Mortuus

[Gojira21]

Mortuus (The Dead)

Chapter 1

Outskirts of Reverent City

Silence. A growing sense of numbness was all that Corporal Mac felt as he stared out into the passing of nature. Trees, with the very hint of fall approaching, where lined up before him. Each one that passed by was no more than a blur.

But it wasn't his fault.

Mac may have been viewing into an illustration of nature, but his mind was away in another land. His thoughts where what occupied him - sometimes that was all he had.

Each passing of a thought was a snapshot of a moment in his life. However, they where not the warm and happy thoughts that so many cherish. Mac’s memories were a burden; treacherous memories of the new world around him. A world that was suited for his nightmares. A almost barren land of death and despair.

The most troublesome of memories for the Corporal was one that he wished to wipe away…but it would always come back. With what had happened he would never be able to forgive himself. Perhaps it's foolish for him to feel this way, but when your in a position to change the circumstances you can't help but feel guilty.

As Mac becomes lost in his guilt, a breeze descents upon him. Blowing his Gillie suit, which was draped over his pack, into the wind. A shiver encompasses his body, whether it was from the cold autumn weather or his thoughts he couldn't be sure. Trying to get a grip with his inner self, Mac tightens his grip on his rifle. It didn't help much.

“Why the hell do we have to be riding on this medieval junk,” spat a voice from behind Mac.

Recognizing who the voice belonged too, Mac sighed inwardly to himself. The voice belonged to one of his squad pals and one that he did not particularly care for. The mans name was Corporal Lance Smith.

To be fair, Mac did not necessarily view Smith as a bad guy, he just had a particular nature about him that grated at his nerves. Between his snide remarks and crude humor, Mac always seemed to have a headache with him around. However, despite what Mac would like to believe, Smith was important to his job. He was his spotter.

Lance Smith was the one who would make the adjustments and analysis the environment for Mac’s shot. He would measure the distance and judge the wind pattern. It seemed simple but on the contrary it was quite the difficult task. One that took years to master, and for that, Smith has Mac’s respect. Although, part of him does believe he could accomplish most of the job by himself but that's how things work with the Corp. Smith was there to keep him accountable.

“You know the routine Smith,” answered Mac, “we provide over watch and recon.”

Smith glanced at Mac with a sneer on his face, “Fuck man, I know what our job is. But why the hell are we on this?”

A rain drop assaulted Mac’s nose as he contemplated what Smith said. For a moment, he wasn't sure himself why they where positioned on such a relic of transportation. Then again, Mac never really knew anything when it came to his superiors. He just knows to receive and obey. Just like a well trained solider should be.

“Situational awareness, Smith.” Finally answered Mac. “More traditional means of transportation would give us away. An old derelict of a train can give us a stealthy advantage.”

Smith snickers and shakes his head. “Situational awareness my ass” was muttered under his breath as he strolls to the side of the flatbed. As another bout of wind rips at Mac, he wondered how a man like Smith even made it into the service. A man that complained as much as he did would surely not have the right mentality to survive when it came to authority. Then again, with the condition the world is in these days, he guessed the military would take all the help they can receive. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Out in the distance something captures Mac's attention. From the outline of the woods, right before it converges with the track, a lone figure comes shambling out into the open. All Mac did was stare. Three years ago, this probably would have been just your average drunk person but this was far from that reality. The figure reaching out to the train was a walking corpse. A zombie. Member of the walking dead. Or as Mac has come to call them, Zeds.

Mac couldn't help but chuckle because at one point in time, the very idea of the dead walking would have been a very amusing joke to tell with your drinking pals. Legends of the dead coming back to life was always a fun subject until it became a reality. No one knows for sure how that reality came into existence. Some speculated it was a disease released upon the world, while others assumed it was a curse brought fourth upon the human race. Whatever the cause was, the world was vastly unprepared.

Watching the shambling corpse, Mac momentarily had a flashback to an earlier time and it scared him.

He closed his eyes.

The dead shamble closer, hands reaching…someone screaming.

Mac reopens his eyes, but now all he saw was the memory. He trembled to his core.

A young woman with brunette hair screams for help. The dead reach ever closer. Their moans fill his ears and make him panic. He is frozen in place. The moans become unbearable. The woman reaches for his help, her eyes plead for her rescue. But he just stood there. Fear made him a coward. The dead moan hungrily as they reach their destination and a new sound joins in. It was from the woman. Her screams penetrate his soul. And then the head of the woman looks dead at him.

“I trusted you Mac”

Quickly as it started it was gone and Mac once again reopened his eyes. He didn't even realize how badly he was trembling. It felt like his skeleton would burst out of him. Mac forces himself to breath and turns his attention to what broke his memory. His comms piece in his ear was active.

“Rider to Alpha do you copy? Over,” ringed the voice in his ear.

“This is Alpha, copy”

“This Is Ghost Rider requesting a progress update,” replied the now familiar voice of Captain Burrows.

Mac pressed the mic attached to his neck for a better reception and responded, “Copy that, T-minus 5 minutes to destination and commence recon.”

The other end of the mic did not respond at first, which made Mac briefly wonder if there was comm interference, “Roger that, Ghost Rider out.”

That was all that needed to be said. Short, simple and to the point. Got to love the military mused Mac.

It partially bothered the Corporal only to the fact that it felt almost rehearsed. Of Course he knew military lingo was precise and to the point, but Mac couldn't help but wonder if any leaders cared about their subordinates. Probably not thought Mac, better to maintain some discrepancies towards your team than to feel fully connected. Makes it easier to get over come a loss. Or that's how Mac wanted to view it at least.


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The ghostly outline of Reverent City slowly ebbed into view as the flatbed train slowly inched closer. For a moment, Mac could have believed they were entering hell. The once sterling city outline was now nothing more than barren metal obelisks that time has forgotten. The silhouettes of the skyline where like fingers of some monstrous hand reaching over the horizon, looking to choke away the rest of the life left within. It was an eerie reflection of what a disaster movie would look like except this was real.

Mac shuddered at the thought of having to enter this city, even if it was only briefly and wondered just why this recon had to take place on the ruined half of Reverent. Shaking his head and swallowing his feelings away, Mac viewed the visual display on his wrist unit. They where almost at their drop off point.

“Ready up!” Mac cries to Smith, as he eyes the passing ground.

The Corporal had hoped they would have been able to reach a normal stop with the train and depart, but disappointingly that was not the case. Truth of the matter is they only got on this train for the mobility, the train itself was heading beyond Reverent City for some construction purposes. But of course, nothing was ever easy in the service. This is going to hurt.

With out a moments hesitation, Mac leaps over the side of the train and rolls through his momentum to cushion his fall. Right behind him Smith follows suit. They quickly leap to their feet and advance to the outline of the woods. Right before entering the woodlands, Mac stops and signals Smith to do the same.

Mac takes a breath and studies his surroundings. They appeared to be at the right spot, but one could never be to sure. Reaching out to Smith, he asks for the map and lays it out on the cold ground. Mac then brings out his compass and holds it steady. The coordinates match with what was listed on the map. He briefly smiles and swiftly hands the map back to Smith.

“We move in one minute,” said Mac, “take this time to check your gear.”

With that, Mac waits for no response and immediately rips off the plastic covering on his rifle. It was a M110 SASS ( Semi-Automatic Sniper System) rifle with one exception. This M110 was custom fitted to be better at long rang precision firing than a normal semi auto marksman rife. The rifle brought a smile to the man’s face as this was his favorite choice of weapon. Light and mobile.

Beside him, Smith unholsters his custom fitted Urban MDR and quickly rotates his view through the scope. Everything checked out. Mac notices his weapon and scuffs.

“MDR? You know that isn't the regulated weapon with the service.”

Smith only snickers but doesn't even look at Mac, and continues inspecting his weapon.

“Like I give a rats ass,” answered Smith, “the ‘regulated rifles’ by them are unreliable. Besides, I don't think they care to much. This here is Ms.Betty!”

“Ms.Betty? What the hell?” Questioned Mac, giving Smith a whimsical look.

“Yep, she is my world!.” Boasts Smith, giving Mac the stupidest of grins.

“Wonder what your misses would say to that,” replied Mac.

Smith finally glances at Mac, “I don't know, why don't you ask your mother for me.”

“Asshole.” Mutters Mac in response and turns away. Shaking his head away from Smith, Mac couldn't help but smile a little bit.

Before the duo departs into the woods, a shadow descends upon the sky and the sound of thunder roars to life in the distance. Mac looks into the heavens above and lets out a disappointing sigh. Looks like we are in for some stormy weather. He offers up a quick prayer that it would be only a drizzle of rain and nothing more because it is very uncomfortable running around in a drenched outfit. With that last thought, Mac turns to his left and merges into the woods, quickly becoming one with the shadows.