“The point is...there ain’t no point...”- Cormac McCarthy

  An alarm from a digital wristwatch woke Malcolm, who silenced it while shedding the REM sleep; the time was seven-twenty. He rose from a full-sized bed inside a hotel room and marked the calendar for the new day: June 1st.

  He unfolded the window drapes and crossed the room with the morning sun beaming through. He dressed inside three minutes, dawning a basic set of camo trousers under a buttoned camo shirt. As he rinsed his teeth with high-alcohol mouthwash, he stared into his calm reflection in the mirror with a shaved head and clean face; Malcolm’s eyes were stilled.

  He equipped his utility belt and placed a military cap on his head, in time for a knock on his door. Malcolm opened it to the newly promoted Jason ‘No-Nut McGee’ Price, who was accompanied by his flank of officers who all saluted Malcolm. “At ease.”

  Price dropped his salute, “The round ups were finished overnight sir.”

  Malcolm cupped his hands, “Pass the Congrats to the other Majors, Price. Take me to them.”

  Price nodded. “Follow us.”

  Malcolm was escorted outside, where a carpool of army vehicles sat by gas pumps. He sat in an ATV’s passenger seat, and they drove through a city street with checkpoint fences at every intersection. Getting waved through each one dragged the trip for an hour.

  The ATV stopped in a parking lot outside of a police station, Malcolm stepped out first with his convoy escort. He waved down the salutes from the patrol guards as the escort opened the doors for him. Behind the entrance desk, more technicians stood to salute Malcolm. “At ease.” He stated.

  The double doors swung open, and Kenneth Johnson stepped out with two lieutenants at his side. “Good to see you, sir.” Johnson spoke.

  “Take me to the holding cells.” Malcolm ordered.

  Johnson smiled. “We squeezed them all into one, as requested.”

  Inside the next hallway, Malcolm was escorted to the station’s drunk tank. The single holding cell contained over two scores of prisoners still in army uniforms. They wore badges indicating their ranks as colonels or majors; others were members of the State Legislature.

  Malcolm, with a hanging head, dragged a metal chair before the bars and sat with a toothless grin as he stared at each face inside the drunk tank. A Brigadier General ran up to the bars and almost throttled them as he began to shout. "Let us out now Nelson!"

  Malcolm clicked a tongue. "Careful now...before my boys mistake you for the Dead."

  The Brigadier General spat at Malcolm's boot, which rested on a second chair.

  "Trying to get me sick?" Malcolm slyed.

  "I think you already are!" The general barked, "What did you do to the Zone?!"

  Malcolm shrugged. "It's so 'chaotic' out there that we have you secured..."

  A former State Senator stepped forward, pulling the brigadier general from the bars. "Nelson?"

  "Ranks are ceremonial. Call me Malcolm."

  The Senator nodded. "Why are you doing this Malcolm?"

  Malcolm tapped his hand on his lap. "Because you failed to adapt to the world's change...the pack picked a new Alpha."

  The senator gripped the cell bars. "What did what we did to keep order-"

  "And I don't fault you for that..." Malcolm nodded. "Which means you can understand why the boys taking orders got fed up?"

  The Senator nodded.

  "Why then do you think you;ve found yourself in this postition?" Malcolm asked. "The Best of Us reduced to the bottom of the food chain?"

  The air was sucked out of the room. "...You don't have to do this..."

  Malcolm smiled and closed his eyes. "I've heard those words alot. It's okay...I get it. Your holding on to something and who the fuck am I to take it away?"

  "What do you mean?"

  Malcolm shrugged. "Im not going to kill you...you can't stay here but the least I could do is let you hold on until all of you is gone."

  The Senator almost breathed relief. "What do you mean by that?"

  Malcolm stood abruply. "You...the best of society, will either die out there, or all that you are will be stripped bear...and when that happens? You'll realize that I was always ahead of the curve. Passed that point? You'll wish I never showed mercy today." A set of keys appeared in Malcolm's hands and he unlocked the cell door.

  The Senator looked at Malcolm, trembling as the crowd gathered behind him. "Thank you..."

  "I know..." Malcolm shook his hand as Johnson's soldiers stepped into the drunk tank. "Give them vehicles to take off in, small rations as well. That's it!"

  The squad nodded. Then one of them flinched as the brigadier general grabbed Malcolm's throat with a tight clench. "YOU TREACHEROUS SHIT!"

  Malcolm allowed the general to push into him, smiling as the push became a drag. Malcolm now weaved hinself atop the general with his bowie knife already drawn; he plunged the blade inside the general's heart and with both hands pressing. After a sick crack. and a spatter of blood, the general gurgled and began trying to snap at Malcolm. He kept the throat pinned and pulled out his gun to fire a round through the Berserker's skull.

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  The whole room was panicked and the Senator had collapsed onto the ground. As he hyperventilated, someone screamed "WHY!?"

  "Stand down and get these people out of our city!" Malcolm shouted at his soldiers. He panted and he sat beside the dead general, before making eye contact with the Senator.

  "You're fucking insane!" The senator screamed.

  Malcolm stood and tiptoed around the pooling blood. "That's not true anymore... I know that this is tragic. I get why he acted out; he couldn't take it...I don't blame him. Becoming me is no fate for anyone..."

  The Troops began to corall the prisioners as Johnson stepped forward. cocking a grin at them. "Best not piss us off before we've let you out."

  'Cool it, Kenny." Malcolm smeared the blood across the floor as he grinded his boot. “Get Kemper on the line.”

  Kenneth pulled his walkie out as the squad marched, the prisoners outside. “Kemper, come in.”

  “I’m hearing you, over.”

  “I’m passing over to Nelson.”

  “What’s the status on our volunteers?” Malcolm asked.

  “First scouts have landed at the Port Zone; they’re setting up and waiting on the rest to move in.”

  "I'm giving the green light. Start the landings."

  “Yes sir.” Kemper signed off.

  Malcolm passed the walkie back to Kenneth. “Get me on a chopper.”

  “Sir?”

  “We're done if we don’t pull this off.” Malcolm stared blankly. “I’m not waiting on others to do it.”

  Kenneth nodded. This way sir.” Together, they walked down the hallway; Malcolm strode along with focused eyes while anticipating success or failure.

  ***

  Malcolm’s Black Hawk landed in a tiny park which was formerly public, it rested on a miniature peninsula jutting into Lake Washington. He stepped out of the helicopter and was escorted through a forward outpost established throughout the parking lots and tree lines. When Malcolm looked to the sun-shined lake behind them, dozens of boats were making landings and depositing scores of soldiers while others unloaded supplies.

  Malcolm was led to the perimeter of the park, facing the city zone. Each side of the path held tents and posts where individual squads lined up to receive their ammo slings. Malcolm came upon Alan ‘Da Cow’ Williams, who was assembling the platoons at the park’s gated fence. He noticed Malcolm, “Sir!”

  Malcolm kept his eyes on the buildings dotting the forward perimeter. “Did the scouts clear those?”

  Williams looked over. “I thought of that when we got here. Squads have swept most of them.”

  Malcolm nodded. “Take everyone here and back them up. Take posts at every second-floor window upward and block all the stairwells.”

  Williams nodded. “Yes sir.” He looked at the companies. “Let’s go!”

  At boulevard intersections just beyond the fences, rows of soldiers were assembling into lines while Williams’ soldiers hustled and splintered into groups. Malcolm, to the surprise of his escort, crossed to one of the quartermaster posts near the fence. Without a word, he pointed to a rack behind the sergeant and nodded to. Malcolm was given a machete, serrated on the edges and sharp at the tip.

  “Sir?” Kenneth asked.

  Malcolm looked at him. “Everyone grab theirs.” He coldly marched past the gate of the forward fence as the escort confusedly armed themselves for melee.

  Malcolm signaled for his escort to splinter to the different intersections as he crossed to the largest road. As the technicians by a streetlamp were activating a set of high-tech drones, they nodded at Malcolm and signaled to the other technician groups. The captain of the street intersection noticed Malcolm’s approach and ran to salute.

  “At ease.” Malcolm blurted.

  There was an estimate of seventy soldiers behind the captain, half were equipped with riot shields and basic combat knives while the rest had longer blades in hand; all wore camo trousers and military boots, yet their uniforms were substituted for firefighter leather. The masses noticed Malcolm as he walked the perimeter; their fearful eyes indicated their begging him for a speech of reassurance.

  Malcolm paused while the company stared: “...If you want a savior, you’ll get none. If you want an answer, then ponder how it ends. Because my mouth is a talking point, and it’s nothing you haven’t heard before. But I can show you how to move along because this is where you’ve found yourselves. Look back if you choose, but you better be going forward with the rest because nothing that you wish is here.” Malcolm held firm as the soldiers nodded slowly. “Get the shield wall together now!”

  In droves, the riot shields were assembled by the heaviest muscled soldiers, while the rest took position on their flanks. Malcolm looked to the other intersections, receiving the hand signals from Kenneth and his other officers that the companies were prepared. Malcolm pulled out his walkie, “Williams, are you and the garrisons positioned?”

  “Everyone’s checked in.” Williams stated.

  “I’m about to bring them in.” Malcolm ordered. “Hold fire until I give the word.”

  “Yes sir. Good Luck.”

  Malcolm switched to his technicians’ frequency. “Everyone is ready; bring the Horde in.”

  A moment later, countless scores of drones were hovering over the intersections and flying down the streets. The rhythm was synchronically amplified by the drone’s speakers until the music was engulfing the air. Malcolm held unblinking eyes on the intersection ahead of him as the chorus was led to.

  The Berserkers came individually from the turns in the street, one at first before small groups. Few turned their heads to Malcolm’s position, and their roar brought the attention of the rest. The ravenous corpses started sprinting with all their cold faces empty except for dripping blood and fleshy teeth. The raves of the Undead were smothered by the loud music which drew them in.

  The first to smash against the company’s shield wall was easily held at bay while it mindlessly snapped, face pressing to them. Malcolm stepped over to swing his machete downward and sunk it deep into the berserker’s scalp.

  He effortlessly yanked his machete and the corpse fell. “Hold your ground and thin them out!”

  As more berserkers collided with the formation, other soldiers took part in piercing skulls. Now, Malcolm could see wider packs of the Undead streaming from the streets and within the buildings; they started coalescing into the Horde. Malcolm already pulled out his walkie, “FIRE AT WILL!”

  Every pop from the surrounding windows came in single-fire settings; as they became an indiscernible orchestra, the bullets rained upon the berserkers from a high trajectory. In escalating scores, the Undead were collapsing with headshots as more scores were tripped by falling bodies; hundreds were endlessly pouring into the charging horde and their stomps rhythms with the music.

  “…Cause I'm still Standing after all this time...

  ...Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind...”

  With the clash of the horde against the shield wall, the flanking soldiers began to stab the Dead as a chain reaction. Malcolm did his part to stab and hack between the slits in the wall while the soldiers taking point stabbed beneath dead chins. The Berserkers flailed and fell in tune with the spray of blackened blood. The corpses piled beneath their feet as the view through the shields were blotted with coagulated black. Malcolm tapped his earpiece for the company’s frequency, “FIRST PUSH! NOW!”

  The shielded formation shoved the berserkers back and took two steps over the fallen dead. The shields were planted, and the flanking troops followed with, together they continued hacking the horde until it seemed to be thinning. The street’s horizon contained hundreds of head-shattered corpses, mystifying their surroundings with black as more were shot and joined with.

  Even as more berserker’s joined the horde, the formation held strong. The bodies started piling up again as the black pooled around them. “SECOND PUSH! NOW!” The next advance was made as the trail of death could only be left behind.