Ivory Remains, graduate from a police academy, second year in the Army, one younger sister and an elder sister, and national exterminator for the plague? Two years of killing humans who were infected to stop the spread, two years of using nothing but guns and titanium knives, the bloodiest way to kill because lethal injections are useless, the result just causes them to go rabid faster. A solution in the blood that eats every possible medication, every poison and sleep killing drug, so bullets to the head and heart, a sliced throat down to the spine and fire are the only solutions left.

Two hundred and forty-eight people in a city of five hundred infected, quarantined off by electrical wires and fire traps. Three teams assigned to do the killings, three in each, nine people who have to sacrifice everything for this, yet one always gets cold feet. Top killings: Ivory Remains and Benjamin Haze, ages twenty-one and twenty-five. This city will burn eventually if this keeps up, whether or not it is “controlled”.


I close my eyes at the screams as a knife is taken to each of their throats. The infection has to be stopped, halted by any means possible. I open my eyes.

“Wait, this is wrong. They’re just kids!” my co-worker snaps. One always does, every day, and it is typical of the weak hearted. I pull out my semi-automatic with its silencer and pull the trigger. A life to stop this commotion, lives to stop this place from turning into hell, it is worth it.

I sigh as the body slumps to the ground, blood seeping closer and closer until it reaches my black sneakers. Boss comes out of the bedroom, wiping his knife on a black, torn handkerchief, he looks at me.

“Your turn,” he mouths and I walk down the hall into a baby blue room. They see me, they plead with their eyes, but it’s futile, their lives are gone. I raise my gun and pull the trigger, blood turning the wall purple.

Great, two down, more to go and they’re going to be the hardest yet.


Gruesome blood bath in a white condo, covering almost all furniture that’s touched, a nightmare in real life. Shots echo out from the far bedroom, screams tear from a teenager’s throat, an apology from someone else.

“I’m so sorry…” The words resonate clearly after the silence of the four shots. A medium-height and medium build woman comes out of the room, only nineteen, yet she is covered in blood and her eyes are distant with a .45 pistol in her hand. Some blood hers, from cuts and a wound to her lower abdomen, the rest her sister’s. She sits on the futon, motionless until the door busts in and a black haired male with a crimson haired woman rush in.

“Are you infected, ma’am? Have you been exposed?” the male asks serious with a knife pinned to her throat. She shakes her head, nicking her neck in the process and looks back to the room. The male rushes in, the woman stays behind and glares at her, accusations in her ice blue eyes, the male comes back.

“We are leaving, get up.” She complies to the guys orders and walks out. As he goes to the door he pulls the pin on the grenade and throws it, it bounced off the wall and landed in the far room. The explosion rings loudly in their ears as they walk away.