“What was that?” Billy asked as he sat up off of the couch. He had felt something he was sure of it. More of a vibration then anything else it had resonated deep inside of him. “You don’t think there was an explosion do you?”

“Relax man.” Devon replied as he tossed another dart into the board. “Shit.” He muttered as the tip sank into the black 18. “I’m sure it was your imagination.”

“What if…” Billy began to protest when everything went to hell. The lounge began to shake, the florescent lights exploded one after another with a popping sound. “Jesus fuck!” Billy shouted as he bolted for the door Devon right behind him.

“What is it!” Devon yelled over the sudden loudness that seemed to be everywhere.

“Earthquake!” Billy shouted over his shoulder as the two of them ran down the hallway. They bounced off of the walls as they fought to keep their footing as pieces of concrete fell from the ceiling all around them.

“But we’re in fucking Illinois, they don’t have earthquakes in Illinois!” Devon protested as they ducked through an open service hatch.

“Tell them that! We’ve got to get to the lab, gotta make sure the prof is ok!” Billy was concerned for the professor but also for the things they had been working on in this top-secret underground lab. He was afraid that something was going to get free, maybe one of the superbugs they had been working on. “You with me Devon?” Billy yelled as he looked over his shoulder. He stopped cold as he watched the hallway cave in behind him. He heard his friend’s screams as the concrete, rebar and dirt fell on top of him, as he died a horrible death in this underground tomb.

Billy ran onward, as he ducked the falling concrete, worked his way around fallen support beams. He caught sight of the old playboy calendar that used to hang in Peterson’s room, torn in half and in the middle of the floor next to the blonde wig Peterson used to keep on his blowup doll. He was close; Peterson’s room was not far from the professor’s lab.

“Professor Miller!” Billy called as he reached the doorway to the lab. The lab itself was a mess; bubbles crept over the tops of beakers in a foamy mess to puddle in the middle of the counter. A noxious gas started to form above the mess that was a putrid shade of green. “Oh shit.” Billy muttered as he watched it. “This can’t be good.”

With a sudden and violent heave the earth buckled the underground base. Billy never knew what killed him as the natural gas that had escaped into the base exploded with the sudden ferocity of a volcanic eruption. The earth above the base shattered upward as the secret underground complex was uncovered, the mixture of gasses were blown up into the air to mix in the atmosphere. It was the worst earthquake reported on record. An 8.9 on the New Madrid fault line, and it was just the beginning.

**

Reardon West stood on a pile of rubble and looked at what had once been the capitol building in Springfield IL. The wind whipped at his windbreaker, the FEMA emblem emblazed in yellow for all to see. He was in charge and everyone knew it and no one argued the point. It was known that Reardon was the front man for the President on all of the Major Emergency matters; he was the President’s troubleshooter.

“Sir.” One of the workers called as he scurried over to where Reardon stood. He didn’t pay any attention to the worker at first as he squinted against the rain that had been falling steadily for the last day, ever since the quake had subsided. “Sir?” The worker called again as he stood behind the FEMA boss.

“Have we found any more survivors?” Reardon asked without turning to face the aid.

“We’re not sure sir. Bravo team reported movement in sector Tango Three but they’ve not reported back.” The words were standard lingo but there was an undertone to the phrasing that made Reardon turn and face the younger man.

“How long ago did they go out?”

“Two hours sir.” The aid replied as he looked down at his clipboard.

“Two hours and no check in? Take me to the squad leader.” Reardon demanded as he stepped down off of the rubble pile to stand next to the young worker.

“Yes sir, this way.” The aid replied as he stepped over the can of bug spray that lay on the ground in front of him. There was so much debris from the ruined city that Reardon wondered if they’d ever be able to get it all cleaned up.

**

“What the hell are you doing? Knitting tea cozies?” Reardon demanded as he stepped into the tent and out of the ceaseless rainfall. The Lieutenant jumped to his feet, the needle and thread from the sewing kit fell to the ground at his feet as he stood rigid and still.

“Sir no sir!” The Lieutenant stammered as he looked straight ahead. “I was trying to repair the hole in the tent to keep the water off of the equipment, sir!”

Reardon looked him over and couldn’t help the contempt he felt for the soldier. “Is that why you didn’t notice the team didn’t report in soldier?” Reardon barked as he walked right up to stand nose to nose with the young man.

“No sir!” The Lieutenant responded as he did his best not to make eye contact but with Reardon that close it was hard not to meet the man’s steely glare. “Johnson, our radio man, has been trying to raise them for the last hour since they didn’t check in, sir. Colonel O’Connor said to keep trying, sir, while he took a group of men in to locate them.”

Reardon blinked and took a step back. “The Colonel went in without clearing it with anyone?” Reardon asked, his voice a whisper as he attempted to control his anger.

“Yes sir,” The Lieutenant replied without moving, not daring to even glance at Reardon. “We lost radio contact with them about ten minutes ago. That’s when Miller there ran to find you.”

“It’s funny he didn’t mention this when he found me.” Reardon said as he turned his head to look at he young FEMA aid.

“He was under orders not to sir.” The Lieutenant said in the aid’s defense. “We felt that confidential information like that shouldn’t be in the open sir.”

Reardon felt the air deflate from him like a balloon as he realized his anger really had nowhere to go. “So we’ve lost two groups of search parties in Sector Tango Three?” Reardon said softly as he walked to the table with the area map spread out over the top of it. He noticed a copy of ‘sewing for dummies’ was holding down one corner of the map and he suppressed and urge to laugh.

“Yes sir Tango Three.” The Lieutenant replied as he fell in next to Reardon at the map.

“And tell me Lieutenant what is so special about Tango Three?”

**

Reardon had picked two of his best, his own elite emergency squad, to go in and investigate Tango Three. What the Lieutenant had told him had made his stomach churn. Tango Three had been the location surrounding a top-secret underground military complex. No one, not even the President, had the information on exactly what the hell went on down there. The President wasn’t happy to hear that there had been such a base that he didn’t know anything about and had sworn to Reardon that he would look into this matter and get back to him. This didn’t do much for Reardon’s mood as he slammed the clip home into his M-16 and slung it over his shoulder. He needed information now and he had nothing to work with and even worse he had nothing to brief the team with.

“So what’s the score Dub?” Preston asked with a grin as he tipped his cowboy back off of his forehead so it perched higher up on his head.

“Well the score isn’t exactly in our favor Preston.” Reardon said without looking up from his prep work. He overlooked the little barb at his last name; Preston had been with him since basic Training at Bragg so he was allowed a little latitude.

“Do we have any idea what happened to the first two teams?” Garcia asked from her perch in the corner. She was the computer specialist of the group, able to hack into any system necessary in short order. She was also a former Special Forces recon and hell on wheels with any edged weapon. The fact that she was beautiful and sometimes shared a spot in Reardon’s bed didn’t change the fact that he would take her over anyone except for maybe Preston in a pinch.

“Could be anything from bad communications to aftershocks.” Reardon replied as he dropped his Colt Python into the holster on his hip.

“That’s why we’re going in hot?” Garcia asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No we’re going in hot because there was an underground base in that area and who knows what the fuck those people were doing.” Reardon replied as he rose to his feet, his FEMA Jacket and shirt and tie replaced by black camo pants and a bulletproof vest. He slipped the ball cap over his short-cropped hair and adjusted the strap on his M-16. “Be ready for anything, got it?” He said as he looked from one to the other. Preston had adjusted his own straps and slipped the cowboy hat back down over his eyes. He only nodded his head in affirmation. From her spot in the corner Garcia grunted a laugh and unwound her lithe form from her chair.

“Men.” She muttered as she slipped the double sheath holder for her twin katana short swords over her shoulder to rest nestled against her back. “I’m ready when you are boss.” She replied to him as she tied her raven black hair back in a ponytail.

“Then let’s roll.”

**

The trek through the ruined city had to be done on foot. None of the roads were even vaguely passable by a motorized vehicle. The three of them stood at the intersection of State and Lane and looked at what was left of the downtown business district.

“Jesus Christ.” Preston swore softly as he crossed himself. The destruction was awe-inspiring. Not a single building stood erect, rubble was everywhere as were the bodies and pieces of bodies. All of them were victims of the earthquake, a sacrifice to mother nature.

“Come on Pres, you’ve seen dead bodies before.” Garcia said with a smirk and an elbow to his gut.

“Yea but I’ve never seen anything so total, nobody survived this, you can just tell.” His eyes wandered the rubble that was strewn everywhere; a saltshaker lay on its side not far from where he stood. He saw a copy of playboy, drenched in water and a darker, more sinister looking fluid to his left. Preston watched his old friend closely, read the expression on his face and understood. They had been through a lot together, hurricanes, tsunamis, tornadoes and earthquakes. Yet there had always been a sign of survivors, a hint of life even in the worst disaster. Yet here there was nothing, no animals, no people, even the plants looked withered and dead, even in all the rain.

“Come on.” Reardon said as he touched Preston on the shoulder. He felt the man stiffen at his touch and took a step back. He was tense, as stiff as a bored. He wasn’t just sad about the needless death; something out there had him spooked. Reardon knew him well enough to know that Preston wouldn’t talk about it, wouldn’t even acknowledge his fear to himself let alone the others. Without another word being spoken Preston set out to work his way down the littered street. Reardon fell in behind him with Garcia bringing up the rear.

**

They had just passed the fallen statue that had been in front of what was left of the First Union Bank when the weather went from bad, to worse. The rain had been steady, falling non-stop for the last day and a half and they had almost gotten used to being soaked as they moved through the rubble. When the first bits of marble sized hail fell Reardon didn’t seem to notice, something else had caught his eye, something that looked like movement coming from one of the small paths accessible through the rubble.

“Reardon!” Preston called softly, his voice barely above a whisper but it carried enough to break Reardon’s concentration as the hail began to fall in earnest.

“What the fuck?” Reardon said in shock as the hail began to pelt his ball cap and Kevlar vest. “We gotta get out of this shit!” He called as he looked around for a place of shelter. “There, the bank!” He said as he pointed towards the open maw where the front of the bank had once stood.

They made their way through the rubble of concrete and marble, through the open frames where there once had been glass and into the bank itself as the hail fell like a solid wall to the ground outside. It exploded all around them, drowning out almost any sound as they slowly backed deeper into the bank.

“Jesus!” Preston shouted over the din, “A hailstorm in the middle of July, who would have thunk it!”

Reardon didn’t reply because movement caught from the corner of his eye distracted him again. He signaled Garcia to flank left and Preston flanked right without having to be told. Slowly they moved through the waist high swinging gates and back behind the teller’s station.

“What’s back there?” Garcia whispered softly as the three of them converged in front of the doorway that Reardon thought the movement had come.

“Bank vault.” Reardon replied softly as he brought his M-16 up to his shoulder. He flicked on the flashlight attached to the bottom of the barrel and found he was staring into the eyes of a monster. The thing, which had once been female, hissed and shambled forward, its dead eyes glared at Reardon.

He pulled the trigger on instinct and the woman stumbled backwards, the powder burns darkening her white dress shirt, a small amount of blood trickled from the chest wounds as she stumbled back into the vault room. Reardon watched with a mixture of amazement and horror as the woman bounced off of one of the walls as she regained her footing. The dead woman stumbled forward once more; her arms extended forward as she shuffled stepped towards Reardon.

“Holy shit.” Preston whispered as Reardon pulled the trigger again. The bullets ripped upwards in a controlled burst as the .7mm explosive tipped rounds ripped up her body from her crotch to her neck as she danced back and forth like a puppet on a string. The final bullet took her between the eyes, the back of her brain exploding onto the dull white paint of the wall behind her and she collapsed to the vault room floor without a twitch.

“Is, is she dead?” Garcia whispered as she stepped into the room behind Reardon, her Glock 9mm in one hand and a katana in the other.

“I think she was dead before.” Reardon replied as he nudged the woman with the toe of his boot.

“So what’s that make her now?” Preston asked as he looked down at the broken and bloodied corpse “Deader?” Reardon didn’t reply as he studied the body, the light of his flashlight played along her arm and it was there he saw a curious thing.

“Someone bit her.” He said with a frown as the light played along the wound.

“What?” Garcia replied, as she looked closer at the wound. “Jesus it looks like someone took a chunk out of her arm.” She gasped in amazement.

“What was that?” Preston growled as he brought his own rifle to his shoulder. Something had made a soft scraping sound from within the vault itself.

“Storm’s let up.” Reardon said by way of reply as his own beam came up to join with Preston’s. “We should move out.” Reardon finished as he took a step back from the vault as the others followed suit. Something moved inside of the vault, several somethings from the looks of it and Reardon didn’t like it, not one bit. “Let’s move.”

**

They backtracked out of the bank to the main entrance but were forced to stop as soon as the doorway came into site. They stood there, at least a hundred of them, silent as the grave at the bank doors. They were all dead, every last one of them, some were missing limbs, others wore bloodstained clothing, yet they all stood there, waiting for them to come out.

“Jesus.” Reardon muttered as it all became clear. The underground lab, the constant rain, the dead walking whatever they had been working on had been world ending and it had escaped.

Slowly they began to move forward, their feet crunching the hailstones underfoot as they moved into the bank proper. It was the little details that caught Reardon’s eye, the rusted chain around one punk guy’s neck, the tarot deck, held out as in supplication, by a girl with only one eye as she shuffled into the bank’s lobby.

“Well at least now we know what happened to the others.” Preston said as he pointed with his rifle at one of the zombies in military fatigues before he pulled the trigger and blew the dead thing’s brains through the back of it’s skull.

“Yeah.” Reardon replied as he brought his own rifle up and let go a burst. There were so many of them, so close together that he was pretty well guaranteed a strike just by pulling the trigger. “This is bad.” Reardon spoke up so that he could be heard above the gunfire.

“How bad?” Garcia asked as she fired her Glock into the throng of walking dead.

“End of the world bad. This will spread like a virus and pretty soon there will be more dead then living. We fucked up and now the human race is going to pay.”

The cordite hung heavy in the air as they expended round after round. They backed up, back towards the vault room as the zombies continued their shuffle step forward. Reardon threw down his rifle as it slid empty on the last clip and pulled his Glock and began to fire once more. They were close now, almost within reaching distance; Reardon knew they didn’t have long.

“I’m sorry.” He said to his two friends as the throng dove forward. He watched in horror as Garcia succumbed to the vast numbers, as they fell on top of her and began to tear her apart.

“Garcia!” Preston yelled as he turned his rifle on the monsters as her screams pierced the air. He shot her in the head as his own slide jacked open the magazine run dry. It all happened in a split second and Reardon followed it up with a 9mm shot of his own to the back of Preston’s head. The man never knew what hit him as he fell to the floor, dead in an instant.

“This is it you bastards.” Reardon growled as he brought the pistol around to bear on the remaining zombies that hadn’t stopped to feed. He fired over and over making sure to count carefully so that there would still be one remaining in the chamber.

The hand fell on his shoulder and pulled him backwards and off balance with such force that he fired the final shot into the ceiling. He had forgotten about the thing that had been in the vault in all of the chaos that had ensued. The thing bit down into his shoulder it’s teeth sank into his shoulder and he screamed in pain as the feeling of white hot daggers tore through his shoulder. He tried to struggle, tried to free himself from its grip but the others had come within reach.

He felt them as the groped their way up his legs, felt their fingers as they dug into the flesh of his belly. Reardon screamed long and loud as the zombies tore him apart. He screamed until he had no voice left, until his body was nothing but blood and raw meat. Reardon lay there on the floor of the bank and as the last bit of life escaped from his body he couldn’t help but think that they had it coming, the human race, that it was time to pay the piper.