Le Paradis

[SoAdCrAzY]

I will add chapters over certain periods of time.

I'll start in true Tarantino style:



Mort: death *[noun-feminine]
n 1. The act of dying; termination of life.
2. The state of being dead.


Vie: life *[noun-feminine]
n 1. The property or quality that distinguishes living organisms from dead organisms and inanimate matter, manifested in functions such as metabolism, growth, reproduction, and response to stimuli or adaptation to the environment originating from within the organism.
2. The characteristic state or condition of a living organism.



Le Paradis



Chapter 1:

The sky flashed brightly, from a far off explosion as Wilson scanned the dark, rainy landscape known as France. Another explosion turned night to day, as he watched, lost in concentration. He could see no signs of peace, no signs of hope. No signs that he would ever make it out of this god~~~~ed mess. A ricochet broke his chain of thought, as a machine gun sprayed a hail of bullets towards him - each bullet searching for blood. Anyone's would do. Blood of a Father. A Brother. A Son. Each one coming closer to finding him.

He realised that this was his job. His job was to murder. No excuses. Just kill. He looked back down at the ground, discovering himself. Staring at the instrument of death in his hand. An M1 Carbine. His M1 Carbine was his dragon. The only purpose of this dragon was to demolish fellow human beings and maybe, hopefully, inflict some throbbing pain into the last moments of the krauts’ lives. He tamed the dragon so it became part of him. The trigger connected to his dirty finger. The tail rested on his shoulder. He was ready to kill. He aimed at his enemy and his mind went blank. The only thing he was thinking of was going home. Murder was the only key to his home. His finger pressed down on the trigger causing the beast to roar stridently blowing fire out of its flaring nostrils. The tail whipped back fiercely each time preparing for the next burst of fire and smoke to depart it. The roar stopped. He tried to grasp the thought that this little burst of terror has caused the death of a dirty kraut.

"Alright, men! Let’s cause some suppressing fire! Fire at will!" A musky voice called out over the beastly sounds coming from all over the area. All of the sudden, green, dirty helmets popped up from the mud infested ground and red, yellow and white bursting flashes appeared next to them accompanied by loud thunderous sounds. These were his comrades. Aiming to kill. Aiming to win. Yells surrounded Wilson.

"Die you krauts! You bastard Nazis!”

"Cease fire! Cease fire! I think that's the last of them!" the musky voice yelled out.

Silence. Something in the atmosphere didn’t seem right. The slight swift of air blowing into the trees was all that can be heard and the feeling of guilt and emptiness suddenly filled inside Wilson's head. The flashes had stopped, the thunder had stopped. All that was visible were large amounts of smoke rising from the squad's weapons and gathering together creating fog and totally engulfing the view. Nothing could be seen. But then again, Wilson didn’t want to see the carnage twisted around him.

“Hey, Lieutenant! Get the hell over here!” the musky voice greeted him.

He ran over to investigate what was happening. The smoky fog guarded his view. He was running into the unknown. Safe in the knowledge that the krauts were dead and this was over. He eventually saw eight figures lying down on the muddy ground. He smiled and walked closer.

“Hey, Lieutenant Wilson! Glad to see you made it” a figure said.

“Captain Roberts. You too, you too mate,” Wilson replied with a relieved expression on his dirty, bruised face, “any casualties?”

“Only a squad of krauts that don’t have a ****ing clue what hit them!” Roberts laughed.

“Well, good thing no humans got harmed in the process, aye?” the lieutenant laughed with him whilst still looking around, viewing the chaos that has just been created by his men with his expression suddenly turning to disbelief and deep sorrow.

Roberts was a well built man with a bald head and a very podgy, mean looking face. He looked like the kind of person you would expect stealing your wireless or trashing your street. He held his rifle like you would hold a beautiful woman. He gave it respect and held it close to him to show that he would never leave it. He had a voice like he had swallowed fifty frogs and three gallons of whiskey.

“Who’s going to clean this mess up?” a gentle voice said in the background.

A black, skinny figure showed itself to the group. He had a very skinny face and his legs looked like they could snap with the slightest of forces. He was very fragile looking and looked far too young to be part of this war. He looked far too young to kill. He looked far too young to be killed.

“Shut up Private Jackson! No one’s going to clean this **** up. This place will never get cleaned up. We live in a world of **** in need of cleaning up, but no one will. No one cares. Now, shut the hell up!” shouted Roberts with a look of hatred and disgust.

“Right, men!” Roberts shouted getting ready to issue orders to the squad, “Search this ****-hole for weapons and ammo. We are running short. Make sure, you bayonet every ~~~~ kraut you see in the head. No matter how dead they look. We can’t be too careful. What’s dead can’t hurt you!”

“B-Bayonet them?” Private Jackson quivered.

“Yes! Bayonet them! You don’t understand? Here, give me your weapon and allow me to demonstrate!” Roberts giggled mockingly whilst grabbing Jackson’s rifle and stabbing the bayonet furiously into the ground below him, “Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab! – Hey, how come your safety is on?! You know the safety is supposed to be off to win this war! Did you even shoot anyone to help your squad? To help your King? To help Britain?!”

Jackson didn’t answer. His eyebrows were almost touching his hairline. He knew that he couldn’t talk back. He gently took his gun off of Roberts’ grasp and turned the safety off with his trembling finger.

The soldiers looked at Roberts with disgust. Like he was some kind of monster. They thought that this whole situation was inhumane but chose not to question the Captain’s orders. The squad staggered into the battle zone slowly, with their bayonets stroking their chest.

Later, the squad were ready to set off to Le Paradis. They checked that they had enough ammo and all their men. The men began to take off into the night. They knew that when they get to the French village of Le Paradis, they will be greeted with the friendly community, hot food and lots of drink.

It wasn’t long until they saw thick, red veins pumping out grey matter which seemed to be consuming the atmosphere over the horizon. The houses which these were connected to were small. They didn’t look big enough to create a habitat for a hamster. The closer they walked, the more of the village became visible. Around the village were huge fields which seemed to be filled with green, slimy entrails which looked as though it was slowly consuming the village.

“Oh my God! What the hell is that smell?!” Jackson complained with his hands guarding his nose from the engulfing stench surrounding him.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been to a farm before. Will you ever shut up, Private?” Roberts yelled back at him.

Private Jackson, once again, knew his place and didn’t reply. The squad carried on walking down the road towards Le Paradis. The squad found the silence rather disturbing but thought not to ask questions until they arrive to the village.

[OkeiDo]

Nice story man.

Now, bring out the zombies! =D

[SoAdCrAzY]

Chapter 2:

"I made it fifteen times in the cell. You name it, I've done it. I have quite a reputation at home. The police are sick of me. The pigs told me to go to this war. They wanted me out of their community. They told me to stop wasting their time and do something useful for once. Of course I agreed. I mean, I could do well by doing bad!" laughed Roberts with his men.

"Jesus, what the hell is that smell?" Private Jackson interrupted the laughter. The squad stared in awe at Jackson as he cowered in fear. They chose not to make a scene and didn't even give him the benefit of acknowledging his question.

The squad noticed that it was still silent as they approached Le Paradis. The atmosphere was so tense they could sense that they would be attacked at any moment. It was quiet. Too quiet.

"Okay squad. I don't like this silence. Let's stick together and inspect these houses!" Roberts ordered his men with a confident expression looming on his rugged, podgy face.

One by one, they stormed into each small, delicate looking house. They all looked the same. They all looked like home. The flower-filled curtains shone light into the dull, cream-coloured interiors. The sun gleamed through the window and bumped onto the walls showing any imperfection in the paintwork. There seemed to be no form of entertainment in any of the houses. No radio, no pictures, no books but, most importantly, no life. Each house they entered was empty. Was this some kind of ghost village? Had the krauts got here already and done, well, God knows what? All these thoughts haunted the soldiers' minds.

Eventually, they got to the last house in the village. They saw life. Unfortunately. There were probably about thirty people all together in, what seemed to be, the living room. Their eyes looked about the same size of that of a golf ball causing their eyebrows to blend in with the greasy hair on the top of their heads. The delicate lines were visible on their grubby, bruised foreheads showing distress and panic and fear. At least there is sound, the thought that the soldiers had gone deaf due to some kind of weird kraut weapon of warfare was able to escape Jackson's mind. The women were weeping immensely and uncontrollably, grabbing onto their skinny, muddy, scared-looking children like their lives depended on it. The male villagers bombarded the squad with pleads and yells of hopelessness. They looked like they were trying to tell them something. It was no use. No one understood a word that they were saying.

"Food! Food! Where is the FOOD?" Roberts asked frantically. Of course, he got no answer so he decided to repeat what he said louder and in a slower tempo. "Where! Is! The! Food!" It was no use. The hand gestures were not helping either. All the villagers were in a state of shock. The men didn't pause to listen to what Roberts had to say. What was the point, anyway? They didn't understand English. So they kept on yelling, clinging to the squads uniforms on their bony knees and pleading for them to do something.

The men gave up trying to understand what the weirdoes were trying to say and Roberts ordered everyone to follow him upstairs to examine the rest of the 'home'. Upstairs, it looked empty. Not much difference to the other houses. Apart from one looming figure standing in the corner silhouetted by the sunset outside the window but his features could not be figured out. The figure stepped closer. He had a face like he had never smiled before. It was dirty, skinny, and scar infested. He took a step further. The squad, not knowing what to do, looked at each other with fear and confusion and took a step back.

"Help us!" the man yelled softly.

"Well - that’s why we are here. Where is the- Hey, you speak English?" Roberts inquired with a hint of confusion.

"Yes, well, I used to live there. That's not important. You have to help us!" the man replied looking helpless and heartbroken, "My name is Mr. Morvie. We need help. You see, m-my brother. He is dead- I-I-I think."

The squad looked at each other and laughed.
“Alright, let’s get this crazy man out of here. God, he must be really ill. I suppose we better get-" Roberts was interrupted by loud, repeated banging coming from the small door to the left of the room, "What? Right, Wilson, check who’s behind that door."

"NO! Don't go anywhere near that door! You are making a huge mistake!" Mr. Morvie yelled whilst sprinting in front of Wilson.

The squad grabbed Mr. Morvie and restrained him while they watched Wilson head towards the door. Each footstep created another bang and scratch to screech on the door. The soft creaking of the floorboards got louder and louder the closer Wilson edged towards the door. Suddenly, the commotion stopped. Wilson didn't move a muscle. He turned around to the squad and tried getting reassurance from the Captain to carry on walking. When he got this reassurance, he slowly turned around and began once again on his tense journey towards the door. He had made it. He slowly took his hand away from the trigger of his gun and raised it in the air towards the door knob. When he reached the door knob, he twisted his hand clockwise. An ongoing squeak filled the room as a consequence of this. Finally, the door swung open. Wilson quickly took a step back and observed the view with his finger back home, safely on the trigger of his dragon.

"You monster! What have you done? I bet this is your brother, right?" Roberts pointed to the body on the floor. It is still breathing, albeit heavily, "What the hell is up with his face? Look how decayed it is and... Green!"

Jackson heaved at the sight and turned away.

"****, how long do you think he has gone without food?" asked Wilson, staring at the corpse.

"I would guess, a long time. I haven't seen many people that look this rough! Take Mr. Morvie downstairs to the rest of the group. Private Johnson, stay with this poor bastard. We'll be back in a minute. We will just look for some food. If he starts talking give us a shout." Roberts ordered to the squad.

The squad did as he said and took Mr. Morvie with them. Private Johnson sat down next to the victim. He stared at the victim's face. The victim's eyes were filled with red veins invading all the whiteness it can see. His face was pale apart from big, green veins raising the skin surrounding them up and down. Blood was dripping out of his ears and nose like acid rain out of a cloud. Vomit started drooling out of his mouth and onto his chin slowly working its way to the neck like a stream to the sea. The victim silently but speedily sat up like when a lion smells its prey. His scab festered head slowly turned towards the private. Johnson found it surprising that he could see anything through his bloodshot eyes but somehow this and the fact that he had blood and vomit flowing through his hair and head didn't seem to bother him.

"Wow, are you okay, mate? What the hell is that guy's problem? Is he your brother?" Private Johnson asked so many questions in such a short space of time it must've been impossible to understand, especially if he was French and couldn't speak a word of English, "I just guessed that if that man is your brother, you may speak English too?"
The victim growled at Johnson and never took his eyes off of him. The victim never spoke a word. He only spoke in murmurs and grunts.

"What the ****?!"

[SoAdCrAzY]

Hmm, not sure I should post anymore. :D

Maybe when I get more criticisms on how I can make it better.

[OkeiDo]

I'm waiting for part 3, please don't stop now when it's just about to begin!

[SoAdCrAzY]

Chapter 3:

The squad had gathered together inside a homely looking cafe.

"Alright men, gather up as much food and drink as you can. I'm not walking all the way here again. Don't pig out yet!" Roberts shouted whilst picking up some chocolate bars and stuffing them in his pockets.

The men thought of this place like heaven. Objects of desire were the only thing surrounding them. Crisps, chocolate, candy, drinks and much more were all covered in French packaging with French writing printed on them that no one could understand. Just the occasional "Bon Bon" written on sweet wrappers assured that the men were in fact gathering candy and not anything else.

From nowhere that could be seen, a groan echoed through the cafe. Jackson jumped and quivered in fear as usual.

"W-What the ****ting hell was that?" he asked fearfully.

The squad, once again, did not acknowledge Jackson's question and carried on walking, satisfied that they had carried all that they could.

Eventually, they returned to the house only to discover that, in the living room, there were far less people inside than there was when they left. The squad tried asking the ones remaining where everyone had gone but, again, they got no answer. Roberts ordered the squad to follow him upstairs to see how the victim was doing. Empty. Not a person in sight. Blood soaked the flowery, beautiful curtains and the red liquid had begun to drip down onto the wooden, uneven, rough floor creating a pool of death which slowly swallowed up the ground. Vomit stained the walls combined with entrails and indescribable, unimaginable things mixing together and causing a sludge type of matter which stuck to the wall like a leech to a child. The sun was no longer present to shine light into this hell-hole. Flashback. Wilson was back in the battlefield. Back to hell. Wilson prayed for the smoke from the weapons to build up in the air and guard him from this view. But life is not that kind.

He studied the scenery, the blood, the pain. He could hear, once again, the yells and taunts of his friends and the dragons roaring furiously. He could see the bullets whiz past his head and the sound was like bumble bees flying past. He could feel the hope, once again, that one of these things wouldn't sting him. Suddenly, something grabbed his attention. A beautiful flower shone in the middle of the field. The bumble bees must've got its scent for pollen. But, he knew they weren’t really bumblebees. It was a beautiful blue colour as compared to the grey, dull surroundings. What was it doing there? It didn't care about the environment it was living in. It looked innocent and peaceful. It didn't even shiver in the wind but it stood tall and magnificent. Wilson stood in admiration for this wonderful wild flower.

"Well, this doesn't look too good." Wilson returned back to the house when interrupted by Roberts.

Jackson rested his hand on the wall and leaned over. He released vomit all over the floor. It didn't really do much to the scenery. This place couldn't get any worse. The stench was significantly worse and the view didn't help it either.

"I warned you! I told you not to open that door! I hope you are happy!" A painful voice was heard from the corner.

It was Mr. Morvie. He was lying down with his hand covering his left arm whilst streams of blood spilt over his torn clothes. His face was pale white with veins pulsing in and out. The squad moved closer towards him with their guns aiming at his head.

"What the **** have you done?!" Roberts shouted in a very panicky fashion.

You could hear the man breathing from a mile away. Each breath he took seemed to take the same amount of effort as climbing a mountain.

“We heard a scream coming from upstairs. Some people went upstairs to check it out. I warned them to stay there. They didn’t listen. After a few minutes, I followed them. The window was smashed. There was blood and guts and God knows what else surrounding me. My brother was gone. That solder of yours was gone. Everyone I saw go up. Gone. Apart from one man. He was lying down. I felt his pulse. He was dead. All of the sudden he jumped out and bit my arm and started ripping away at my flesh. He was suddenly distracted and he jumped out of the window. There are lots of them. You cannot kill them... since they are already dead.”

Morvie slowly passed away. Jackson walked up to him and felt his pulse.

"He's dead. This - This can't be true can it?" Jackson asked with a look of fear conquering his face.

“What? About the dead coming alive and attacking him?” Roberts laughed, “No. We have a murderer on our hands. We have to find him before he causes any more damage.” Roberts claimed confidently stroking his weapon.

Without warning, a soft murmur was heard and Mr. Morvie leapt up and onto Wilson. The squad reacted fast and pulled him off of him. Roberts pressed his foot securely on Mr. Morvie's decaying neck as the squad positioned their guns so that they are once again aiming at the mad man. The squad looked at each other in a very confused manner. Jackson found it hard to aim properly. He wiped the orange, chunky vomit off his chin with the butt of his gun and tried to aim without shaking violently. Mr. Morvie started to cough up blood which went all over his face and started leaking into all the holes in his pale, vein filled face. He didn't even swathe his eyeballs with the aid of his pale, flaky eyelids when the dark, red stuff started pushing its way into them. He kept squirming around and screaming incredibly loudly.

"Oh my God! He was dead! I felt his pulse!" Jackson screamed at the top of his voice.

"He wasn't dead. He's just very ill and ****ed up, mate." answered Roberts staring at the thing under his boot.

"The last time I checked, ‘****ed up’ people don’t always throw up blood and try ripping off people’s bloody heads. Why would he do that? He knows he is outnumbered. He knows nothing good would’ve come out with freaking out and going for the Lieutenant! And I know for sure people don't slip in and out of mortality like what he just displayed!" Jackson had gathered the courage to answer back.

"Shut up Jackson before I smack you to the ground! What’s dead can’t hurt you!" yelled a red, furious looking Roberts.

"Roberts! He’s right! You know he’s right. I know it sounds like bollocks and, hell, it probably is. But we cannot rule it out. Let’s stop arguing and think of a way to get out of this mess. There are probably more of these people that are like Mr. Morvie around this place. We have to stick together and survive against these... Crazy things'" Wilson interrupted the argument with a very concerned look on his face.

Roberts didn't take his eyes off of Jackson. He had that face where you can tell he was about to go crazy and kill someone.

"LOOK AT ME!" shouted Wilson with all his might.

Roberts turned and faced a very serious, sympathetic looking Wilson. Roberts suddenly gave in and returned the look of hopelessness to Wilson. He grabbed his bayonet and violently pushed it further and further into the mouth of the 'crazy thing’ until its scream faded away and it slowly stopped moving. He thrusted it in further and further to make sure that it was dead. He wouldn't be satisfied if he couldn't see the chunks of skull sticking to the bayonet with the help of its blood and mucus. Roberts sharply pulled it out with a slurping noise filling the room and opened his mouth.

"...So, what do we do?"

[SoAdCrAzY]

Chapter 4:

The squad marched back down into the main living area with the few remaining survivors.

"How do we tell them what's going on?" Jackson inquired.

"Looks like we are going to have to use a language known worldwide. Force." a very concerned voice suggested not so far behind Jackson.

This voice came from Private Jenkins. Private Jenkins was a small man with a very muscular physique. He was very shy and didn’t like speaking up or being noticed. A sense of mystery was created by his squad mates. Jenkins was a lone ranger.

"Okay, Private Jenkins is right. Let’s move these people into the cafe where we can stock up on food. None of them is to leave our sight." ordered Wilson.

Captain Roberts stared at Wilson with disbelief. Why was he giving the orders? Roberts was the Captain. He was in charge. Roberts chose not to cause a scene given the situation they are in and followed Wilson's orders with the rest of the squad. Roberts felt very insecure and tried to regain control of the situation:

"...Alright men! Let's move!"

Each member of the squad walked towards the crowd of lost souls. They grabbed a few people fiercely and dragged them violently away and out of the door. The villagers didn't know what to think. They started yelling and hitting the soldiers, trying to escape and find out what was happening to them. The soldiers ignored their pleads and struggles as they had no choice. There was no reasoning with these people.

Later on, Roberts yelled to his troops whilst walking down the dirty silent streets of Le Paradis with a tender looking woman and two children steady in his grip.

"We need to use the radio and call for backup. We have to get out of this crazy place"

"What? And leave these poor, defenceless villagers here to be slaughtered by these things?" Wilson answered back in a state of disbelief.

"...Well, Okay then." Roberts gasped almost speechless with Wilson's direct response to his orders. "Let’s go to the cafe with them, check how much ammo we have and call for backup to evacuate everyone and just hold out there and take out any of these things that try to come in, if there are any that is."

"But how long would it take them to come? What if they take ages? What if they don't even come?" Jackson asked frantically with his gun placed in one hand and a gentle, soft hand of a child in the other.

"Shut up Jackson! There is enough food in that cafe to feed the whole British army for fifty years!" Roberts exaggerated smugly.

Private Jenkins trailed behind the rest of the squad. He quickly picked up speed so that he could walk next to Lieutenant Wilson.

"So what do you think caused this **** to happen?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's a disease. Maybe it's something to do with their cattle?" Wilson answered back shocked that Jenkins had even sparked up a conversation with him.

"Well, whatever it is, I hope it stops quickly and everything goes back to normal. I have a feeling that there isn’t even a problem. We are just letting this **** get to our heads and becoming paranoid. We are making a mountain out of a mole hill. But, ~~~~, if this is true... I mean, this war is hard enough with them ~~~~ krauts."

"I hear you, mate. But this doesn't have to be hard. If we stick together we will be out of here in no time. Look at it like this: When crazy Mr. Morvie went all...Well...crazy and stuff, he didn't give a ~~~~ if he survived or not. If all these 'Crazy things' are similar, they don't have any weapons, no reasoning power, no ability to analyse situations. This will be a piece of piss, trust me. You'll be fine. You'll be fine." Wilson answered Jenkins reassuringly.

From the darkness, a man screamed and leapt out at the group. He jumped onto Private Jenkins and stuck his face into his neck. No one could see what was going on. All that could be heard was the growls of the crazy man and the screams of unbelievable pain from Jenkins. The man moved his head away from Jenkins’ neck making it visible to the rest of the squad. They could see a huge chunk of white flesh in between the crazy man's yellow, crumbling teeth and the blood sprayed all over his face. Wilson quickly dropped the child in his arms, whipped out his dragon and launched a bullet right into the man's chest causing him to fall down violently and cease to exist. The villagers saw this as a chance to escape this evil, oppressing force and ran as fast as they could down the street.

"Oh, God! Are you Okay?" Wilson shouted whilst running over to aid Jenkins.

"I think I'm fine. That bastard just bit me. Nothing fatal." Jenkins managed to answer back. This statement was barely recognisable due to the blood spilling from his mouth, causing him to gargle. Wilson pulled out a tissue from his ripped pocket and wiped it over Jenkins’s blood soaked mouth.

"****, that was close. These bastards are fast so look alive men. Let’s get mov-" Wilson was interrupted by the noise of grunting and howling as the thing once again rose to his feet. The thing's red eyes were fixated on Wilson as it begun to pounce for him. The 'crazy thing' was quickly stopped in its tracks. A huge spurt of blood was created from the inside of its head by Robert's bumblebee-like bullet. As the beast fell down to the ground smoke gathered in the air, rising up from the barrel of Roberts’ gun.

"What the hell? I shot him. No one could've survived that!" screamed Wilson in disbelief.

The squad were as shocked as he was but this moment soon passed.

"Come on, men! We are almost there!" ordered Roberts as he continued walking towards their destination.

"Wait! The villagers! They are getting away!" a soldier screamed whilst running after them but was then held back by Roberts.

"No. Let them go. They are in too far."

Wilson and Jackson walked over to Jenkins who was lying on the ground covered in blood. They picked him up and placed his arms over their shoulders and acted as his legs and continued to follow the rest of the squad to the cafe for food and drink and hope.

Later on, on their journey to the cafe, Jenkins began to develop a very husky cough. He fell to the ground and tried to regain his strength. He couldn't. He spewed vomit and blood all over his knees and uniform. He fell helplessly to the ground and collapsed. In the process of this action, his neck became visible to the squad. Instead of it being red and soaking with blood like it was, it was now a greenish yellow, dry scab. The veins around his neck and face suddenly grew about four times larger what they should've been like he had been doing weight lifting for ages. But he hadn’t. They were green coloured instead of the usual colour. The squad could only watch as the colour drained from his face. His breathing became hard to bare. It sounded like he was being suffocated by an invisible force. The squad just stared at this view in awe and helplessness.

"Step back, men!" ordered Roberts getting his gun ready to attack.

"What?!" Wilson interrupted as quickly as a flash, in shock and horror, "Jenkins is dying! We have to help him!"

"Stop being a hypocrite! Are you blind? This exact same thing happened with Mr. Morvie before he tried ripping your head off. They both have one thing in common. They were bitten by these ****ed up 'things'. Now, step back. He has to be dealt with." yelled Roberts aiming his gun securely at Jenkins’ head.

"No! For all we know that could've just been a coincidence!"

"Well, there's only one way to find out. Men, restrain Wilson and step back!"

The squad felt the same as Wilson. They didn't want to let this happen but the look on the Captain's face made them grab Wilson and violently pull him back.

"W-W-What's going on?" Jenkins mumbled but then had to go back to trying his hardest to remain breathing.

Wilson stopped fidgeting and trying to get to Jenkins. He knew what had to be done. He raised his head from his chest and slowly wiped the tear dripping down his cheek.

"...You'll be fine."

The squad watched as the life of a friend slowly disintegrated in front of their eyes. When he finally passed away and the pain and torture stopped, the squad all removed their helmets and positioned them onto their chests as a sign of respect. Not soon after, Roberts placed the helmet back on his fat head and once again positioned his gun towards the thing that was Jenkins. The squad stared at Roberts in disbelief. Why wouldn't he show respect for one of his men for one more minute? The reason for this soon became apparent. Jenkins quickly jumped to his feet. His blood stained teeth were gleaming at the squad. He gave a short growl and leapt for blood. Roberts unexpectedly panicked. This situation had finally sunk into him, it would seem. Roberts couldn't take his eyes away off of this thing that used to be a kind, noble soldier. The thunderous sound once again echoed through the streets as Jenkins fell to the ground. A pool of blood grew larger and larger around Jenkins' head. A confused Roberts looked around his squad to find out exactly what just happened. Slowly, the smoke rose from Wilson' gun and disappeared into the atmosphere.

"You'll be fine, Jenkins. You'll be fine."

The squad chose not to make conversation about this event and slowly began walking, once again, towards the cafe. When they reached their destination, all was not well. The windows were non-existent and shards of glass surrounded the ground around it. Jackson had a peek through a hole which used to be a window. Everything was in ruins. What seemed to be food, tables, chairs, and liquid was spilled all over the cafe floor.

"Erm, you better take a look at this, Captain."


===

Any comments?

[DUDE-MAN]

You're quite good, a new kind of idea I like it. Still you write about something that happenend in the realilty (except the zombies)

[SoAdCrAzY]

Chapter 5:

"Well, I suppose this is better than nothing, men." Roberts brought an end to the awkward silence. "Everyone gather all the food you can get and put it all together. Jackson, get on the radio and call for immediate backup. And for God's sake don't tell them the reason or they won't come. Wilson and I will search this building for any crazy people. Go! Go! Go!"

The squad began to get on all fours and picked up little extracts of what was supposed to be food. Wilson and Roberts stood next to each other with their guns in their hands.

"Are you ready for this, Wilson?"

"Ha, I didn't manage to get much ‘Crazy thing slaughtering training’ at boot camp. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"Okay, let’s go. Aim for the head!"

The two men walked off together with their backs pressed against each others like two peas in a pod. These men had each others backs. They weren't going to let anyone mess with them. They were a team.

As the two men were strolling along the landing they showed immense disgust for the view they were witnessing. Vomit stains plagued the curtains and scratch marks screeched along the wooden floor and walls. Wilson and Roberts kept walking down the corridor, stepping over the tables and chairs that were scattered along the floor with ease. Eventually, they got to a door.

"Okay, let's storm this room. You go in first. I got your back" Wilson ordered.

"You know what? I'm getting sick of you giving the orders. Who is Captain here? Who? Yes, that's right, ME. I give the orders so just stop acting like you are a big man and in charge of things." answered Roberts furiously with his face, once again, turning red with anger.

"Hey, come on. I'm not trying to take your place. In this situation, we need all the help we can get. You didn't get trained in 'Crazy thing assault’ either. We don't know the way they act, what or even IF they think-"

"So who the hell made you king of the Crazy things?" Roberts interrupted smugly.

"I'm not! I'm just saying that we should all get a say in what happens. This is far more serious. If we get shot by a dirty kraut, we don't go ****ing crazy and attack each other, do we? Now, listen. All I am saying is that in a situation where we don't know the enemy or what will happen to us, there should be no hierarchy."

"You know what? I don't need you giving me ~~~~ lectures. Get the hell out of my face. Go gather more food with the rest of the squad. I will be down in a second. And THAT is an order!"

The couple exchanged evil glances for a while and eventually Wilson turned around and headed towards the rest of the squad.

There was now a reasonably large pile of all kinds of goods. There were half empty packets of crisps (In this case, not half full), chocolate soaked pieces of paper where the chocolate had melted and engulfed everything around it. The smell was heavenly. They could smell the freshly baked bread and the sweet, delicate splendour of rippling chocolate enlivening their senses. It almost made them forget the stench of the village. But the nice smell was soon conquered by the overwhelming, festering stench of dead organic matter.

"Did you catch any of them crazy things?" asked Jackson to Wilson.

"No idea, Captain ‘Hitler’ told me to **** off over here to get some food." Wilson answered angrily with a look of irritation and frustration boiling on his face.

"Why would he do that?"

"Don't ask."

"Did he seem mad? This isn't really the time to get pissed off at each other"

Wilson carried on gathering food and pretended to have not heard Jackson. Jackson also continued to gather food and didn't even check to ask if Wilson had just heard what he just said. He knew that he heard what he said perfectly. Another awkward silence arose. Jackson needed to get rid of this quietness.

"Hey, check out these." Jackson said excitedly whilst holding up a gold packet of candy, "FRUITY SNACKS! I used to get these at the shop down my road every day on the way to school. They taste like heaven. You want some?"

"...No, better save them for later. There isn’t that much food left." Wilson answered, still gathering food. He didn't even look at Jackson; he just kept his eyes on the job.

"Okay, sure. You're the boss" Jackson answered whilst stuffing the candy bar in his pocket.

"No, no I'm not... I think we got about everything. Let’s put these behind the counter and have a rest."

The squad acknowledged what Wilson had said and quickly done as he wished.

"I wonder how long the Captain will be," Jackson asked anxiously, "Oh, wait. There he is."

Jackson pointed to a figure stumbling across in the distance heading towards them. The squad stared intently at this figure as it became more and more visible to them. His head was covered in blood and he didn't blink once. He had cuts all over his face of which dark, red blood was spilling out. His uniform was ripped and guts were hanging out of it and sticking to the material.

"That isn't the Captain," Wilson whispered softly whilst removing his helmet, "It's one of them."


===

Any comments?

[SoAdCrAzY]

Chapter 6:

“What? Are you sure?” Jackson asked when not soon after the Captain let out a loud moan, “Yep, he’s one of them”.

Wilson stared sorrowfully at what used to be a Captain. Roberts’ face was pale, and had a look in his eyes displaying a hint of sadness and depression. As Wilson prepared his weapon he got interrupted by Jackson:

“Do you think he knows what he is doing? Do you think that he does but he has no control over his body anymore? Do you think that all he can do is study the view whilst he attacks other peo-“

"That’s enough Jackson. The truth is I don't know and I don't want to know." Wilson irritably interrupted.

The squad gave Roberts a last salute as Wilson, once again, got into position to exterminate. He gathered his M1 Carbine. Now a sweet, womb of death and lifted it up to free Wilson from this torment.

“Wait, Wilson. Roberts said to not waste ammo. You know what to do.” Jackson interrupted.

Wilson arched his head in heartbreaking harmony and turned over the womb of death to display the sharp welcoming claw of the bayonet. He slowly stalked closer to the thing with his bayonet raised high above his head. He aggressively tackled the crazy thing to the ground and shoved the bayonet into its crimson eye. He sharply pulled the blade out of the senseless eye of the dim-witted creature and began digging rapidly at the rest of his face. He would only be satisfied once Roberts’ miserable face became unrecognisable. He screamed for Roberts’ pain and started stabbing faster and harder, trying to cover up his distressing mug with blood and the small bits of brain and skull descending his cranium. The large slurping noise caused the rest of the squad to turn away in disgust. Not Wilson, he welcomed this noise. The thud and the swishing of blood reminded him of freedom. The sound reminded him of helping out a friend. When he realised that he was just stabbing dark red and white mush into the ground, he slowly stepped back, wiped the sweat and blood from his face and viewed his weapon. It was once again a dragon. His face was neutral, no emotion could be found if you looked at his expression. It was like he was dead inside.

“…So I guess… You’re the boss now, Wilson. Sir” Jackson answered trying his hardest to dismiss the disarray on the floor and the odour now engulfing them.

“No! No, I’m not” Wilson snapped back whilst walking out of the room.

Later, when the squad were feasting on the food they had gathered in pure, awkward silence, Jackson tried his hardest to break this stillness.

"So, where is everyone from?" Jackson asked curiously realising that he hardly knows anything about his fellow squad mates.

“Aye, I’m a builder. I’m from Scotland. Not too much to tell. Life was boring. I have a wife and two little kids. The wife, obviously didn’t want me to join this war but, aye, like I’m going to stay there and put bricks on top of other bricks and clean up my offspring’s puke.” Private McNeil shared with the squad.

“Yes, I am a professional drunk. The truth is I have nothing good to say about my life. I get drunk. And then get drunk. And then get drunk some more. Although, I do have a huge house. Well, if you can count the streets as a house. I lie down on the street for days and beg. Beg. BEG for money. But do I get any? Bollocks to that, mate! When I heard that we could sign up to leave crappy England and get some ~~~~ money, I thought ‘Why the hell not?’” another private stood up and discussed his disturbingly sad life story.

Jackson didn’t know what to say after this. He didn’t want to comment on either story.

"Well… I’m a teacher at a primary school. I still live with my mother. I know, I know. It’s embarrassing. I love working with the children and I think they love working with me. I’m not your usual teacher, you see. I’m fun. I think. I felt this war was my duty to attend as did my mum. I had to do something good with my life! “ Jackson’s patriotic speech did not cause the applause and salutes he thought he would receive so he sat back down.

"I live in the East end of London. Dodgy deals are my speciality. Hiding from the coppers whenever they walk past my stool. I loved the market. So many good deals. I remember my wife went up to see me once and told me that she bought a necklace.” Wilson gently pulled out a shiny gold necklace from his top pocket and handed it to Jackson who tenderly held it and inspected it. “She said 'Whenever you need to remember my face when you are fighting, you take this out and I will be there, fighting with you'"

"'REMEMBER!' Cute." Jackson read the engraved message on the necklace and handed it back to Wilson.

"It was a good life. There are a lot of friendly people down where I lived. Going to the pub every night, getting hammered and joking about. I guess it won't be the same after this. Hell, the pub may have been bombed by the krauts." said Wilson furiously, "PIGS!"

Without warning, loud bangs were heard from outside accompanied by yells and shouts.

“Uh oh, looks like we got some more dead things to kill. Let’s get ready." Wilson ordered gathering his equipment with the rest of his squad.

The squad lined up against the rough wall next to the main door ready to attack whatever comes in. The door flung open and the squad pounced on this unsuspected creature and restrained it on the blood soaked ground. This creature wasn’t pale white, with veins popping violently on his face. There were no signs of visible damage on his face apart from the fear spreading across his clean-shaven visage. The squad looked at each other confused.

“Oh my God! It’s a kraut!“

“DROP YOUR VEAPONS!” A group of German soldiers surrounded the squad with their weapons pressed against their fresh uniforms aiming their weapons at them.


===

Please give me some comments and tell me when I should post the next chapter. Thanks.

[Revolutionary Badass]

Nice story, and when you can post, the sooner the better! B)

[SoAdCrAzY]

Chapter 7:

The cafe became infested by krauts as the squad were tied up in a corner of the room. Two krauts aimed their newly cleaned rifles at the bunch of helpless British men. You could tell they've never used them before or even been in a battle situation. Each kraut was smartly dressed with no sign of damage or dirt on their uniforms. These people didn't have a clue about this war and the effects it was causing but they still marched about in a macho style, showing off to each other. The British squad rolled their eyes and stared in disbelief at these newbies. Wilson felt the need to put an end to their silence.

"Listen! You have to leave now. Something is wrong with this town. There is something wrong with the people."

"Ah yes, the villagers are very stvange. Vun villager managed to bite vun of my sqvuad. Ve don't like killing civilians but ve didn’t have any choice" the kraut Captain answered.

The British squad stared at each other in awe. They knew what was happening and what will happen.

"Where is he now?" asked Wilson.

"Zat is of no importance to you!" yelled the kraut Captain.

"Well, it'll definitely be of importance to you. He's going to die!"

"Vat are you talking about?"

"In this village, a kind of disease has spread. The victim of this disease dies, sort of. The victim of this disease has a tendency to bite whoever it sees. And the person, who is bitten, then catches the disease, or so we think."

The kraut Captain bit his lips together with anger and slapped Wilson extremely hard across his cheek causing Wilson to fall back from the impact and blow saliva across the room in tiny droplets.

"You are cvazy! Stop it you stupid Bvitish. You zink zat a stupid lie vill get us to vetreat? You are going to have to tvy a lot harder. I vill enjoy choosing a suitable punishment for you stupid untermenchen," laughed the confident sounding kraut Captain whilst brushing his red hand recently used to **** slap Wilson with his other hand seemingly trying to rid himself of the vindicated pain he inflicted upon himself.

Later, while the kraut squad were away, the British squad used this as an excuse to spark up a conversation.

"Hey, Wilson. How come they are so good at English?" Jackson inquired.

"No idea, they must've had to learn it at training incase they have the pleasure of meeting a real British person. Their dirty kraut tongues don't deserve to speak our wonderful language," Wilson was interrupted by the noise of objects crashing to the ground and murmurs echoing across the building, "Hold on. I think the soon-to-be dead-ish kraut is coming in."

The British laughed together and pointed to the obvious looking dead thing in a kraut uniform stumbling across the place with a crappy band aid on its arm.

"Oh, I don't feel good, men. I zink it vas ze man who felt it necessary to take a huge chunk out of my arm. Ze schiesse probably has vabies or somezing, ja?" the thing moaned trying to put on a brave face and a laugh.

"Rabies?" the British laughed to each other at this pathetic response to the kraut's pain.

"Zilence you ignorant Bvitish scum! Take a seat over zere and have a vest, Hammler. Ve vill get you some food." the kraut Captain said with a hand on the almost dead-ish thing's shoulder whilst the, still, red hand which was recently used to **** slap Wilson was pointing to an old wooden chair.

"How long before he goes crazy, fellas?" Wilson joked.

"I think about five minutes. Anyone got a watch?" Jackson asked looking at his giggling squad mates.

"Seven minutes." another squad mate laughed.

"Three minutes!"

"Fourteen!"

Soon enough, the dead-ish Hammler started breathing very deeply and heavily like one with asthma. Like Mr. Morvie. Like Jenkins and probably, like Roberts.

"Oh, here we go. Cue blood spillage from mouth... Now!" Wilson timed it perfectly. The victim started spewing blood all over the floor catching the attention of its former friends, "...How about some vomit? He hasn't thrown up yet... Oh, wait. There he goes!"

The krauts walked over to the must-be-dead-now kraut known as Hammler with looks of puzzlement on their faces. The kraut Captain knelt down and placed two fingers on the definitely-dead-at-the-moment kraut that used to go by the name of Hammler's neck to feel for a pulse and to the krauts' surprise he was dead.

"Ahahaha! He's dead at the moment but just wait! A bite is all it takes! He'll come back and he'll kill you all you ~~~~ krauts! Muwahahahahaha!" Jackson yelled with insane laughter.

Jackson's squad stared at him. If looks could talk, the room would be filled with the words 'What the ****?' in ****ney accents, strong Scottish accents, gentle Irish accents and, probably, German accents too. Wilson grabbed Jackson and placed his hairy palms over his mouth to restrain him from anymore outbursts.

"Quiet, Jackson. We could use this to our advantage. Watch, just watch."

The squad's focus now turned onto the krauts and they got prepared for what they thought would happen next.

"Oh nein. Hammler is dead! Everyone take off your helmets," Private Jackson let out a childish laughter at this accidental sexual innuendo and got a slap round the head from his squad mates who's eyes were still fixated on the kraut situation bracing themselves for the worst, "Let's have a moment to pay our vespects to zis soldier"

Minutes passed. The krauts were still gathered in a circle around the why-is-he-still-on-the-floor-dead-thing that used to be Hammler. He didn't stir at all. The British looked uneasy and Wilson's eyes turned on his dragon in the corner of the room, bit his lip and tried to think of a way to put a halt to this tense situation.

More minutes passed. The krauts stopped paying their respects and placed their shiny helmets back on their smooth hair. One kraut stepped a step closer to the why-is-he-not-trying-to-bite-their-heads-off-yet dead kraut known as Hammler lying on the floor. The kraut bent over and rested two of his kraut fingers onto the tops of the kraut eye lids of the dead-ish kraut formally known as Hammler who was meaninglessly staring into space and the kraut pushed his fingers down so that the eyelids covered the dead thing's eyes. It wouldn't work. Every time the kraut managed to close the dead thing's eyes they immediately opened again as though his eye lids had a spring inside of them. The ever so confused kraut then fell over due to the force of the not-so-dead-anymore thing's act of jumping up to his feet and growling like a dog. The krauts took lots of steps back and stared in awe at their recently deceased friend who recently jumped up to find itself drooling blood from its pale-lipped mouth and chunks of red and orange vomit flowing through his recently shampooed hair and spotless face.

"Oh my God! He vas dead! I felt his pulse!" A terrified kraut screamed at the top of his voice.

"He vasn't dead. He's just very ill and ****ed up." answered the kraut Captain obviously not believing his own words.

"He is dead! I know it's hard to believe. It's not like this was the first rational idea that popped into our heads when one of our men died. But the sooner you realise, the longer you'll survive. You must dispose of him right away. He will kill everyone if you don't. Listen to his voice. Look at his face... Just ****ing shoot him already!" Wilson yelled at the corner of the room at the krauts slowly stepping further away from the dead thing the second it takes a step closer to them.

"You silly Bvitish man! You just vant to rid me of my men! Zis man needs help!" the kraut Captain yelled back.

"Fine! Let him go. Die. Help us out. You might as well rid the world of your lives. We are going to win this war... Or you can help us destroy this threat before it spreads and, probably, destroys the world." Wilson tried to compromise with the krauts.

"What the hell, Wilson? These are the enemy! This is madness!"

"Wilson, have you lost your mind?"

"Wilson, you cannot be serious?"

While the British squad were exchanging constructive comments towards this situation, the krauts stared at each other in disbelief at Wilson's comment and shared the same helpless expression on their recently shaved faces. The kraut Captain raised his rifle slowly with slight regret and aimed the gun at the dead thing. He started talking strangely to the dead thing. Probably German. The occasional 'God' and 'Heaven' is all that the British can understand.

Even more minutes Passed.

The British squad were getting uneasy. The dead thing wasn't running around panicky but, instead, slowly stumbled towards the kraut Captain.

"Just shoot him already, man!" the British were yelling.

The kraut Captain ignored their pleads and carried on talking to the dead thing.

"Shoot him!"

"Shoot him now!"

"Hurry up!"

The kraut Captain abruptly stopped talking due to the distraction being caused by the British and bowed his head with frustration and sorrow. He stroked the trigger with his finger, ready to fire his first ever round at one of his friends. Was this his idea of war? The shot burst out of his rifle and caused the kraut Captain to slowly get blown back by the recoil. He was unaware of the true power of his weapon. The bullet went straight into the dead thing's head and caused a huge splatter of blood to spray everywhere including the kraut Captain’s depressed mug. The sound of the definitely-dead-now thing's body to clump on the floor in a big heap of decaying bones was drained out by the sound of the kraut Captain’s rifle dropping to the ground. The kraut Captain gathered a small handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his blood soaked face with it, trying to rid himself of the smell and also the soft tickling of the blood dripping down his face.

"Amen" the kraut Captain murmured whilst throwing the handkerchief on the floor, gently landing in the pool of blood by the thing's head causing the gentlest of rippling to swell.

The kraut Captain slowly turned and ached his way towards the British squad.

"So, vat do ve do?"

[SoAdCrAzY]

Chapter 8:

"Ah, Vilson is it?" the kraut Captain asked.

"Yes, and you are?" Wilson inquired.

"My name is Captain Gorv and this is Viov" Gorv said whilst exposing a very mean looking kraut behind him.

"Viov? Oh, Riov! Sorry, your accent's-"

"You evil Bvitish man! I am ze only vun here who can see through your little tvick! He is going to kill us, Gorv! You must zink ve are so gullable to zink zat ve believe in monsters! You made us lose a good soldier and you von't stop until ve all die!" Riov shouted trying to attack Wilson but Gorv quickly stepped in and held him back.

"Oh, come on! What more evidence do you need? Fine! Why don't you go outside and say 'Hello' to the friendly community. And after that, come back and prove us 'Bvitish' wrong!" Wilson returned conversational fire smugly.

"Fine. You are in deep Scheisse ven I get back!" Riov yelled laughing.

"You don't know how right you are" Wilson muttered under his breath.

Riov grabbed his rifle and stormed up to the front door. When he got to the door, he turned to face Wilson and made it so that his index finger was representing that of a knife and sliced it across his neck in a threat to Wilson, and then left the building.

"I'm sorry you've just lost another one of your men" Wilson s****ed to Gorv.

"Viov won't die! He's are best man!" Gorv replied uneasily.

Minutes passed. A scream is heard from outside and a series of gunshots echo from outside. Gorv stood up from his wooden chair looking worried while Wilson stared at him intently with a huge grin on his face. Bang! The door flung open. Riov stumbled into the room moaning and groaning. He was falling about all over the place and he wouldn't be recognisable if it wasn't for the kraut uniform on his blood torn body.

"Voiv? Are you Okay?" Gorv asked walking to Riov's aid.

"Oh, don't play dumb, Gorv. You know he's dead. I'll take care of this, it's about time I killed a kraut!" Wilson shouted pulling Gorv back by his uniform, not caring about the rip he just created on the just ironed kraut uniform.

Gorv stood back whilst Wilson inched closer and closer to Riov. No hesitation. Boom! Riov had an extra hole in between his eyes. The yelp he produced was his last ever yelp and he fell on the floor like a helpless rag doll. Wilson looked confused and he turned around to find a heap of smoke rising from the dragon of Gorv.

"...We really are alike" Wilson said astonished and thought back to previous events.

"Wow that took about three minutes. That must be a new record!" Jackson interrupted the awkward silence whilst fanning away and coughing the smoke which was now engulfing the whole room.

"Give him a break, Jackson... Now do you believe us, Gorv?" Wilson asked sympathetically.

"Let's just do zis, ja?"

Later, the two squads were in the cafe separated from each other and exchanging evil looks to each other. Wilson decided to break this disintegration and walked over to where Gorv was sitting to discuss the situation.

"I have a feeling that this mad disease comes from the cattle. The eating of the cattle is another way of spreading the disease and probably its origin." Wilson discussed his opinion to Gorv.

"Ze cows? Ha, yes, ze cows are ze baddies, ja? Ve must kill all ze cows" the krauts laughed to each other sarcastically mocking Wilson.

"Listen, are you just mocking me to get back at me for the deaths of two of your men? I'm sorry about that but-"

"Who do you zink ve are? Some geezers you vant to take to ze public house and get dvunk, ja?! Zis is stvictly business! No sympathy!" a kraut yelled trying to attack Wilson but his squad mates held him back talking to him in German, probably trying to calm him down.

"The Man He Killed by Thomas Hardy.
Had he and I but met
By some old ancient inn,
We should have sat us down to wet
Right many a nipper kin! But ranged as infantry,
And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
And killed him in his place.

I shot him dead because--
Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
That's clear enough; although

He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
Off-hand like--just as I--
Was out of work--had sold his traps--
No other reason why.

Yes; quaint and curious war is!
You shoot a fellow down
You'd treat if met where any bar is,
Or help to half-a-crown."

Silence. Everyone faced Jackson as he was reciting this poem and they still were after he was finished. Jackson looked awkward and sat down. Every eye was still stuck onto Jackson. These weren't looks of mocking ness or laughter but looks of compassion and guilt. They realised what Jackson had been thinking of throughout the war. They were all brothers thrown in a situation and told to kill each other. The tragedy of this situation is that they couldn't.

"...Erm, listen, we have to work together and rid the world of this evil. We can't let it spread. I know we cannot do anything about the overall situation of the war but we can rid ourselves of this obstacle. For the moment just think of your families and your loved ones! **** the war!" Wilson broke the awkward silence and pulled the attention away from Jackson and onto himself.

"The war? Who is to say that this war will not lead to the end of the world? Why should we save a world that lives off of violence and being cruel to your brothers? Why stop this ~~~~ed disease to spread when this could be what the world needs. Throughout history, civilisations have been destroyed. Man has committed far more wrong doings than any other species. Don't you think it is time to end all the suffering in the world? Don't you think that we need to progress to the next step of evolution where the acts of man will be no longer a burden on the world?" Jackson answered back to Wilson thus bringing everyone’s attention towards him again.

"Maybe, mankind isn't perfect but ve cannot choose vhether or not to end it by inflicting pain into our loved vuns. I love my vife and childven too much to let them die an agonising death. I vant zem to live a good life vhich is vhy I joined zis zing anyvay. I don't know about you but I vill do anyzing to vid ze vorld of zis Scheisse." Gorv now gained the attention.

Silence. Each side were reflecting on what had just been said. Good points were displayed on each side. They knew that the krauts weren't vicious monsters and vice versa for the Brits. Each man was spurred on by the propaganda and was turned into a racist murderous monster. Reflection. Silence. Guilt. Silence.

"Now, I know zat ze cow zing sounds stupid but ve cannot rule anyzing out at zis point! Ve must kill ze cattle and anyvun who may have eaten zem. Everyone in ze village," Gorv paused and bowed his head, "...Massacre."

"Oh yeah, because that's the krauts' answer for everything?!" a British soldier yelled in the background with disgust.

"Oh, ja, ja?! Do you have anyzing better to put forth? Nein! Ve can't be too sure. Sooner or later, ze whole village vill become zese cvazy zings and zen soon enough it vill engulf ze vorld quickly. Ve must go to ze fields and kill ze cattle and zen gather up remaining villagers and cvazy vuns and zen... Exterminate them."

"No! There must be a cure!" Jackson yelled.

"He's right, Jackson," Wilson said, "Time isn't on our side. Think of your family. We must do this. We must-"

Wilson found himself lost for words and was unable to talk. He gulped down hard against his throat and wiped a tear from his eye and tried once again to finish the sentence.

"We must exterminate them".

[SoAdCrAzY]

Chapter 9:

The two squads were trampling through the tall grass along the stench-ridden fields. They marched with as little dignity showing as possible. They were looking around nervously with looks of sadness. They held their weapons low and didn't talk.

"Alright, let's be as quick as possible. As soon as you see a cow, use your bayonets and kill them. We need to save the ammo for the - for the villagers." Wilson said sadly looking around at his depressed squad.

The men came to a part of the field where the cows seemed to be and they quickly ran around and starting attacking them. They seemed to be enjoying themselves. Shouting, screaming, stabbing. Apart from Jackson. He stood, staring at the sick sight. The look of disgust on his face was so obvious. All he could hear were distressed animals yelping and screaming. Moo. Moo! MOO! He watched the gangs of men stalking a cow and jumping on it. The cow tried running away but it was too slow. A soldier stabbed it in the head. Another soldier pushed his bayonet into one of the cows fat legs and sliced causing it to start limping, thus making it easy to push it over and stab their bayonets into the neck and twist it around so that they could feel the cows rough, pipe of a throat on their blade and then slice it so that the cow would die of suffocation or blood loss and then they moved onto the next cow. Slurp. Stab. Slice. Moo. These noises haunted Jackson until the worst noise that he expected to hear came to his senses. Wilson's shout.

"Jackson! Give us some help over here for God's sake!"

"Yes, sir!" Jackson answered running over to the rest of the squad.

Wilson pointed to an unattended cow fleeing from the scene as a sign for Jackson to kill. Jackson looked at this cow with unhappiness and ran over to it to try and catch it. When Jackson finally caught up with it, he didn't hesitate and softly sliced its neck with his bayonet causing an amazing amount of blood to pour out onto his hands and weapon. He sharply removed his hand from the bottom of its neck so that he no longer was to get covered. He didn't want to do the inhumane things to it that the squads were doing to the other cows. He turned around and began walking back to the squad. The cow's screams got louder and louder. Jackson tried ignoring it. He held his blood soaked hands over his ears to guard himself from this noise causing blood to leak into them and trickle down his face. The cows screaming got louder and louder. MOO! MOO! He kept telling himself not to turn around. Do NOT turn around! But he couldn't help it. He slowly turned his head to face his latest victim.

The cow was stumbling across in circles, like a drunk in a pool of blood, yelping and spraying blood all over its black and white coat and the green grass. Jackson stared at the scene which he had caused. He stared at the cow. If only he had kept walking. He ran towards the cow with his bayonet high above his head giving a loud scream. This caused everyone to turn around. Jackson charged for the cow. When he got to the cow he jumped on top of it causing the cow to fall to the ground and he began stabbing at its face. He stabbed. And sliced. And stabbed. And sliced. Yelling and screaming for the cow to shut up and die, please, please, just die. Jackson's expression was heart breaking. He looked so angry. He looked so sad. His mouth was open bearing his teeth and his eyes filled with tears. The tears soon turned red when they mixed with the cow's blood and chunks of arteries which splashed upon his face. He cried out loud. He cried and cried and stabbed and sliced. Until finally the cow's sound was able to be gone from Jackson's ears. Jackson slowly stepped back from the cow and stared at what he had just done. He stared at the life he had just taken away and the pain he had just inflicted. He cried. He turned around to join the others to find them staring at what they had just witnessed. They looked shocked that anyone could be that inhumane to a cow. Jackson slowly walked back with his head arched down. He left bloody footprints where ever he walked and his blood red face dropped droplets of blood from his nose and chin onto the grass each time his body slightly jiggled. Wilson got a handkerchief out from his pocket ready to hand to Jackson but he just walked past everyone with his head arched down and didn't say a word.

"...O-Okay. Let's go to the village." Wilson ordered unsure of what to say given what had just happened.

When everyone was walking back from the fields, Wilson caught up with Jackson who was crying at least 20 yards ahead from the rest of the soldiers.

"Mate, it's Okay. Don't think of this as killing but creating new, better life."

"Oh, I know about all of that. It's just- just... We are becoming everything I thought we were fighting against in this war," Jackson sniffed, "So much of a man's personality, beliefs and morals can be changed as an outcome of war."

"Listen, we are not changing. We will never become Nazis! These people need our help and that's what we are doing for them." Wilson reassured Jackson.

They carried on walking until they arrived at the village.

"Alvight, gather all ze villagers and bving zem into zis avea vere zey shall be... Exterminated. Never go anyvere alone and take care of any cvazy people as soon as you see them" Gorv ordered to both squads.

So, everyone got to work. The British squad were searching every house but found nothing. Every house was not how they left them. They were not delicate looking. The flower-filled curtains did not shine light into the rooms as they were covered in blood and guts. The sun didn't gleam through the window as it was pitch black and almost midnight. Every room was much like the house where Mr. Morvie's life came to a tragic halt. Each house contained a certain number of villagers. Some had three adults and a child. Some houses had two adults and three children. Some houses contained just children. But there were no crazy things to be found. Apart from one house.

When they entered one house through the front door, they immediately heard murmuring and footsteps creaking on the uneven, wooden floor. They prepared themselves mentally and physically for the next part of the story. To some extent. To their surprise they found out that it was Private Johnson.

"Johnson? I thought you were killed by Mr. Morvie's brother?" Jackson asked confused.

"He is dead, Jackson, of that I can assure you." Wilson said gathering his dragon to his chest and aiming at Private Johnson.

The dead thing jumped at Wilson and tried taking a bite but was pushed on the floor by his former squad mates.

"W-W-W-W-What is h-h-h-happening to me-e-e?!" the dead thing moaned.

"Hey, he's alive! He just talked!" Jackson shouted confused.

"He isn't alive. He's dead. He may have talked but he has the smell of warm flesh seeping through his nostrils and won't stop at nothing to get it." Wilson said whilst staring at the thing squirming on the floor, trying to get up.

"Oh my God, he CAN see what pain he is inflicting upon people with no control over his actions!" Jackson yelped in disbelief.

"W-W-W-Why won't you h-h-help-"

Wilson shot.

When they returned to the rendezvous area to place the terrified villagers and mangled, decayed corpses, they found that the German's were already there. A heap of bodies lay in a corner. A heap of human decay. A heap of green, bloody human decay. In the middle was a large group of villagers, like penguins, gathered together screaming whilst being held at gun point by the Germans.

"Thvow your villagers with ze vest of zem. And get veady." Gorv yelled pointing to the group of villagers in the middle.

The British squad done what Gorv had ordered and gathered together with the Germans. Wilson walked beside Gorv and nodded his head with respect and dignity.

"Do not let vone person escape your line of fire! Vemember, in death you set zem free. You are all good men. God bless you for doing zis," Gorv shouted to the soldiers, "I vill now talk to ze villagers. I speak a little French. Zey must know-"

"NO! Do not talk to them. It will only make it worse," Wilson interrupted preparing his dragon for action, "Ready men...Fire at will!"

[SoAdCrAzY]

Chapter 10:

"I killed five children. I killed five of them," Jackson cried, "Not one, not two but five children were killed as a result of MY actions! I tried to get the eldest ones first but, hell, they were the first to go. I had no choice. They stared at me. They knew what was coming. I knew what was coming. I couldn't look anymore. I didn't make eye contact. Such innocent, sinless eyes. Perfect eyes."

"We done it, we have nothing to be sad for. If we didn't do what we just done, we would be dead-ish and pretty sure, the whole world would be dead-ish on a long enough timeline." Wilson interrupted trying not to add to the sadness that Jackson had created.

The two squads stared at each other with confusing pride. They really were brothers. There was an uneasy silence. These men didn't know what to think. Two nations drawn apart by a war which they didn't have anything to do with, but if they didn't kill each other they would stay apart forever. Two groups of friends divided. Two groups of brothers separated.

"ZE BVITISH ARE COMING!" an alarmed looking German shouted whilst running into the room, "Zere are veinforcements making zheir vay to Le Paradis! Vat do ve do?"

"Ve need to gather our veapons and attack zem!" another German yelled standing up but got disapproving looks from his squad and confused looks from the British brothers.

"NEIN! Ve cannot! I cannot kill zese men! Zese are my bvothers!" Gorv overruled the kraut who felt, now, very out of place.

"Gorv? Zis is a var. Ve have been given a duty to serve our countvy!" the kraut then yelled trying to redeem himself.

"... You must escape... Erm, go up there and never look back!" Wilson said afraid of what he had said and what everyone else will say.

"Wilson? At the end of the day, this is a war. We have been given a duty to serve our country. We are going against the rules." a British soldier said trying to make Wilson think from his logic and not his heart.

"Rules? **** the rules! All I know is that these men are my brothers and they saved all of our lives. We owe them. We owe them so much. We may not be able to stop the war but I don't want to let these people get caught and they will have us down for treason too!" Wilson shouted, "Now go quick! Before they see us talking to you!"

"Vight, sqvad, let's move! And zanks, Vilson." Gorv said shaking Wilson's hand.

"You too... Hey, take this," Wilson handed Gorv the gold necklace once given to him by his wife with 'REMEMBER!' engraved onto it, "Whenever you feel crap about what has happened, take this out and you will feel better, trust me."

Gorv took the necklace and looked at Wilson. He looked into his eyes and saw compassion. Wilson had similar eyes to him. They were both blue. Every human, no matter how far down the line, has the same gene pool. Everyone is brothers. Gorv smiled and ran away with his squad. He ran away. Wilson reflected. His brothers had run away, only to be killed by some more of their brothers or to kill more of their brothers.

"War sucks!" Jackson interrupted Wilson’s reflection time rather immaturely.

The squad sat down and waited for their not so helpful reinforcements to arrive.

"Alright, soldiers." one of the reinforcements said proudly.

"You took your time, didn't you?" Wilson smiled.

"Sorry about that but SOME OF US were busy fighting. Stupid MONSTERS!" one of the reinforcements yelled with pure hatred and anger.

The squad smiled at each other.

"Yeah, we had an encounter with some ~~~~ MONSTERS, but they are taken care of now... Thanks for coming anyway." Wilson laughed.

"Oh, right. That's what that smell was."

So, the brothers marched off and left Le Paradis. Back to the war. One half of the men exhausted and bruised. The other half marching proudly with their heads up high seemingly arrogantly. This half consisted of Wilson and his squad.

[SoAdCrAzY]

Chapter 11:

They were now in Russia. Wilson stared up at the sky. He had lost the will to fight. Gunshots echoed through the small streets accompanied by yells and taunts and cries and moans. It was dark. The sun was about to turn it's eye away from this scene of chaos and turn off the lights only to find another scene of chaos in another part of the world. Boom. Explosions sent shrapnel inching there way towards soldiers and torn down buildings and trees from their roots. No where was safe. Wilson didn't care. He had lost the will to fight.

He stared at the soldiers returning fire to the enemy. But he wasn't returning fire. He had lost the will to fight. One soldier was screaming. Screaming. Trying to exterminate every soldier in sight. He was shooting his dragon and spraying it all over the battlefield like a water hose. This mad, murdering machine was Jackson. Jackson turned to face Wilson. Wilson, who was lying on the floor, smiled at Jackson. Jackson ran towards Wilson and dived behind some rubble and debris to avoid getting stung.

"Wilson, what's the matter?" Jackson asked worriedly with his hand placed on Wilson's chest.

Jackson noticed that his hand had become very warm and as he tried to remove it, he found that his palm was slightly sticking to Wilson with the aid of his blood. Wilson had been shot.

"Jackson... It's not looking too good, mate" Wilson moaned in agony.

"No, Wilson! Just hang in there. They are almost all dead!" Jackson screamed frantically trying his best to stop the blood flowing from the gaping wound in Wilson's chest.

"Don't worry about me, Jackson... If anything, envy me. No more worrying about this stupid mess. I am the flower. I am the flower." Wilson's view was slowly surrounded by the engulfing smoke from his brothers’ dragons as he slipped out of mortality.

"The flower?" Jackson said bewildered wiping a tear from his dirty face.

"That’s the last of them!" a voice called out across the battlefield.

Jackson stood up gradually, taking his bloody hands off of Wilson's dead corpse and placed them on his gun. His dragon. His dragon now had a red coat around the butt and the trigger, but Jackson didn't care. Jackson had a face like it was carved from stone. He took one look at his surroundings and breathed in.

"Search this ****-hole for weapons and ammo. We are running short. Make sure, you bayonet every German you see in the head. No matter how dead they look. We can’t be too careful," Jackson stopped this familiar speech and reflected on what he had become, "...What’s dead can’t hurt you."

So, the brothers walked into the trenches that were recently returning fire to them. Safe in the knowledge that they were all dead. Jackson's expression showed nothing of his feelings. He walked into an enemy bunker and saw the, now, misshapen heads and bloody carcasses that were created as a consequence of Jackson's actions. Moo! MOO! These yelps once again haunted the senses of Jackson. He turned around but found no cattle anywhere. It was in his mind. He stabbed viciously at the German's skulls trying to rid himself of this noise, once again. He stabbed and stabbed and sliced and slit. He welcomed the noise. The loud slurping of the warm flesh being penetrated and the scraping of the bayonet against the skull of the dead thing didn't make Jackson cower and throw up. He had changed. Clunk. Jackson stopped his slaughter session when this noise greeted him. He manoeuvred his bony, blood sodden arm down onto the muddy floor and picked up a recognizable golden object. Jackson wiped the filth away from this object and read the engraved message:

'REMEMBER!'


THE END


===

Final and overall comments, please?

Thanks.

[SoAdCrAzY]

I know this story has a lot of views so could I please have some comments whether they are good or bad.

Thanks. :D

[Biohazard47]

YAY ZOMBIES...

::zombie::

[Wizard]

Truely good.

I liked it very much. The setting of it in ww2 makes it unique.

[renegadedod]

hey soad... did not know you were posting your stories here too... i am going to post my stories here also... that and i got to work on my site for putting all my stuff on it... like i said on the NMRiH forums, good story...

[TheTerrorOfGalitrabaltra]

Liked the story alot! Enjoyed reading it for a an hour staright...

[Death]

i put out things asking the other stories to be put in a mini book but yours would be a wonderfull addition to hopefully a little short(in yur case long) story book published. i am 15 so it would take some time because i have school and stuff. so may i use your story SoAdCrAzY?

[SoAdCrAzY]

Do you have anymore information about this?

My MSN: matt_pratt@hotmail.com

Xfire: soadcrazy

[Grim Reaper]

I absolutely adored this story, well written, enough action to keep the reader glued to the screen as he read. Truly a written masterpiece, great work.

[CaptainSnake]

I like this story!!

Though i have one question , why didn't the desease spead ?

-CaptainSnake

[SoAdCrAzY]

Thanks for your comments.

I have edited this story a lot and may repost it. I have made it more historically accurate, more British and less swearing.

And also, about the disease not spreading...

There is no proof that it didn't spread. I simply wanted the characters to be zombie noobs and done what they thought was right. Who knows, the disease could have spread a great deal and they didn't realise...