Jenkins turned to Lt. Gates, who still stood there like a frightened dog, waiting for its master to instruct it. "How did they get out of the morgue? I ordered that elevator shut down."

"They pried open the elevator doors and climbed the cables. Others slipped into the air ducts and followed them out."

"Has Dr. Cooper been located?" Jenkins had ordered Dr. Cooper arrested and brought to the Command Center.

"No sir."

"FIND HIM!" Jenkins screamed, his anger boiling over. If that son of a bitch had followed orders and incinerated those bodies, there would not be over a dozen Alpha's running loose through the hospital, creating havoc. When that little fuck was found and brought in, he personally was going put a bullet into his head.

"Y-Y-Yes sir." Lt. Gates had cringed in fear at Jenkins outburst, and now slunk away to avoid any more of Jenkins wrath.

"Sir?" the Comtech chimed for Jenkins attention.

"Go ahead." Jenkins ordered.

"The latest update has just came through..." The Comtech paused, his face pale and covered with sweat, his eyes dark and full of dread.

"Continue." Jenkins snapped.

"The unidentified attacking aircraft has completely destroyed the eastern perimeter tank squad."

"There were half a dozen M1A1 Abrams defending the eastern perimeter." Major Farrell said in disbelief.

"Yes sir." Said the Comtech.

"Over half the cities armor, gone." Farrell spoke to nobody in particular.

"How far out are the deadfucks?" Jenkins asked.

"The main horde is still over a mile away. We are only getting sporadic reports from the Kimball Junction defenders as they fallback to the city, and some of the reports are conflicting..."

That meant the front door to Park City was wide open for the deadfucks to come marching through.

"Sir!" another Comtech exclaimed. "The attacking aircraft has begun strafing runs on the central city!"

It's all coming apart.

But he was unwilling to give up. Just as he had told Susan earlier over the radio, he was strong, and there were a lot of people counting on him to survive.

"Get those other two Apache's in the air." He ordered, knowing that he most likely had ordered both crews to their deaths. "Tell them their only concern is that alien craft..."

Out on the heliport Striker-3 and Striker-4 had been standing by, engine running rotors turning, awaiting the order to attack. When it came it took less than thirty seconds before they were lifting into the night sky, side by side.

Army Captain George Hendricks, pilot of the Striker-4 AH-64D Apache gun ship always got a rush of adrenaline every time he lifted his bird from the ground, the feeling of so much pure, destructive power right in his fingers was as powerful a natural high as he had thought possible. But now, the feeling of cold, aching fear as he embarked on what he was certain would be his final mission proved to be an even more powerful natural high. His ears were ringing, his skin tingled with an almost electric current and his vision was focused to an almost crystal clarity. He had felt all of these sensations before, on every mission, but never had the fright been such a pure, clean, terror.

He leaned back into his seat and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the blanket of fear. He ran a quick scan of his flight instruments, letting his training take over. But despite his training, he still wasn't prepared when Striker-3 exploded into a ball of flame one hundred yards to his starboard side, the flames lighting up the night. He put even more power into his climb and peeled away to port in an evasive maneuver, but the blast wave still caught Striker-4 and it took all of Capt. Hendricks skill to keep control of the bird.

"Good flying Ge-" began his co-pilot and gunner Captain Shane Travis, but was cut off when a pair of green balls of energy, several feet in diameter passed beneath the landing skids of Striker-4 and impacted into the side of a large high rise building half a mile away with a huge explosion that would bring half the building tumbling down. A fraction of a second later something black and incredibly fast streaked by fifty yards to starboard.

"TARGET THAT BOGIE!" Hendricks screamed to his gunner.

"He's not registering on radar." Replied Captain Travis. "Switching to manual laser targeting... Missiles away!"

A pair of hellfire missiles streaked away from the Apache with a trail of fire and smoke. The stealth bogie was fast and agile, already over two miles away and circling around over the city for another pass, making it difficult for Capt. Travis to keep the targeting laser manually locked on. Only his night optics kept the black hull of the alien craft from blending completely with the darkness. The gem shaped craft completed its turn and let loose with a pair of green energy blasts into the downtown city with another huge explosion. Just then the pair of Hellfire missiles slammed into the front starboard side, engulfing the craft in fire.

"IT'S A HIT!" Travis whooped with joy at the results of his handiwork. The alien craft was not destroyed, but a large, jagged chunk had been blown out of the front end, and it was trailing black smoke. Captain Travis' joy quickly evaporated as he watched the alien craft lose altitude and nose dive into the center of down town Park City at just under 600 MPH. It drilled through a pair of ten story hotel towers at a 45-degree angle before smashing into the ground just outside the Park City Resort. It exploded into a giant, expanding fireball, laced with crackling green energy that rippled out hungrily, leveling buildings, pulverizing vehicles and houses and living creature in a two-block radius and bathing the entire city in its light...

Pvt. Samson watched downtown erupt in fire and green electricity, laughing with glee. It was just as Master Necrotura had said it would be: chaos, fire and death. Again, the prophetic words of the Master were borne true, reaffirming the blind, fanatical faith of PVT. Samson.

'Now my faithful Templar, now is the time for you to embrace your destiny.' The Master's voice whispered into his mind, his psychic presence allowed access via his Third Eye.

"Yes Master." Pvt. Samson said aloud, taking one last, longing look at the carnage down town and the increasing throngs of people now taking to the street, some to gawk in mute shock at the fiery horror that had fallen into their lives, but most fleeing away from the core of the destruction as fast as they could; some carried what personal possessions they were able to grab, others had young children and infants in tow, all of their faces locked in screams of horror.

He was honored with the task bestowed upon him, knowing that his sacrifice was the will of Satan for the greater glory of Master Necrotura, the Son of Satan reborn! It was Master Necrotura who would be the savior of humanity, gathering the faithful to him, until Armageddon was at hand, at which time Master Necrotura, the Holy Son of Satan, would lead the righteous and faithful into Jihad, The Final battle, against the Krylok parasites as well as the Unbelievers of humanity who had turned their backs upon The Savior, Mordecai Necrotura, and in doing so had sealed their fates in the fieriest pits of Satan's dungeons.

Within a minute he found himself standing before a small bakery and pastry shop. The front door was open, and standing in the doorway was a large, burly man with a thin, receding hairline, narrow, suspicious eyes and a snaggletooth scowl. He wore a white baker's apron, and cradled a pump shotgun in his hands, which he aimed at Pvt. Samson. The two men locked eyes, and through their Third Eye implant their minds touched one another, bonded, and exchanged the formal, telepathic greeting used between fellow Chosen.

The baker stepped aside, allowing Samson to enter the store. It smelled of sugar and fresh bread, but Samson paid it no attention, moving across the customer service area, behind the counter and into the back kitchen area. There were six other people there, four men, three Caucasian and one African American, and two women, both Caucasian, every one of them Templar's.

"It is a glorious time Brothers and Sisters." Samson said, smiling to each one of them in turn. "The moment of our calling is upon us. We have been chosen for our purity of belief, our devotion to the faith. Though we are about to sacrifice our lives for the greater glory of Master Necrotura, we die knowing that our souls have earned an eternal resting place in the Palace of Lucifer, while the Unbelievers shall forever burn in his fiery pits, their souls tortured for all time while their earthly shell is cursed to walk the earth, a rotting, unclean, Abomination!" Through his Third Eye Samson could feel the righteous power coursing through every one of his fellow Templar's as clean and pure as it coursed through himself.

As the spirit flowed through his veins, Pvt. Samson found himself overcome with memories of how he had been but a lost, confused soul, headed down the path of damnation, until he had come home to Kittewa on leave from the Army in the fall of 1998, and his girlfriend took him to a meeting of Mordecai's flock at his mansion estate up on Rainbow Lake. As soon as Samson had locked eyes with Mordecai, he could feel the mans power, like an ocean tidal wave, sweeping over him, enrapturing his mind and showing him the true way. The problems that had made his life a wreck were petty and mundane compared to the future that Mordecai prophesized. The very survival of the human race was at stake, but not the tired, corrupt, unfaithful dogs of humanity that existed in the world today. The New Humanity, born out of the fires of Armageddon, the Chosen children of Satan, bound by their faith, guided by the Prophet, the Antichrist, Mordecai Necrotura, would reclaim the earth as their own.

Less than a week under Mordecai's wing and Pvt. Samson was reborn a new man, telepathically indoctrinated to be focused, pure, and absolute in his devotion to The New Humanity and Mordecai Necrotura; the Order was everything, it was the all. Even his very life was secondary to the greater glory and power of The New Humanity and Mordecai Necrotura. A week before he returned to duty he was honored with participation in the ritual of Communion and blessed with the implanting of his Third Eye; a quick, painless procedure performed while under sway of Master Necrotura's telepathic Rapture.

He had come to Mordecai Necrotura a broken, destitute, shell of a man, he had returned to the United States Army a Templar of The New Humanity.

Two years later, in the summer of the year 2000, the dead began returning to life and attacking the living, just as Mordecai Necrotura had predicted. And just like Mordecai had preached, the New Humanity had been ready. The flock was spread far and wide, and Master Necrotura had been preparing for this day for thirty-five years, making contacts, acquiring bases of operation, stockpiling supplies and ammunition.

When he had returned home just after the deadrise had began, Lord Necrotura had telepathically contacted Templar Samson personally, ordering him to enlist with the Park City militia. There he would serve as a spy and covert agent. And he was not the only one. Samson knew the amount of trust the Master placed in him by the number of other "sleeper" agents he was made privy to.

And now he was here, about to fulfill his destiny.

Templar Samson stripped away the military fatigues of his "cover" life, standing naked and bare, and accepted first the Martyr's vest, loaded with twenty pounds of military grade explosives and wired to a button trigger strapped to the wrist, he then took the white robe of the Templar from Templar Mel, one of the females. She too was naked, and Samson noted with some delight that she was large breasted and voluptuously proportioned with long, flowing red hair and deep, emerald green eyes. There were tattoos on her body as well, dotting her arms from wrist to shoulder, her legs, belly, back and buttocks, mostly a collection of demons and monsters, witches and blades, with the occasional name or word or other arcane writing.

"I go to meet my destiny." Samson chanted aloud, echoed by all six other Templars as they donned their Martyrs vests and white hooded robes. Next came their AK-47's and shoulder pack of ammunition and grenades. Each had been given a separate, primary target location and a secondary target should the first prove inaccessible. All were chosen for massive casualty rates and critical damage to the Park City infrastructure. Samson's own primary target was the Military Command Center...

Chapter 55.

Tuesday, June 26, 2001 Rainbow Lake, UT 6:45 PM.

Pvt. Irving held his ground at the top of the stairs in the second floor hallway, blasting the deadfucks one at a time with his M-16 as they tried to ascend to the upper floor, but it was more out of fear than duty.

He had run back up to the second floor when Cordoba had pushed him, the sound of gunfire below giving him extra speed, and he had expected Cordoba to be right behind him, but when he looked back, Cordoba was nowhere to be seen.

Scotty had been stationed at the top of the second floor landing, and he looked at Irving with confusion and fear. Moments later there was an explosion downstairs in the living room. A few seconds after that, the deadfucks began pouring into the foyer from the kitchen. Scotty turned and ran up the stairs to the third floor, leaving Pvt. Irving alone. Several zombies passed the stairway and stumbled into the living room, but just as many turned their attention to the stairs, looking up at Pvt. Irving with dead, glazed eyes, raised there arms, moaned with the sigh of the damned, and advanced. The stairwell was wide enough for two zombies abreast, and Pvt. Irving easily shot them down, the first dozen quickly piling up near the bottom of the stairs, creating a logjam for the mob pressing below.

Irving heard pistol fire from downstairs, followed by Pvt. Cordoba's panicked screams of struggle. When the screams became bleating cries of slaughter Pvt. Irving began to unload his M-16 wildly into the mob below, if for no other reason than to drown out Cordoba's awful screams. His clip ran dry and he had to reload, his heart racing and his fingers trembling in fear.

At the base of the stairs, the pressing mob of zombies began to clear away, backing out of the foyer into the kitchen and living room in a tangled, undisciplined rush. Looking down past the logjam of dead zombies, Pvt. Irving wondered what the hell was happening?

"Cordoba?" He bleated like a scared sheep, knowing Cordoba was dead; torn apart and devoured by zombies.

Past the logjam, a superzombie stepped from the kitchen into the foyer and faced him. It was wearing battle-damaged armor, its helmet dented and pushed back to reveal a smashed and bullet riddled face. Only one eye was still intact, but it looked up at Irving, burning with evil hatred. It raised its M-16 and Pvt. Irving could see its blackened, claw tipped finger wrap around the grenade launcher trigger. Irving felt his bowels and bladder let loose simultaneously as his death zeroed in on him.

"Oh shit!" was all he had time to mutter before the superzombie fired. The grenade struck him square in the chest, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying back three feet before it exploded. Pvt. Irving was literally blown to pieces as the high explosive shrapnel grenade splattered blood, organs and body parts across the hall while the better part of Irving's shattered torso landed in a burnt, bloody heap at the base of the third floor stairs ten feet down the hallway...

Mac had just gotten to his feet, with the help of Norris, and was about to return to the fight when a muffled explosion sounded outside in the hallway.

"You better get your gun Norris, this could get messy." Gritting his teeth against the pain, he took three hobbling steps and propped himself against the doorway, M-16 clutched in his right hand.

"That's Irving," Norris pointed to the pile of splatter a few feet away.

Mac barely gave a passing glance to Pvt. Irving's because movement in the main stairwell caught his attention. He spotted a dented and battered military helmet strapped atop the smashed and blasted head of a superzombie. Its mouth and nose had been pulverized inward and only one of its hot, glaring eyes remained, but somehow, it still seemed to be smiling at him. It ascended to the top of the stairs, clad in the chewed and torn remains of battle armor, an M-16 with a mounted, still smoking M-203 grenade launcher in its dead hands.

Mac unloaded his own M-16 on full automatic, the hail of hot lead ripping the remainder of the superzombies battle armor to shreds, as well as its chest and the better part of its already mangled head. The foul creature fell backwards under the gunfire, tumbling halfway down the stairs where it smashed into the mob of zombies that had pushed past the pile-up of corpses and was trying to make their way up to the second floor. Mac's gun clicked empty but he wasn't done yet. Pulling a grenade from his web gear, he pulled the pin with his teeth and lobbed the grenade across the hall in a perfect arc that carried it right down the stairwell.

"Cover, Norris!" Mac warned, crouching down with a scream of pain, which was drowned out by the explosion of the grenade. In the confines of the stairwell the explosion made a bigger mess of the superzombie than it's grenade had made of Pvt. Irving, and took out nearly a dozen zombies as well...

"I'VE GOT THE STAIRS!" Rick screamed in Susan's ear, not waiting for her to answer before he left his position at the front balcony, moving through the bedroom into the hall to provide backup. Across the hall Mac stood in the doorway and Norris, stepped out into the hall, an M-16 in his hands.

"Fucking superzombie," Muttered Mac through teeth clenched in pain. "I took it out with a grenade."

Rick walked over and peered down the main stairwell, black smoke and the smell of cordite and burned flesh wafted up into the hallway. It was chocked half full with the blasted, broken body parts of several zombies, the charred, headless upper torso of the superzombie was visible in the wreckage of the stairwell, one arm still clenching and unclenching at the air. Behind the pile-up, Rick could see a mob of zombies crowded into the foyer, pressing in from the kitchen and living room, trying to get past the log jam of blasted body parts and splintered wood. With a snarl of hatred, he took aim and began shooting them in the head one at a time...

From atop the third floor landing, Scotty looked nauseously down the stairs at Pvt. Irving's grisly, smoking remains. His face was wrinkled with terror and his M-16 hung almost uselessly in his hands. The sound of automatic gunfire came from the second floor below.

"What's going on down there?" Jennifer called from the bedroom behind him.

He looked over to her, his face ghostly white, his eyes lost with fright. "I-I-I don't know."

"Can you see anything down there?" Jennifer was as frightened as Scotty but controlling it much better.

"Nothing." Scotty shook his head wildly. From down below, the methodical crack of an assault rifle became audible.

Behind them both, at the far end of the north hallway, the window shattered inward with a shrill crash that caused both to yelp with fright. Turning to look, they could see a pair of withered arms, a combat helmeted head and body armor clad upper torso wriggling its way through the opening.

"A SUPERZOMBIE!" Jennifer screamed, twisting her body in the bedroom doorway and coming up with an M-16 that she aimed at the creature.

Scotty spun and aimed his M-16 as well, pulling the trigger as fast as his finger could move. He was shaking like someone with Alzheimer's disease, and combined with the recoil of the rifle it made his already wild shots go even wilder, most chewing into the wall and floor around the superzombie rather than hitting the target.

Jennifer's aim was much more true, nearly every one of her shots hitting the mark as she unloaded on the superzombie. Many of her shots clanged off the creature's helmet or were absorbed by the body armor but enough found their mark in the throat and face, blasting chunks of flesh away in viscous black sprays. But they seemed to have little effect on the superzombie as it finished squirming through the window and plopped to the floor.

As Jennifer's bullets continued to impact with its upper torso and Scotty's bullets tore up the hallway around it, the superzombie rolled to its knees and un-slung it's M-16 from its shoulder. It raised the weapon and quickly targeted Scotty, letting loose with a 6-round burst that stitched across his chest with a spray of bone and blood. The impact of the bullets threw Scotty backwards and down the stairs like a rag doll. The superzombie swung the weapon towards Jennifer but she retreated into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Widening what was left of its withered and mutilated face into a smile, fresh black ichor leaking from its wounds, it unloaded the remainder of its clip into the bedroom door before climbing to its feet and advancing...

"UPSTAIRS!" Mac screamed as the barrage of gunfire erupted from the third floor above.

Rick was standing at the top of the main stairs, firing down at the zombies hopelessly trying to get past the clog of bodies in the foyer and didn't hear him.

Scotty's body tumbled down from the third floor and came to a halt near Pvt. Irving's grisly remains, his chest a mess of ruptured flesh and flowing blood.

Rick's clip ran dry and as he lowered his weapon to reload he could hear the superzombie unloading the last of its clip upstairs. He turned, his eyes went first to Mac standing in the doorway then to Scotty's bloody body ten feet away, and finally to gaze in horror up the stairs.

"JENNIFER!" he screamed his wife's name and charged for the stairs, reloading his M-16 as he ran. "MARY! TIFFANY!" His daughter's names came out half hysterical as he bounded up the stairs three at a time, reloading as he went. He reached the top of the landing and saw a superzombie, wearing battle damaged body armor and a dinged and hammered helmet standing ten feet away in front of a bullet-ridden door; the bedroom in which his family was hiding!

Rick screamed incoherently, hosing the superzombie with his entire clip on full automatic. The superzombie staggered back as the 5.56mm rounds made minced meat out of the rest of its body armor, shredding its chest to splinters, blowing out its throat and taking off the left half of its rotted head. It fell to the ground just as Rick's weapon clicked empty, but he could see its wrecked body was already starting to recover, flexing its fingers and reaching for its fallen weapon while trying to pull its legs beneath it to stand up, all the while a pool of thick, black liquid spread beneath it.

Rick dashed down the hallway to the bedroom door. "JENNIFER?" Tears of anger and fear were streaming down his face. He opened the door to see Jennifer standing in the far corner, her face masked by terror, her breath coming in wracking sobs, with her M-16 pointed directly at Rick's chest. Huddled in the corner behind her was Samantha, with Tyler clutched to her breast and Sharon Young, who cradled his own Mary and Tiffany in her arms.

"We almost took you out there." David said from the sliding balcony door, lowering his M-16 from its bead on Rick's head. Rick almost had to do a double take; he had been so focused on his wife and children that he hadn't even spotted David standing there with his weapon trained on him.

Rick glanced back at the superzombie, which amazingly, with only half of a head and a bullet-shattered torso, had climbed to its knees and grasped its M-16. He quickly shut the door and turned the feeble lock, knowing it would do little to slow the superzombie.

"Why aren't you up on the roof?" he asked, his relief at their safety tempered with anger at their foolishness.

"There wasn't time." Jennifer said, trying to regain her composure. "It just busted through the window at the end of the hall and came up firing."

"Get moving!" Rick motioned them toward the balcony. "Out onto the balcony! Up onto the roof! That thing will bust into here any second!"

Samantha was the first to react, holding baby tight she sprang to her feet and hurried to the balcony. Sharon rose to her feet, handing Jennifer baby Tiffany while she scooped up Mary and followed her.

Jennifer made it to the balcony door when she realized her husband was not behind her. She turned to see him standing in the center of the room, reloading his M-16.

"What are you doing?" she asked frightfully.

"I'm going to finish that motherfucker off!" Rick had a wild-eyed, murderous look.

"Rick, come on!"

"Just get up on the roof!" Rick barked. "If I don't stop this fucker now it will just follow us up." He locked eyes with his wife for several long, tense seconds. Never in their marriage, not even during the worst times of this zombie crisis, had she ever seen this cold blooded killer staring back at her.

"I love you." She said, bursting into tears, cuddling the crying baby closer to her chin.

"I love you too, baby" He said with a sad smile, his eyes softening for just a moment. She turned away and went to the balcony where the roof access ladder was located and at least the illusion of temporary safety awaited her...

Chapter 56.