Eye Of The Storm (part 2)

Steve looked below him. There was enough space for him to jump down. He took a deep breath and shot at a few heads that the zombies he was controlling were pushing back. The zombies he had control of continued to push on the lifeless bodies. This was Steve's attempt to make a third barrier. Not to stop the crowd, if they broke through, but to slow them down, and give Steve enough time to retreat. He glanced around the whole area of the gym. There were no more other zombies filling the crowd up. This huge crowd that practically engulfs the front of the cabin must have been the rest on this level. It's a bit less than expected but still a lot.

Steve spoke loudly, "Continue to push! Keep me behind you, and protect me!" Steve then dropped to the ground and landed. Staggered, but on his feet. it was very loud on the ground. Steve could barely hear anything else other than the desperate growl and cries of the undead all around him. He had to get to work.

Steve grabbed his ax and had the pick end pointed ahead. He swung down past the shoulders of the zombies that were protecting him. The pick end of the ax would embed itself onto the heads of the undead, that would try to eat him. The sounds of the skulls shattering and the smells of rotting and decomposed flesh overwhelmed Steve and made him sick to his stomach, but he pressed on and kept focus. His head screamed for relief as he continued to chop past the shoulders of his temporary allies, crushing brain matter. His arms were getting sore and his body felt heavier than before. Steve was sweating. His eyes were heavy. He kept going, though. He didn't want to know his limit, he just needed to surpass it.

Finally. What had felt like an hour of relentless swinging, making a group of split skulls. It was most likely minutes of time that had passed. The crowd had thinned out and there seemed to only be a small group of zombies left. Steve was hunched and panted standing behind the four zombies he STILL had control over. He located the small group of seven undead wandering bodies from afar. Steve's eyes were half-closed but glared at the group with pure determination. "They need to die! They're the last ones on this level. You all die, then I can rest for a bit."

The migraine was gone but only because his whole face and head felt numb. At this point, every part of him just wanted to collapse. Steve couldn't stand straight. He had to hunch and let the ax drag on the ground. All of his body was saturated in sweat. His hair oily and matted to his face, but he couldn't feel that, of course.

Steve needs to take care of his team before he would confront this small group. He grabbed his pistol and pointed at the head of the zombie directly in front of him, protecting Steve. His finger squeezed at the trigger but paused when he realized something. Steve lowered his gun and spoke, "Form a line. All of ya!" the moment his demand took effect he felt as if a shovel had pummeled the back of his head, bringing back the headache. He fell to his knees and shouted in pain. His hands dropped both his ax and gun as they gripped his head as they tried to massage his temples. Do something to soothe the pain.

Steve could not focus at all... Steve couldn't focus at all!

His eye opened and he looked up. It was really blurry through Steve's perspective, but the undead had surrounded him in the time he had taken to calm the pain, "..N-No..." Steve's voice was raspy and desperate as his vision could focus on the reaching hands of the zombies. Steve couldn't move! He couldn't do anything! His body was done. He couldn't even move. Steve made a promise! He needed to survive this! After all, he had done to survive this. A headache CANNOT be the cause of his demise! He had to stand and fight!

He could barely move but he gritted his teeth and force his hand to reach his back and grab the shotgun. He reached his back and felt the grip of the twelve-gauge. The zombie ahead of him was inches from lunging onto Steve. He pulled the shotgun and pointed ahead to the zombie's head and fired.

BOOM!!!

The head of the closest zombie exploded. Its innards and brain matter flung about and splattered everything behind that zombie. The loud ringing of the shotgun's blast did not last. This was when Steve realized he could barely hear anything. He had truly exhausted himself.

Three other zombies and then the seven that were getting closer from ahead. He tried to reach to the fore-end but he had no strength left to give. His vision had gotten blurrier. He was going to blackout! They were getting closer. This was it...

Then, a fourth figure came and attacked the three zombies in a sprint. He grabbed the zombie in the middle and threw it back before it could grab Steve. The silhouette of the man hooked the left zombie across the cheek. The punch made a muffled snap at the zombie's neck. The man then launched his elbow at the temple of the zombie on the right. The zombie just fell, dead. The man then turned and stomped his boot onto the head of the zombie that was in the middle that he threw back. His foot crushed the zombie's skull in an instant. The man then looked at Steve.

Steve gave no reaction. He was just doing everything he could just to stay awake. This man's presence gave Steve some relief, which was enough for Steve to blackout. Steve's head fell back and his eyes soon closed. Steve felt as if he was in a vastness of nothing. No darkness or light. Truly nothing but him and his weak thoughts. He could feel his body instinctively demanding him to open his eyes and to continue fighting.

Somehow, Steve was able to muster what little strength he had left to open his eyes. When he felt his eyelids open, the blurry vision ahead of him had to be focussed in. When as he focussed he realized his body was no longer in the gym. Steve found himself back in a very familiar living room. He was in the direct center of the room and was standing straight. To Steve's right was a somewhat loud giant big-screen TV that played his favorite Mega Man game, Mega Man X3. Seeing the game felt nostalgic for Steve, along with the television. Steve knew damn well where he was. He was still in the gym, most likely unconscious, but his mind was in another blocked out memory. This memory, for some reason, made Steve felt nauseous.

"...Come on..." Steve heard his own voice at his left. On a basic, brown, leather sofa, was a younger Steve. In his hands was a controller with an extended cable. Young Steve looked focussed on the game. At the sides of the couch were small tables that had a glass amber lamp on both of them along with a book that mom would read whenever she had free time.

The real Steve could hear a soft hum towards the door spaced entrance to the kitchen along with the chopping of carrots with a knife. Steve's mother's humming and the sound of chopping carrots... Something bothered Steve, bad. It left a deepness in his chest and lump in his throat. Something bad was supposed to happen. Steve could not remember. A form of Deja vu that drowned him in anger and sorrow.

Why was this memory different than the others? The others were vague and hid facts he wished he could see. This one... This one could not be more vivid!

"...Ugh. Steve..." in the far left corner of the living room was his father. He typed away on his large, old computer on his desk, "Could you please lower the volume of your game? I'm trying to work, here..."

"You work at work, dad!" young Steve spoke through his chuckle as he kept a strong focus on his game, "Why're you workin' at home?"

Something about this started to kill Steve on the inside. What was the outcome of this scene?!

Steve's dad then spoke with a smirk on his face and with a sarcastic tone, "It's called homework, my young boy... Ever heard of it? It's the work you do at home."

"Uh-huh..." Young Steve spoke, again more focussed on his game than his own father, "Ya, Dad. I did my homework..."

Steve felt himself start to hyperventilate as his father turned to face young Steve, "Steve!"

Young Steve jumped from his father's risen voice. paused his game to face his father, showing his attention was at his dad's, "What? What?"

It clicked! Steve remembered what was about to happen before his eyes once again, "NO... NO! NOT THIS!!!" Steve's lip quivered as he did everything he could to find out how he could stop this from happening again. Waking up was not an option, here.

Steve's father spoke, "Volume..." His father was clearly demanding young Steve to lower the volume of the TV.

Young Steve gave a shrug, unsure what he was trying to get at, "I wasn't loud... Was I?"

There was visible disappointment in his father's expression before he chuckled and pointed at the TV and spoke in a burst of soft laughter, "Lower the volume, kid."

Young Steve laughed, "Oh! Right, sorry," he said as he then grabbed the TV remote and lowered the volume before he then continued his game.

Steve shouted in anger. He knew this scene! He knew all of it and knew what was going to happen. He had to change it from before! somehow, someway... Steve rushed to the entrance of the kitchen. He saw his delicate and loving mother, as she made dinner, "Mom! Mom, you HAVE to leave! Please!! Answer me, dammit!" Steve was being ignored. The one person he needed to leave wouldn't acknowledge him.

Steve then rushed to his father at his desk and shook the chair that he sat on. Steve shouted at him as he cried, "You need to listen to me, asshole!! You need to get mom out of here!! Please!" No answer. No reaction. Steve fell to his knees as he clung to his father who continued working on his computer. Steve begged as he bawled, "Please!!! There's no time left! Get my mom away from here!!!"

CRASH!!!

The front door broke and swung open from a miniature battering ram and a swarm of men in swat gear rushed in, pointing assault rifles at young Steve and his father. Young Steve dropped his controller and quickly began to panic as he cried for his dad. The men in swat gear were shouting violently at them until one of them used the butt end of their rifle to knock his father out. His father fell unconscious.

Steve rushed over and blocked the entrance of the kitchen and yelled out in tears. Knowing what was about to happen. His own body must stop it from happening again!

One of the men walked with his rifle pointing ahead and Steve's mother walked towards the living room in a panic of confusion and fear. Steve watched her, knife in hand, as she rushed to the living room.

Steve, cried out, "Run! Please RUUUNNN!!!"

Before she could even enter the living room...

BANG!!!

The bullet slipped straight through Steve and went directly through his mother's head. The bullet carved into her skull. Ripped her skin through the shockwave. Her forehead mushroomed out with a gaping hole straight through her brain. She then, in an instant, fell to the kitchen floor, limp.

Steve, both young and old, knelt, and gave a heart-wrenching scream. He could not prevent it, even though he knew what was going to happen this time... He failed his family... Again...

Steve's eyes shot open and cried out, tears streamed his cheeks as he laid in the barn in the gym. Before he could even sit up, the barrel of his own shotgun pointed directly at Steve's head.

A calm, yet growling voice spoke behind the gun, "You better start telling me who the hell, and what the hell you are, kid!"