Trevor Arcand
May 26, 2010
Period 1
Short Story
Bang, Bang, Bang

	“Am I clear?”
	“You've got twenty minutes, Newbie.”
	“I just want to see what's left.”
	“You're lucky the chief is letting you do this.”
	“Am I clear?”
	“Yes, hurry up already!”
	He closed his eyes and took a long drawn breath; this was it.
	 One...Two...Three!
	He jumped to his feet, spun around, and kicked the door in, a loud crack sounding as he reflexively pushed in past the dust and wood chips, aiming his gun dead ahead, finger shaking on the trigger. He opened his eyes to almost complete darkness, save the soft blue glow from his helmet. His hair stood on end. The few moments that had passed dragged on, all in anticipation for his eyes to adjust, to see what was waiting on the inside.
	Slowly he crept in, each step sounding very booming in the absolute silence. He squeezed his palm around the metal grip of the gun, his finger anxious to pull. He was in a mechanical looping motion as he stepped into the house, one foot in front of the other, the only thing looking alive being his eyes as they twitched around the room, examining every little nook. 
	He had been through this a few times, but not enough, or so he thought. Never once had he let  his guard down. Too many died that way; getting too comfortable with it all. He'd seen it many times in his short period with the squad.  He wouldn't be like them.
	He jumped and turned quickly as he heard a storm of pots and pans crashing in the other room. He stumbled back against the side of a moldy sofa, eyes locked down the sights of his pistol. He waited. There was nothing but the sound of his breathing and his heart pounding slowly...ready. Suddenly there was a flick of shadow against the moonlit wall, he braced himself. Moments later a figure shrieked and sprinted at him, teeth bared. He aimed.
	Bang!
	Bang!
	He heard the shots ring in his ears. The golden shells fell and bounced at his feet, glinting reflections of the soft midnight light in the dusty air. The figure collapsed just feet in front of him. Before thinking twice he walked up beside it and put the gun right against its skull.
 	Bang!
	At first doing that sort of thing hurt him. Not now. He had gotten used to killing them. They were human, yes, but something changed them. They weren't healthy. They needed to die. He reasoned with himself this way. This infection, whatever caused it, made them change. Once it got inside you you were through. It made you crazy, ravenous, feral. The only thing left about being a human were the physical features and even those changed over time. Still, he tried not to think about it.
	He lifted his hand to his head and pushed a button on the side of his helmet, “We have one hostile down. Check the perimeter for any more. The area is potentially hostile.” 
	A moment's silence and then a soft buzz and a static voice spoke, “Roger that. Keep yourself safe Eli.”
	He was about to head upstairs until something caught his eye. He stepped over the fallen figure and reached to a dusty desk. Scattered glass shards covered it, but something else, something important was there. He picked it up and it was instantly all too familiar. It was a small locket his mother used to wear. This brought down the curtain of profession, he was weak, he felt his heart sink as he saw specks of blood on it. He gently closed his soon trembling fingers around the pretty little thing. He closed his eyes and breathed. He could feel the pain swelling up, tears behind his eyes. He fought it. He had to have known this would happen. It was inevitable. Then the hardest thought hit him.
	He turned back to the figure laying face down on the ground. What a mess it was. Hair tangled and dusty, pale, sickly skin, tattered clothes. He knelt down beside it and grabbed its shoulder, flipping it to reveal its face. What he saw...he couldn't speak...he stomach flipped inside him. Still, he held his composure, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. He then looked back down at the face, slowly lowering his hand to brush the tangled hair away, staring into the deep, empty eyes. 
	The eyes; they were the same no matter who it was. They always looked so sad and pained. Almost like the previous mind knew what had happened and wanted to be saved. These eyes hurt him more than any had before. He was staring into the familiar eyes from his childhood, a pair he'd watch come into the world and grow alongside him, the eyes were his sister's.
	He breathed heavily, pressing a hand against her cheek. Suddenly everything flashed. 
	He blinked and he could see his room, exactly how it was. The bright sun shining in, toys scattered across the floor. In through the door came a small girl with blonde curled hair, carrying a few dolls. “Please play with me, Eli,” she begged.
	“No!,” he responded, “now get out of my room!”
	“Please!” she pressed on.
	“Fine...fine...only if we can play zombies.” He got up and walked out of the room with her and down the hall to her room.
	Then it all faded out, he blinked and gasped, staring at the dark wall. He was sitting down, leaning against a dresser beside his sister's body. His eyes fell upon her again and he couldn't hold back a shudder. He forced himself to get up, to move on. He had a job to do and planned to do it well.
	He refused to look back to her, so he closed his eyes as he stepped over her and headed toward the kitchen. It was slightly brighter than the living room, with an open window and the back door nearly fallen off its frame. Pots, pans, shattered plates, and miscellaneous kitchen items covered the floors and counters.
	He eased his way across the room, being sure to avoid stepping on the glass or pans. He quickly fell back into his mechanical, professional mode. He raised his gun back up and kept it steadily aimed forward, ready for whatever may come at him.
	Time almost seemed to stop by now. This silence, this stillness, it was too much, too uncomfortable. He knew something was going to happen, it was just a matter of when. Chills ran down his back as his own foot steps began to surprise him. He could hear the purified air in his helmet flowing through his nose. 
	He leaned out of the back door, avoiding touching it, lest risk knocking it off the frame. There was nothing in the yard. The grass was overgrown, weeds covered the yard. It wasn't what he left. It was a disaster comparatively.
	There was a creek in the floor. He froze, unable to move a muscle as he felt his skin lurch up against the fabric of his protective hazard suit. When he gained back motor control he quickly spun round to meet a dark face, jaw open, lunging at him. A pair of strong, crooked hands gripped his shoulders and pushed him to the ground. He felt the concrete smack against him with a thud, knocking his breath and gun away, leaving him panting for air. He stared up into those pained eyes again and a wide open mouth dripping foam onto his glass face shield. He struggled hard to push the monster off of him, grabbing it by the hands and trying to push it away. Then once again, there was a flash.
	“No, no, no! You're doing it all wrong!” a strong voice spoke over his shoulder.
	“I'm trying!” he pleaded, tugging at the cord. A large red mower revving, but refusing to start on the other end of the cord. “I just can't do it, Dad,” he began to whimper out, stomping away from the mower.
	“Son, its not that hard. You just have to pull hard as you can,” the strong voice spoke again, regaining composure. A pair of big hand reaching around and gripping over the smaller pair, leading them back over the stubborn cord. “Just like this, son. Are you ready?”
	“I guess so...” he nodded slightly with a sniffle.
	“On three...One...two...” with each number the two pairs of hands pulled the cord farther, little by little. “Three!” they yelled in unison, both pulling as hard as they can. As they stumbled back the mower rumbled and then began to chug, defeated. The father and son cheered and gave each other congratulatory high fives.
	There was another flash and strict pain shot through his head. He opened his eyes to blurry vision, but it was obvious what he stared at. The same figure clawed at him, trying to break through the strong fibers of his suit. It may not have broken through, but the pain was there. He grunted loudly as he managed to roll the thing off of him, quickly scrambling to his feet. It was up in half the time he was, already charging for another chance to kill him. He managed to duck out of the way, spotting the glint of his gun on the patio. He dove for it.
	He felt his body thump against the ground. He grabbed at his gun, fumbling with it enough times to let the monster dive on his back. Its growling screams were horrifying. They split his ears and made his muscles clench. He couldn't risk anymore, he had to finish. He lifted his gun above his head and aimed at what he hoped was the monster.
	Bang!
	His breath was heavy as he heaved the body off of him. His hands were shaking as before as he rolled onto his back and sat up in the still fresh smoke of the shot. He shook his head and pounded his fists against his thighs as he caught sight of the monster. Just as he'd suspected, it was his father, his face paled and ill, eyes screaming out in agony, all as his sister was.
	Why? Why couldn't just one get away? he screamed in his mind. He couldn't hold back the tears this time. They streamed across his cheeks, glowing blue with the soft light in his helmet. He held his head in his hands for a while, not wanting to move, but wanting to just run.
	It was all interrupted by a buzz on his headset. “Newbie, you okay? Heard some conflict from the back,” the same static voice spoke.
	He tried to regain his composure, sound strong and ready for the team, for himself. “Yes...yeah I'm okay. Just had...another one here.”
	“Did you kill it good? Hope you let some steam out on it.”
	He didn't respond. He squeezed his hands together. Yes, he did kill it. His own father and sister. His blood. No, not anymore. They weren't supposed to be like this, therefore they weren't his family, just their bodies. That's right. They were practically dead already. Besides, he had told himself the worst would be inevitable before he even asked to do this job. He would have saw them in the quarantine zone. He would have. He knew this all along.
	So he got up, brushed off, and lifted his wrist to check his armband monitor for vitals. Everything seemed in check, but his air purifier was slightly damaged. He'd have to fix it.
	 Bang!
	He couldn't forget to make sure his father, no, it was dead. That hurt.
	So, he tried to occupy his mind with thought after thought, always leading to something new, something distracting. He was much more hurried as he walked back into the house. He held his gun up as before, but it wouldn't steady. He held his arms firmly, but that gun moved. It was resisting, going against him. Why would it do that? Something he trusted.
	He was shivering now as he reached the stairs. They lead to darkness. Those stairs he'd always cherished before, leading to his room, his place, his sanctuary. Now he found it difficult to get up, step by step, each one creaking and moaning as he slowly ascended them. He did it though. And managed to make it to the pitch black hall. He flicked on his helmet light, though he hardly needed it. This hall was all too familiar, they layout at least. The physical state was different.
	He skipped his sister's room. He skipped his own room. He needed to finish this. He didn't hesitate to push the door to his parents' room open, seeing exactly what he expected; another. It spun around, he'd surprised it, but it didn't react in fear, it reacted in aggression. He aimed his gun up.
	 Bang!
 	It kept coming.
	 Bang!
 	It stumbled. Its eyes glowing up at him, clawing for him with its hands.
	 Bang!
	It fell to the ground right as it had gotten grip on his waist, laying right at his feet, motionless. As he moved his foot to nudge it out of the way there was another flash.
	 “Is it already over?” he asked.
	“Sweety, books only last so long,” she spoke in a soothing tone.
	“Can you read another? Please?”
	“Its bedtime. You have to sleep.”
	He looked up at her, already feeling the tears building up, the pain of being alone right now was too much. “Mommy, please don't go.”
	She looked down at him and softly brushed a hand through his hair and wrapped her comforting arms around him. Her embrace was more powerful than any other, it was protecting, comforting, loving. “I know you're upset,” she whispered, “I am too, but he's happier now than he ever was before.”
	“I miss him,” he spoke between gasping sobs, his tears already soaked his cheeks.
	“He is watching you, you know.”
	“Right now?”
	“Yes, now and always. He's watching me, your sister, your father, and even Sparky too.”
	“Will you tell me his stories tomorrow?”
	“Of course. Your grandfather used to tell me those same stories when I was your age.”
	He leaned his head on her shoulder. She was comfort. She knew how to make any situation feel good, feel happy. He never wanted her to go. Soon, he was drifting off to sleep, content and safe with her.
 	There was another flash and then piercing pain coursing through his leg. It had bitten him. He forgot the double tap and it had bitten him. He quickly aimed his gun down. There it was, teeth sunken deep into his calve, blood trickling down his leg and on its jaw, hot and red.
	 Bang!
	It feel with a thump, its own blood spilling onto the floor, mixing with his own. Staring up at him, those eyes. These eyes were different. They weren't pained. They weren't suffering. They were sad. They were appalled. They were sorry. Those eyes were the ones he trusted with his life. The pair that had given him that very same life. The eyes that would never let anything hurt him. His mother's eyes.
	It was too much. He grabbed his head with his hands and screamed, tossing himself around the room. He threw his gun against the wall and collapsed to the ground, grabbing at nothing, trying to find something to hold, to squeeze, anything to let out the pain. He grabbed his helmet and torn it off his head, throwing it against the wall, the face mask shattering. He pounded his fists into the floor, yelling out, tears streaming down his cheeks.
	 Why?
 	He saw the gun glinting. There it was, the answer. He stumbled over to it and grabbed the metal handle, turned it toward his head and shoved the barrel under his chin. His finger trembled and shook, sweat beading down his neck. He looked up to the ceiling, staring threw it, up into the heavens.
	 Click.
	…
	Click.
	Click.
	Nothing. The gun was out of ammo and he continued to pull that trigger, expecting his death with each one. Then he quickly gave up, tossing the gun to the floor and falling to his side, staring at the horizon where wall met floorboard. Nothing.
	He could hear his heart pounding slowly, his breath trembling, trying to breath. Then, burning. His blood was searing in his leg, but he didn't move. There was no reason to. His family was gone. There was no one to survive for, not in this world. He'd joined the Eradication Tactical Unit, ETU, to change this. To help others find their families and reunite. To find his family and reunite. He found them. The reunion was not sweet like the others he'd seen. No one had to do this.
	There was a thumping, faint and distant. Blurred feet entered the room.
 	“Eli! Eli! Are you okay?” a faint voice, not so static, called. A fuzzy figure leaned down beside him and shook his shoulder. “Eli! Say something!” The figure tried to help him up, wake him from this pain. The other figures didn't do this. They tried to kill him. Why would this one help?
	“Chief, get away! He's bitten!”
	“What? No! Eli! Why didn't you get back up? Why, Eli?”
	“Move! Get out of the way!”
	“No! You can't! He's just a kid!”
	“We have to! Move!”
	 The figure spoke, but their words made no sense to him now. They moved and stepped, pulling and pushing. Then they were all still. One aimed another darker blur directly at his face. There was a flash.
 	“I told you I'd find you!”
	“You sure did, son.”
	“He cheated, Dad!”
	“You have to catch us first!”
	His mother, father, and sister began to jog up the stairs.
	 “Here I come.” he spoke weakly.
 	Bang!