Death Role

The Police Station

Joe always aspired to be a police officer, but his sight was poor and, according to others, his judgement was a little off. That hadn’t kept him from buying a gun or from working out at the gym every day. He knew his time would come and with zombies destroying the system as it stood, it looked like it finally had.

The station down the street from his apartment was one of the first places in town to fall victim to the undead plague and the loss of the security center weighed heavy on Joe’s shoulders. If he had been allowed on the force, the station would still be in the law’s hands, he was sure of it. But, it was his opportunity and he readied himself for the challenges he would face.

He opened his closet and found the nicely starched uniform. A fine layer of dust had gathered on the shoulders of the blue button up shirt, a sign that it had been hanging for much too long. He gently brushed it off and admired the custom ordered name tag pinned to the chest. It bore his last name debossed and beveled in the correct font and size to make it look official.

In proper attire, he locked up his rental and set out toward the station. His gun was holstered, but he carried a crowbar to defend himself and clear the path to his destiny. Only twice on the walk down the street did he have to assert his authority by beating in brains.

The station was a mess. Bodies, law enforcement and civilian, littered the front lawn and parking lot. Where the grass and pavement still showed through, they were stained a dark red. He didn’t expect that the front entry would be unlocked, but he was pleasantly surprised to find that the glass had been smashed in. Careful, he reminded himself. His pockets held limited ammo for his handgun and he was expecting to meet many corpses inside. Other officers may even still be alive and on edge, increasing the chances of a shootout.

Joe stepped over the blood-dressed shards of glass that still stuck out of the door frame. His boots crunched down on the small pieces that covered the entryway. Inside he found only more stiff bodies. He would have some cleaning up to do, but his first mission on the force took him to the Police Chief’s office.

He sat behind the desk in a chair that was eerily still warm, as though the former Police Chief had very recently abandoned his post. For Joe, it was welcoming. It was his turn to run the city.

He took a strip of masking tape and covered up the name on the plaque that sat across from him. Then, in his best handwriting, he wrote Chief Joe. If the name plaque didn’t garner him respect, he was hoping to find a gun collection in the station that would.

A familiar sound, one of feet on shattered glass, reached his ears. He drew his handgun, turned off the safety and made his way from the chair to one of the office windows.

“I need help!” a woman cried out, her voice heavy with exhaustion. She came into view and Joe could see that she was dragging a wounded man. His left arm was missing and blood spilled from it and from a hole in his side. From what Joe could tell, the man was already dead and no amount of help was going to change that.

From the doorway of the office, his gun pointed at the woman, he yelled “stand down!” in his most believable, authoritative voice.

“But officer,” the woman cried, “he’s dying.” The last of her strength left her arms and the bloody man slid to the floor at her feet.

“He’s already dead. Now put him outside before he comes back,” Joe directed. He wasn’t willing to risk infection in light of his recent “promotion”.

“No, no, please don’t make us go back out there,” she weeped.

“You can stay, but he has to go. I’ll give you ten seconds to start moving him.” Joe was beaming inside. He was impressed with his performance so far as the Police Chief. She made no move to do as he asked, instead she embraced the dead man in a tight hug. Without flinching, Joe’s trigger finger happily slid home, sending a bullet into her brain. He aimed at the dead man’s head and gifted him too with a round.

After the second shot a door creaked open to his right.

“I’m gla-” a voice began but instinctively Joe whipped his gun toward the voice and once again fired. A blue-uniformed body fell to the floor.

Not so friendly fire, Joe thought briefly.

With the noise he’d just made he needed to work quickly to barricade the front door. He pushed desk after desk down the hallway, reducing the potential for new visitors. When finished, he toured the rest of the station. No one was left alive but a few men in a blood-stained cell who begged to be let out. He waved his gun at them for awhile, watching them scatter to the corners of the enclosure like frightened hamsters, and then left them to cower and starve.

Back in his office, surrounded by an assortment of weapons, ammunition, and snack food from the vending machine, he came to a decision. Every officer was a threat to his position and every free civilian a possible carrier of the plague. They would get what they deserved for denying him.

And he would rule the empty city alone.