| Empty Graves Part Seven: Whoever does not believe stands condemned "Okay lads, this is how it's gonna go today," spoke Mr Romero staunchly as he stood tall and proud behind his desk in the main office of the ground troops' organisational base, "smooth and by the numbers. I'm not having anybody getting' hurt this time round. Remember what happened to Farley last week? That crazy fool went and got himself bit, then he ended up killing several more of us. I want this done quick and I want the done right." The first squad of the ground troops, or "The A-Team" as they were classed stood in a tight semicircle around their boss, Romero. He was tall and broadly built, the light reflecting off his glasses and the smell of stale coffee booming from his bearded mouth. "Those defenses ain't gonna hold out much longer if those zombie bastards outside keep getting thicker in number. What we gotta do is get you guys out there in a couple of trucks and kill some of them sons a bitches without using up too much ammo. This means the bluntest of the blunt techniques will be employed. Any suggestions?" The men remained quiet for a moment, thinking of responses to please their false commander, he wasn't in the army and he had no military training of any sort, he was just some guy who saw his chance to play war games and took it head on. "Well if we're using them two big 4X4's, why the hell don't we just flatten 'em?" spoke John as he scratched his stubble-covered chin. "That's an idea, how about anymore?" said Romero. "Well if we're going all caveman on their asses, why don't we just get big flaming sticks and baseball bats with nails in 'em!" bellowed Ash. Romero glared at Ash for a moment, but then relaxed. "I like the cut of your jib, son. Go and find as many bats, nails and anything flammable as you can. We'll need anything we can get," as Romero finished, he pointed to the door, motioning for Ash to leave the room and go in search of as many objects of destruction he could find. "Right lads, if you ain't got anything else to do but scratch your butts, I suggest you get your asses out in the killing fields and get some zombies killed!" Romero finished the brief meeting and proceeded to sit in his oversized chair, lighting up an even bigger cigar as he relaxed. The men filtered out from the room and proceeded down the corridor and out the fire exit to gain access to the fire escape stairs. As they thundered down the stairs, their first stop was clear, the sporting goods store. The store was quiet, the windows smashed, the money taken but little else had been disturbed. The A-Team arrived in their two 4X4's which came to a screeching halt in the parking area just in front of the building. "One stop shopping, everything you need right at your fingertips!" gleamed Dario as he leapt from the bed of the one truck, his long hair flowing in the air like a tangled mess of spaghetti. "Anybody would think you were a chick the way you go on about shopping, Dario!" replied Nic as he clambered from the driver's side of the second truck. The air was quiet, the sound of the undead at the barriers only a mere whisper from the opposite edge of town. The sound of the water lapping at the docks almost totally drowned out the mindless wheezing of dead lungs. The cold air snapped at the men's faces as they all proceeded towards the battered entrance to the sporting goods store, Al staggering on behind as usual. "Sure beats the hell out of selling shoes, hey Al?" shouted Ash as he crashed his way through the door to the building. "Yeah, yeah. Take your cheap shot you slack-jawed yokel," muttered Al as he lumbered after the others who had by this time all filtered into the store and were out of earshot of the poor come back. As the smell of new leather-clad golf clubs and cheap strips of astro turf was sensed, the men all suddenly felt a little better, the prospect of not paying for anything they took a mild pleasure amidst all the chaos they had endured over the past few weeks. Ash was the first to pick up a set of golf clubs and throw them to the glass-spattered linoleum flooring. His purchase was quickly followed by a collection of at least ten baseball bats and several javelins, which all held the nearest high school's emblem on the handle. "East as pie," chuckled John as the idea of chopping off rotten heads with their weapons of mass destruction flowed over him. "Come on lads, we've still got to get to the hardware store before we're done," ordered Ash as he threw a set of football padding onto the ground. He thought they might be able to armor themselves against the undead when they went out. It was a mild hope, but at least he was trying unlike Al who stood there amidst the icons of his past youth at high school. His visage of a middle aged, balding man in the glimmering surface of a class cabinet containing several makes of leather football. "Hey Al! Get your head out of the past already! Now get next door and get some nails and shit for all this!" ordered Ash. Al slinked off outside and proceeded to throw a garbage can through the window of the next store, clambering in through his mess to collect a metal basket of nine-inch-nails, lighter fluid and a number of other items of potential destruction. As Al jumped out of the hardware store he found the others loading up the trucks with their collection of bats, clubs and many other sporting objects. He sloped up to the rabble of gung-ho, make believe marines and dumped his share of goods into the bed of the first truck that lay dormant in one of many parking spaces, the theory and practice of driving long since lost on the action men of the new world. As soon as they had all finished loading the trucks, they all clambered in and let Ash take the lead by driving off to the perimeter of the town where the weakest barrier lay in front of a violent rabble of growling flesh eaters. They squealed around the street corner a slight distance away from the main barrier and saw for themselves the state of chaos that lay before them. "Christ! There's a lot of those things out there, Ash. Can we take them?" asked Nic as the joyous sensation of mindless violence faded fast from his fa�ade. "Oh come on, Nic. Whoever does not believe stands condemned!" he wailed in glee as the sight of the drones of a new plague neared. "Get ready lads, we're gonna get us some payback!" grunted Romero as he stood in the window of his lavish office, looking down onto the main street where his A-Team screeched to a halt. |