This story is an unofficial story based, without permission, on the Warhammer/Warhammer 40,000 intellectual property owned by Games Workshop Ltd.
"The Walking Dead couldn't tell us any better
It's a tale you gotta live to know
Yeah the story you're telling is from the book I wrote
I've forgotten more than you'll ever know
'Cause at the end of the day, when the hope fades away
It was an outlook you could never afford
You're on one last stand with the boys and the band
Before the daemon strikes the final chord."
+++BEGIN TRANSMISSION+++
+++GOVERNOR, THIS IS COLONEL FLAVIUN.+++
+++REPORT, COLONEL.+++
+++WE MAY HAVE AN ISSUE.+++
+++EXCUSE ME, COLONEL? MAYBE YOU HAVEN'T BEEN AROUND THE PAST FEW WEEKS?+++
+++THE TUNNELS BLASTED WITH A TRAIN INSIDE. THEY ARE IN THE SUB-HIVE.+++
+
++SO? WHAT SHOULD I CARE IF A BUNCH OF SUB-HIVERS BECOME ACQUAINTED WITH OUR MOST GRACIOUS IMPERIAL DEFENDERS?+++
+++SIR...THEY'RE IN QUARANTINED ZONE 44.+++
+++...+++
+++GOVERNOR?+++
+++THANK YOU, COLONEL. DISMISSED. GONSALVES OUT.+++
+++END TRANSMISSION+++
The light at the end of the tunnel. So, he was finally dead. The Emperor was smiling. Callus smiled in return, and walked towards him. He had always had a sneaking suspicion that the Imperial Cult was a bunch of bunk made to control the masses. Thank the Emperor, he had been wrong. He was standing in his holy presence even now.
Callus approached the immortal divine God-Emperor of Mankind, and squinted. He was forced to, considering the golden light that surrounded the figure that towered over him. The Emperor's smile, Callus now realized, was a look of caring concern. Callus looked around, to make sure there was nobody else. He returned his gaze to the Emperor's eyes. He was silent. He could be nothing else, in the presence of great power. Death wasn't so bad, really. It was warm, and everything was white, and he was with the Emperor, and he felt like nothing would ever be wrong again. It was a far sight better than ratty hive city anyways, that was for sure. Callus gazed at the Emperor, as he slowly fisted a golden gauntleted first palm open, as if to envelop Callus' soul. Suddenly, there was nothing the Corporal wanted to more than to become one with his immortal, divine, God-Emperor. And then, his deep voice booming like the clear, clarion call of Heaven, the Emperor spoke. And what he said, in that singular moment of divine revealing, to this lowly corporal of his Imperial Guard, was this:
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
His vision swam. The Emperor disappeared. Suddenly, his head hurt. A lot. Callus slowly opened his eyes. The warmth was gone. It was cold, and he was laying, apparently, on a bed of rubble. Callus groaned. The Emperor was gone. Brenner had taken his place.
"How many fingers, am I holding up, Corporal?"
"Uhh...three."
"Correct. Very good, Corporal. Surprisingly, it looks as if you are not seriously injured. The fall was not very far, thankfully. We appear to have been lucky enough to land above the rubble, as opposed to under it. Unlike, sadly, the rest of them.
Callus looked around. Everywhere, crushed bodies rested under blood-stained boulders.
Ox was priming and loading his stubber, Haydn was a few feet away, standing guard, lasgun in hand. Jackson had a new, smaller las-carbine slung over his shoulder, and was busy typing away on his monitor. Brenner was simply holding an auto-pistol, apparently having lost his weapon. Callus also, was without a weapon.
He got to his feet. Every muscle in his body ached, but he didn't seem to be injured seriously. Crawling over the rubble, he found a lasgun sticking out of the rubble, and dragged it out. It was dented and damaged, but looked functional.
"Shall we, gentlemen?"
***
The squad moved down the strangely silent streets in standard Beta Omega fashion, one by one. Callus was on point, hugging the walls and shadows. Haydn and Jackson were sweeping the area with their lasguns, guarding the right and left flanks. Ox traveled in the back, providing the squad fire with his stubber, and Brenner was next to him, more or less useless in a long range firefight, being armed with only an auto-pistol.
The buildings here were small and stocky, hardly typical of the popular image of a soaring hive city. Their windows were smashed, and their doors kicked in. It appeared as if they had been shelled out. Some were even smeared with blood.
"Figure ahead! Possible hostile!" Callus barked, training his rifle on a human-sized figure standing in the darkness.
"Haydn, Jackson, cover me!"
"Aye!" came a simultaneous bark.
Callus was off, in a running crouch, his rifle never leaving the figure. It appeared to be facing directly towards him, but it was not moving or speaking. A shadow obscured it. Callus stopped about fifty feet from it, and cried out.
"Identify!"
A long pause. Nothing.
"Identify!"
Again, nothing. No speech, no movement, nothing.
"Identify or I shoot!"
Silence. It was broken by the fizzling and crackling of air as a crimson lasbolt streaked through oxygen, striking the figure in the chest and sending him crashing to the ground.
Giving a silent hand signal to his squad, Callus ran, still crouching, towards the figure. He soon realized it was clad in the deep blue carapace armor of the Governor's elite guard unit. It was just after realizing this that Callus was hit with the stench. This man had been dead for a long, long, time.
Bending down to examine the body, Callus saw a large, melted hole in the man's face plate. Under it, what had been an eye was simply a blackened crater. He had taken a lasbolt directly to his left eye. A hell pistol was clutched in his hand.
Voices, ahead. Callus looked up. Light. Another hand signal. He was up and moving again with the measured silence of a professional soldier.
The squad turned the corner to find a group of ten men, nine armed with auto-rifles, two holding torches, which explained the light in this place of darkness. One was in a large fur coat, and appeared to be unarmed. Though Callus was facing the back of him. They were surrounding someone, speaking cruelly and laughing. They had not noticed the guardsmen behind them.
Callus turned to his men, nodded to them, and they fell out of combat positions. Callus walked towards the men with deliberately noisy footsteps and addressed them in a friendly tone.
"Hello there gents, how are ya doin? Listen, we're with the 207th Kazarkanian, defending your city from the Ork incursion and all that, and we were wondering if you could tell us how exactly to get out of here."
In an instant there were nine auto-rifles trained on Callus' head. The men wielding them were clearly hive-gangers, clad head to toe in leather and covered in myriad piercing. Slowly, the last man turned, a corpulent, bald man, clad in a huge fur greatcoat, with sunken, sallow eyes, and disgusting yellow-green teeth. He was grinning menacingly.
And, in turning, he revealed who he had been addressing in such a predatory manner. Lying on the ground, clearly terrified, was the most beautiful girl Callus had ever seen in his life.
She was clad unflatteringly, in baggy jeans and a black t-shirt, but her stunning beauty was obvious. She was possessed of long, raven black hair, and deep green eyes. Her lips were red and pouty, and her breasts, rising and falling in short, ragged breaths, were clearly bountiful. He legs were long and shapely, obvious even through the jeans. She appeared frail and frightened, like a young deer, and it was obvious that whatever these men intended, it was not pleasant.
"I think it would be best if you buggered off and minded your own business from now on, off-worlder," the fat man in the fur coat said, his voice low and menacing.
"Hmm." was Callus' only reply. "Who's that?" he asked, seeming inquisitive.
The fat man sighed.
"Again, guardsman, none of your business. But this little morsel is a slave whore who decided to go running on me. Now my men are going to show her what happens to escaped property."
"I see. I'll buy a ride," Callus said, coolly.
"What?"
"She's a whore, you said. I'll buy a ride."
The fat man smiled.
"Alright then my good fellow, perhaps we can do business. Boys, lower your guns."
His men obliged.
"Big mistake," Callus said, as non-chalantly as ever.
Haydn's lasgun raised and fired two quick bursts, striking two men in the chest, sending them down hard. Brenner raised his auto-pistol, and squeezed off a shot, quickly bursting through one man's skull. Ox's stubber fired to life, sending four of the gunmen flying through the air, lacerated by high caliber bullets. Jackson's carbine downed two more, and Callus coolly raised his own gun, firing once, and blowing through a gunman's throat. This had all happened in a matter of seconds.
"Now, how about you let the girl go, big fella?" Callus asked, resuming his friendly and upbeat tone.
The man snarled and drew a needle pistol. Immediately Callus' knife was in his hand, flashing, he grabbed the man by the left elbow, yanking hard, and raising his knife. The final effect was that he yanked the man's forehead onto his waiting blade, sticking him through the brain.
A thick thud accompanied the contact of the bald, greasy forehead, with the hilt of Callus' knife. Pulling it out, Callus let the body drop and went about cleaning his blade and returning it to his sheath. Silently, he dropped his damaged lasgun and picked up one of the auto-rifles, collecting ammo, picking up some grenades the gunmen had on their belts, and checking the quality of the weaponry. Brenner did the same. Only then did they resume notice of the girl.
Callus approached her, silently, extending a hand.
"Are you okay?" he asked her, concerned.
Slowly, she nodded, taking his hand, and rising to her feet.
"I'm Corporal Michael Callus, of the 207th Kazarkanian assault infantry division, I'm in command here. This is PFC Haydn, my second-in-command, Private Brenner, my medic, Private Jackson, our tech specialist, and Private Zimmermann, our heavy weapons operator. We call him Ox," Callus said, quickly, pointing to each man. They all nodded in assent.
Callus turned back to the girl, wearing his best smile.
"And what's your name?"
"D-D-Daniella"
Callus smiled warmly.
"Daniella. That's a pretty name."
The girl smiled, timidly.
"Well, Daniella, could you tell us how exactly to get out of here?"
***
The team was hurriedly advancing along the same silent streets, rapidly approaching the lift to the main hive that Daniella had told them about. She traveled with them, somewhat clumsily carrying one of the late gunman's auto-rifles and wearing Callus' helmet, which he had given her. It was too big for her and wasn't strapped, and it bounced around on her raven-haired head.
"That way!"
Callus nodded curtly, enveloped in his professional soldier mentality again, his squad wheeling around a corner.
Standing in front of them was another two men, clad in the blue armor of the Governor's guard.
They groaned, lowly. Instantly, Daniella was staggering backwards, eyes wide with fear. Callus turned to her, concerned.
"What is it?"
Already Haydn was approaching them.
"You boys alright? You don't look so good!"
"NOO!" Daniella screamed, just before they struck.
The first one grabbed Haydn by the throat. The second bit hungrily into his throat, causing blood to spurt forth. Haydn screamed as they dragged at him, biting and tearing his flesh.
"EMPEROR'S TEARS!" Callus cried out, firing a quick burst, pumping three rounds into the head of the first one.
Brenner fired as well, sending the second to the ground. Silently, Haydn tumbled down.
Callus rushed over him, bending down to check him. It was obvious that it was too late. A huge, gaping, chunk of Haydn's throat was missing. His eyes stared up, blinking constantly, like some kind of fish, mouthing words he could not speak.
Callus closed his eyes, a silent tear running down his cheek, and drew his auto pistol. With great sorrow, he put his best friend, Private First Class Steven Haydn, out of his misery.
Callus got to his feet and turned to Daniella.
"What were those things?" he asked, his rage palatable.
She gulped for a moment, and then spoke.
"Uh, corporal, have you ever heard of the Creeping Death?"
The blood went out of Callus' face. And then he heard the groans, in multitude, emanating from all around him. In Quarantine Zone 44, the dead walked.
***
Callus' legs burned as he ran, barely keeping his weapon in his hands, the recoil kicking against him, holding down the trigger, rounds punching through the skulls of the seemingly endless legion of plague zombies. They were almost there now. Almost to the lift. Just a little bit longer and they would make it.
Another burst. More plague zombies down, in a cloud of ichors and grime.
Running, constant running.
"The lift! There!" Daniella cried, pointing to a rackety looking caged-door elevator at the end of a long street.
"Move out!" Callus cried, swinging around his auto-rifle, and firing again.
Closer. Closer. Closer. Closer. Soon, they would be at the elevator. The stinking mass of the dead seemed to never end, always trying to claw, to bite. Always failing. The crack of weapons discharge near constant. The hordes of the living dead just as constant. And then they were there. They leaped into the lift, slamming the door closed shut behind them. Callus smashed the up button. And...nothing happened. The lift wasn't functioning.
"NO! EMPEROR PLEASE NO!" he screamed, slamming his fist into the door.
The beasts were gnawing through the cage. It couldn't be long now. Callus hugged Daniella against his chest. He didn't want her to see this. He shut his eyes, raised his auto-rifle, and began to fire. He wasn't going to go down without taking a fair number of these abominations with him.
And then, suddenly, as if from thin air, the crack of hell guns. Boots smashing against the cement. The groan of the dead was gone. Callus opened his eyes, slowly. The lift was surrounded by at least a company of the blue-suited Governor's elite. They were lead by a black-coated Commissar clutching a huge bolter in his arms.
Callus opened the cage door and stumbled out, beginning to speak.
"Oh, thank the Emperor you men showed up! We were just about to be killed!"
The Commissar was sticking the bolter in Callus' face.
"Drop your weapons. By decree of Governor Gonsalves, you are all under arrest."
Hive World Terra