoke into a radio. He and the others lifted their gaze toward the mountain. They waited with anticipation as alarms sounded. After mild radio chatter, the mountain exploded with a thunderous bang. Smoke and dust filled the air. More than that, a thin layer of a greenish dust or perhaps a smoke cloud, descended from the mountain. The shape of the charges sent the cloud descending to the ground in all directions. One part went deep into the earth. Another grew denser as it rolled. Yet, another, spread in a rushed manner.
As if lava flowing from a volcano, the cloud descended, covering all in its wake. Part of it passed through a group of sightseers, all clutched their throats. They fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Seconds later, they succumbed to Death’s waiting arms. Another group, soldiers patrolling the side of the mountain, was engulfed by the green ominous cloud. Only shrieks could be heard emerging from the dense cloud. When it passed, all sound ended from within. Bodies curled in agony lay about in various poses. All wore a torturous look on their sunken faces.
Each body was covered in a thin film of green dust. In a matter of seconds, the face and fingers turned skeletal in look, clinging to what bone that remained. Most were hairless. Once-small teeth were now elongated and pointy. All displayed reddened eyes. They looked like the works of a great painter who captured the perfect scene of a scream caught for all eternity, etched into the remains of a once-vibrant, human being.
This fog, cloud, or Bringer of Death, was now thinning, moving faster. Like an ocean breeze rolling over the land and swaying through tree branches, it rolled. Everything it touched took on a greenish tinge.
Another group of soldiers, standing in shock, gaping at what happened to their counterparts, were marred with the same greenish tinge as a look of utter shock was etched into their thinning frames. Not a single man moved. All became those plastic, green, toy soldiers on a make-believe battlefield, clutching their weapons.
The cloud moved through them with little resistance and rolled down the hillside to the news crews and press affiliates waiting for a sweet embrace. The cloud failed none, not even those able to shake free of their horror and run. Too late. One cameraman ran for his life, screaming as he went. With a clear green field ahead of him, he ran for dear life. If only, he could make it to the waiting trees. Too late. As he ran, he felt a cold hand wrap around the back of his feet. He moved faster to break the grip. Another cold hand caressed his back. Harder he pushed. A cold hand curled around the tip of his tossing ponytail. He shook his head and pushed harder. In an instant, tired of his resistance, cold hands pushed up his leg, back, and went through the base of his neck. The man stumbled and fell as he went down an incline. He rolled to a stop. As he did, a hand stretched out toward the waiting trees and safety. In an instant, coldness swept over him and his vision dimmed to nothingness. The last picture his eyes would register would be his dear trees, attempting to run from the green horror. Not even they were spared.
The President’s party was filled with shock. They had no way of knowing what had occurred on the far side of the mountain, but to see a thick green cloud approaching sent fear into their hearts. Most screamed and ran, some stayed to record the events. The President was ushered away by a team of Secret Service personnel to the Presidential chopper. Several members of his staff managed to get aboard before the blades began their noisy rotation.
Reilly looked at his Secretary of Labor, Jack Duncan, then to his wife, Kimberly. “Are you all right, Kim?”
“Yes, sir,” said Kim. She was rubbing her bruised ankle and was graced with the distinction of being Katherine Connors older sister. “Next time I have to run, I’m going to make sure I take off my high heels first.” She laughed, trying to lighten the mood.
The chopper lifted off and cleared the area. Reilly looked out the window to see people moving about below. One of which was a man he loathed. He sneered as he gazed on him.
Fanmer and those left behind began taking the matter seriously. They ran in all directions to escape the cloud. Many received a blessing of a lifetime as the cloud dispersed. The center of it could be seen descending into the earth. Another portion seemed to fade out of existence, while another increased its speed and density. This portion of the green cloud hit some and they instantly fell.
A news reporter held a mixture of shock, appreciation, and joy on his face. “Marty! Are we getting this, Marty?”
“Yeah, man, I’m rolling,” said the cameraman. He panned his camera around. Both were clear of the cloud.
They saw their rivals thrashing in pain. A group of four was on the ground. Two of them died instantly, a third shook violently while the fourth seemed to have frozen in place. This fourth had a layer of green dust surrounding him. Seconds later, red eyes flashed open and he howled. He dropped to the ground and began devouring the third that shook in the grips of pain.
“Oh, Jesus!” the reporter exclaimed. “Go live, Marty! Now! Now! Now!”
“We’re live,” said Marty, his fingers shaking around the camera’s handle.
The reporter held a microphone with the number four and call letters emblazoned on it. He stood with a quivering smile, waiting for the red light to come on. “This is Robert Shaw reporting to you live from the base of Mount Mitchell, North Carolina.” He spoke quickly. “Moments ago, this mountain was rocked with explosions. A green cloud of dust descended and all that it touched have died. What this cloud is, poison gas, dust, Hell’s breath, I don’t know. But what I do know is that people have died and not only died, but instantly have come back to life and have begun devouring the living. You heard me right, devouring the living! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, fantasy has turned into reality and this reporter is the first to bring the news to all of America, in fact the world. Zombies! Ladies and gentlemen, ZOMBIES!” he finally stopped to take a breath, pointing feverishly at the corpses.
Marty followed his lead and panned his camera to show the horror.
“Back here! On me!” Shaw would not be denied his glory. “Folks, my cameraman and I are eyewitness to a zombie attack. Moments ago, we witnessed a man turning into a zombie and viciously tearing into
the flesh of his comrade. My assistant will upload the video to give you our eyewitness account. Standby for our upload.” He gave Marty the cut signal.
Marty was no slouch, he was in the midst of uploading the video as Shaw ran to him. “Almost.”
“How much longer?” Shaw spoke in gasps, finding it hard to catch his breath. His mind raced with images of awards he would receive.
“Oh shit!”
“What?” asked Shaw.
“Run!” Marty dropped the camera and ran.
Shaw turned. He was met with searing pain. He had a brief moment to see red eyes moving toward him before his vision permanently dimmed. Robert Shaw became a meal for two freshly-turned creatures. None of him would remain. He would not join their ranks as a flesh-eating zombie.
A group of media circled on the other side of the mountain, preparing for glory. This was the story of the century: an exploding mountain, a President’s retrieval, a terrorist cell, and a slew of dead bodies. They would get the scoop, arriving ahead of military grunts who would deny them their Pulitzer Prize. With great anticipation, they sat on board their chopper, feverishly glancing below at the carnage. A reporter tapped his colleague to make sure he zoomed in and captured every image for posterity. Later, he would run through the images and pick the award-winning cover, personally.
After their photography session, the chopper set down near a group of stricken soldiers. Collin, the lead reporter, contemplated taking pictures next to the gruesome bodies. As he exited the chopper, he had no way of knowing what horror awaited him. No one had been privy to the dense green cloud as it descended from the other side of the mountain. This cloud, denser than the other, descended into the earth with ease, its bulk, firmly beneath the soil. This cloud had come upon a shallow, freshly dug grave. In fact, a car had sped off seconds ago, its occupant, a homicidal killer.
As the cloud moved through the soil, it contacted a body, then moved on to search for more in a nearby cemetery. Where it had traveled moments ago became disturbed ground. The soil moved as a finger peeked through to the sunlight. First one skeletal-like finger, then another, and another. Then, a heap of dirt moved as a head appeared. It shook dirt from its head, then howled.
While alive, it had been known as Janey, a nineteen-year-old college student from the University of North Carolina. Janey had made the mistake of excessive celebration of her newfound freedom. Parents that restrict their child’s freedom often must wait out a child’s rebellion as they taste the world before them. Her parents would never get that opportunity. Janey had met a potential husband and father to her future children. Of course, it was late at night and she was viewing him through beer goggles, still, he was a dreamboat. She thought nothing of stumbling into his van for frantic sex on a soiled mattress. Those are the breaks. Janey never saw the blow that knocked her to the mattress, and was too intoxicated to know how well her body responded to a madman’s touch. And worst of all, she never fully regained consciousness while being buried alive.
Zombie Janey shook her head again. Her eyes were red, skin tinged green and clinging to bone. After a second howl, she leaped from the ground to stand before her grave. She sniffed the air in three directions. Satisfied with the third, she howled and ran. A meal was waiting.