Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Scavengers of the Damned

Chapter 3

by crimsonkiss 1 Reviews

I ignore Mikey’s whimpering groans next to me, and the crescent moon shaped lacerations I was getting on my forearm from the terrified kid.

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: G - Genres: Drama,Horror,Sci-fi - Characters: Frank Iero,Mikey Way - Warnings: [V] [?] - Published: 2011/11/09 - Updated: 2011/11/10 - 2131 words - Complete

<<
>>
“What the hell happened to you?!” Mikey breathes out as the SWAT bodyguards throw me into the room.

No, not room. Barracks. I look around with an incredulous sigh. My eyes quickly land on the far wall, where five sets of bunk beds are squeezed together with as little room as possible between them. Each set had a worn black trunk placed at the foot of the bottom bed. White sheets are neatly folded on top of stained mattresses and two white pillows lie on top of the trunks. Two small windows adorned the white walls of the room, but were overly protected by thick black bars. A small doorframe led to another smaller room with a single bed. Craning my neck to look inside, I notice one of the SWAT members removing some of his gear. Great. Now we have babysitters.

“Dude, hello?!” Mikey calls out again, snapping me out of my concentration.

“Oh.” I mutter almost inaudibly, remembering the throbbing pain taking over my face. “I don’t want to talk about it…”

Mikey sighs and finishes buttoning up his jacket. It was only then that I noticed the other eight guys putting the finishing touches on matching uniforms.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Mikey jumps, startled, worried eyes settling on me. “What’s wrong?”

“What are you wearing?!”

Mikey looks down at his body and blushes. “There’s one for you too…” He mumbles, pointing at one of the black trunks.

“No way in fucking HELL am I wearing a uniform!” I screech, hurrying over to the trunk Mikey was pointing at.

Reaching into the already opened container, I pull out thick army green cargo pants, a matching cotton shirt, and a thick army green jacket. I hold up the jacket and notice my name printed on the back lining in white lettering. They really are taking this shit seriously… At the bottom of the black trunk I spot black combat boots gleaming in the fake fluorescent lighting.

“Is there a problem out here ladies?”

I look up angrily and spot the SWAT babysitter peering out at us with a smug look on his face.

“The freak over there doesn’t want to dress out for class, Jeremy.” A random boy in the back calls out.

Jeremy turns and shoots me a dirty look. “You’ll dress out or I’ll knock you out douche bag. Understand?” Jeremy states with minimal emotion.

I scoff. “Come at me bro…” I yell at him while slamming my fists against my chest.

Jeremy drops the jacket he was halfway through putting on and advances at me. Mikey squeaks and steps in between us. Jeremy looks at him with an amused look.

“Really wimp?” He asks with a slight chuckle. Mikey stands his ground as Jeremy shoves his hands against the smaller boys chest. “Wow, maybe they were right in picking you. Proved me wrong!”

Before Jeremy could shove my new friend any harder, I quickly push the kid aside, coming face to face with the angry supervisor.

“Calm down dude, this doesn’t involve him. It’s me you want to fight.”

“Actually that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t want to fight you. I want to see your ass taken out in PT, fag.”

Red flashes before my eyes as I lunge at him, connecting my fist with the first bit of flesh I could find. He lets out a startled cry causing the adrenaline in me to pump throughout my smaller body at a faster beat. Jeremy uses his arms to block his face as I attempt another nose shot. Third punch in and I feel arms wrap around me, lifting me off the laughing victim. I stare at him through anger glazed eyes.

“Don’t call me a fucking fag!”

“Ah shit kid, you have a lot in you. You’ll be fucking perfect for SAD.” He notices the confusion playing through my facial expressions. “SAD. SAD?” I shake my head in misunderstanding. “Search and Destroy. The guys that go out and actually hunt the Walkers.”

A shiver creeps down my spine at the thought. “I’m not fucking do that!”

“Ah, we’ll see! You’ll be tested at the end of PT and placed in your final group. But I will tell you, I haven’t been wrong yet. I see a lot of kids come through here. I know what to look out for.”

He pulls himself off the ground and dusts off his backside before grabbing his jacket and walking back into his room.

“Class starts in two minutes!” He calls out over his shoulder before letting his door swing shut.

The older guy holding onto me lets go and the rest of the guys finish dressing out. Mikey rushes over to me, pulling me into a hug.

“You’re an idiot, you know that right?”

I smile against his shoulder, letting the hug linger before pulling away.

“When he said PT, he didn’t mean Physical Training, did he?”

Mikey nods sadly and pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. “They gave us our schedule while you were out…” He says weakly, forcing the paper into my hand.

I look down at the roster incredulously.

Orientation Tonight - Dr. Wayne Wachowski

Monday through Friday
5am - Breakfast
530 am - Room inspection
6am - Theory of The Undead with Dr. Wayne Wachowski
8am - Physical Training
11am - Lunch
12pm - Social Break
1pm - Gun Training with Brad Foster
2pm - Special Weapons Training with Grant Ward
3pm - Physical Training
5pm - Dinner
6pm - Social Break
7pm - Shower
8pm - Lights Out

Saturday
8am - Breakfast
9am - Physical Training
12pm - Lunch
1pm - Gun Training with Brad Foster
3pm - Special Weapons Training with Grant Ward
5pm - Dinner
6pm - Social Break
7pm - Shower
8pm - Lights Out

Sunday
8am - Breakfast
9am - On Site Training with Dr. Wayne Wachowski
12pm - Lunch
5pm - Dinner
7pm - Shower
8pm - Lights out.



I groan as I crumple the paper back to it’s original mock origami shape and hand it back to Mikey.

“They’ve got to be fucking kidding…”

“IERO! ONE MINUTE! DRESS OUT NOW OR DEAL WITH THE WARDEN!” Jeremy hollers from his room.

I flip him the bird and silently dress out, forever blending with my fucked up surroundings…

----- x -----

Mikey and I take our seats in a large auditorium, idle chit chat bouncing off the white walls. I look down into the middle of the room and spot a metal examining table bolted to the ground with a blanket draped over a lumpy form. Suspicion kicks in as a small twitch flicks the blanket to life. A group gasp hushes the room as the older man from earlier rushes in.

“Welcome boys to Better Living! My name is Dr. Wayne Wachowski!”

A groan rumbles in the pit of my stomach. No way in hell was I spending every morning with this idiot…

“I am the head of research of Better Living New Jersey branch.” A young kid runs out and hands the doctor a microphone. “Ah yes, thank you Brent, much better!” He says with a happy smile as his voice amplifies over the hundred and something odd boys in the room. “As you may know, an epidemic is borderline here, and we, with the government, feel that we should be doing all the necessary preparations as early as possible!”

The lump on the table twitches again, causing all eyes to focus on it.

“Please, lets not worry about that quite yet. We still have a few more topics to cover before we address that issue.” Dr. Wachowski barks out, causing our attention to half heartedly turn back to him. “At Better Living, we devised a system that would choose a group of young men like yourselves from every state and train them in certain crucial areas, just in case of a national emergency. There are going to be four different groups you may be placed amongst. We have the researches, the medical personnel and last but most important, SAD; Search and Destroy.”

A large quantity of the boys perk up at the mention of destruction.

“Ah yes, obviously everyone’s number one pick. But in order to be a part of SAD, you must meet our very high expectations in all of your learning areas; physical, shooting and weapons.” A few shoulder slouch at the sound of hard work. “The researches are those we find would be the most helpful in coming up with a cure to this deadly disease. The medical personnel are those who we feel would be the best equipped at saving a fallen soldiers life.”

Dr. Wachowski clears his throat loudly as people begin talking with their seatmates about which group they wanted to be picked for most.

“I’m not going to lie. If this disease spreads, it will get nasty. It will get extreme. You have all been picked for a certain reason; you all are capable of bringing this deadly disease to an end! Together with BL/IND, WE. CAN. DEFEAT. THIS!”

The group of boys emit an ear shattering roar of whooping and clapping as the Doc finishes his little pep speech. He settles down the brainwashed idiots and walks over to the table of interest.

“Now. Would you like to see what we’re up against?”

Another cheer tears through the auditorium. The Doc smiles and slowly unveils the concealed prize on the table. Nausea pierces the pit of my stomach as my eyes settle on a gray, decaying corpse wigging under restraints on the table. The first few rows of boys quickly haul ass to the back as they realize exactly what was before them; a real life, honest to God zombie…

The word sounded like pure fiction in my mind as I muse over the current situation.

“Now, no need to be alarmed!” The Doc calls out. “Yes, this is a zombie. A cadaver was injected with the A Virus strand. He was not a person attacked by another zombie, or a person forced to make the change. We at Better Living have used quite a few cadavers to turn into zombies for us to experiment on. At this facility, we will be using them for not only research, but also crucial training. In the weeks to come, you will be forced to take on your own zombie in combat. Those who are successful will then graduate into the BL/IND teams. Those who do not, well.. We’ll touch up on that later…”

Doc un straps the convulsing body and takes a few steps back.

“There are a few things we’d like to go over with you before training actually starts tomorrow morning. And what better way to get you to remember than to demonstrate?”

The zombie rolls of the table with a loud moan. His leg snaps in a painful to see position as the cracking of his bones echoes through the room. We all hold our breath as the fucker slowly stands back up, staring at the Doc like he was the biggest piece of prime cut steak imaginable. The moans coming from within the dead piece of shit filled the room as it slowly dragged its broken foot towards the Doc, blood dripping from its mouth.

“When faced in an intimate space with a zombie, the most important thing to remember is there is only one way to kill it; aim for the head.”

Doc pulls out a small handgun and lays a few rounds in the zombies body in various spots that would instantly kill a normal human. The only effect it had on the creature was a few staggering footsteps backwards. It quickly regained it’s composer and advanced on the Doc. All I could do was white knuckle grip the edge of my seat and silently pray the zombie took a large chunk out of the Doc’s face. I ignore Mikey’s whimpering groans next to me, and the crescent moon shaped lacerations I was getting on my forearm from the terrified kid.

The zombie opens its mouth to bite the Doc as it nears. Without hesitation, Doc reaches up and aims the gun directly between the zombies eyes.

“Observe.”

With a single flick of his finger, the bullet pierces the zombies skull, lodging itself in the infected brain. Without a last moan, the zombie falls to the floor, limp, laying in a puddle of it’s own brain fragments.

Mikey’s iron grip slowly releases as the whole auditorium quiets in pure shock…

“Gentleman, welcome to BL/IND!”
<<
>>
Log in to rate and review this story

Log in!




Register Lost password

Filter

You won't see stories with a lower score when you browse or search. Log in to adjust filter.
0

 

Featured Story

Site Stats

  • Authors: 483687
  • Stories: 40149

Recent Stories