Love's Avenger

Sam sat in AFK Tavern and just -- sat.

It seemed like an eternity to Sam, but still he just sat. He had ordered a Mana Potion, but it just sat there, too. How could he have murdered her like that? Heather was the love of his life. The only woman he had ever imagined himself walking down that Star Trek aisle with...

And now she was lying in a ditch somewhere, dead and probably cold by now. Sam had pulled her down away from the road; he couldn't just leave her exposed on the shoulder of the road, could he? Either way, the fact remained: Sam Ashe had killed his fianc©e in cold blood.

Well, truth be told, it was not exactly in cold blood. Heather had become one of them - one of those horrible abominations that had staggered out of Sam's video games and movies into the reality of everyday life nine years ago. Sam tried to save her. They were on their way. But now...

"Hey, Sam, you ok?" A fellow gamer noticed Sam just sitting at the bar by himself, an uncommon sight. "Dude, you're always in the middle of a game or a convo or something. What's up?"

"Nothing." Sam's voice was barely even audible unless the listener had four legs and tail.

"What? Try opening your mouth this time. Haha."

"I said 'nothing'! Try opening your fucking ears!" Sam was on his feet and screaming, the veins in his neck and forehead looking like they were about to burst and spray blood all over the bar.

"Dude, I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Don't bite my fuckin' head off."

The gamer walked away and Sam sat back down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the cute girl behind the bar coming toward him. She didn't look happy, but she also looked a bit concerned.

"Alison, I know. I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me."

"It's ok, Sam. I'm more worried about you. And where's..."

Luckily Sam had quit paying attention to anything Alison was saying. Someone's laptop down the bar had captured his attention. It was a news report and it reminded Sam of the Roslun truck he had seen when he and Heather had first left town. Right after he had put two bullets in his girlfriend's best friend --

Sam shook his head, clearing the grisly memory from it. "Hey, sorry, but can you turn the sound up please?"

"Wha... Yeah, sure."

"That's right, it seems there have been reports of yet another outbreak tonight. Earlier we brought you reports that the Seattle outbreak had been an isolated incident, but now we have had a few reports about another outbreak in the Everett area."

Just as I thought...a second fuck-up from Roslun.

"Roslun Global has already begun denying any involvement in this outbreak."

Sam had heard enough. He turned from the laptop and bolted for the door.

"Sam! Hey, you OK?" Alison was genuinely concerned for Sam, which was conveyed through her honey-smooth voice.

"I am now that I know what to do." Sam flashed his best imitation of his hero's grin, but Bruce Campbell he was not. Alison actually thought Sam was on his way to the hospital after seeing that grin; she suddenly feared he had somehow gotten food poisoning, though he hadn't eaten anything at the bar.

Sam rushed outside to Tasha's Ford Escort and turned the engine over. It had been almost a full day since he first saw that dirty, leg dragging zombie in the alley by his apartment '" and later shoved a tire iron through his fianc©e's head '" and he knew he couldn't keep Tasha's car. The police had probably identified Tasha's body, and may have had an all-points bulletin out on her car. Besides, it wasn't his, and it just wasn't his style.

Sam decided to drive back to the apartment that he once shared with the only woman he had ever loved. He had swung by the apartment before he went to AFK Tavern, but he could not even bring himself to go inside. He had just stood on the steps and wept.

This time was different. He had to go inside. There were supplies in there. More importantly, Heather was in there.

I will avenge Heather's death. I will carry on her memory.

Sam reached the apartment and made it to the stoop. He took a deep breath and slowly reached for the knob. He was surprised to find that he was not so much sad as he was scared. But scared of what, he could not imagine.

Heather's dead. True story. I killed her myself.

His hand had reached the knob, and hovered just above it.

What could possibly be inside this apartment that would scare me?

His mind made up to go inside, he twisted the knob. The heavy wooden door slowly creaked open. Sam stepped inside and looked around. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, but after the past twenty-four hours, ordinary was a relative term.

He grabbed the first weapon his hands came across. Unfortunately it was nothing more than Heather's curling iron. He looked at the curling iron and began to complain to himself about how Heather's stuff was always lying around. A pang of sorrow shot through his chest. If she were there at that moment, Sam would never complain about anything anymore. But she wasn't. She wouldn't ever walk through that door again after a long day at work, looking exhausted until she laid eyes on Sam and flashed that dazzling smile. She would never again stroll down the hall from the bedroom, wearing only Sam's Sublime t-shirt and that smile. Sam didn't want to cry anymore, but he couldn't help it just then. The sense of loneliness was overwhelming. He knew there was a reason he had come back to this place, and he did his best to pull himself together.

If Roslun knows that I pieced it together, maybe they sent somebody here.

The loud crash from the bedroom pulled Sam out of his thought. He nearly leapt out of his skin and dropped his mighty curling iron with a clatter. He rushed to the bedroom, ready to tackle anyone that was in there. He shot through the open doorway at full-tilt, but no one was there. There were drawers thrown all over the room, however.

Somebody was looking for something, but what? Did Heather have something to do with all this?!

A real-life conspiracy, living in Sam's home the entire time! How could he have not seen it? The way she calmly dealt with his zombie obsession was obviously a cover. She didn't want to draw too much attention to her top secret work for Roslun. But what secrets had she hidden in their bedroom?

Sam quickly rummaged through all the stuff thrown around the room, hoping that the Roslun agent missed something. After realizing that the intruder had either found whatever he had been looking for or there was nothing to find in the first place, Sam turned on the living room television and started to pack.

"The recent outbreaks have begun to make some people wonder if allowing Roslun Global to continue with their experiments is safe, let alone ethical."

Sam listened to the news anchors go back and forth on the topic while he gathered up supplies for his mission. He had retrieved his gun before he left Heather's body but it was empty; he grabbed the rest of the bullets he had purchased when he bought the gun. There were only twenty left in the box. He reloaded his Ruger SP101; five more shots of .357 magnum hollowpoints. The fifteen remaining bullets he shook from the plastic holder into his pocket.

The LED flashlight he kept in the bedside table, his extra cell battery, the laptop he had shared with Heather, and some batteries were the next priorities for him. If he was going to be out there alone, he did not want to be completely cut off from what was happening.

"Dianne, this should not even be up for debate. Scientific advancements come with a price. I believe they could tighten laws and security on Roslun Global, but what that company is doing is going to save billions of people in the long run."

Sam knew driving around in Tasha's car was getting riskier by the minute, but he had left his moped at her house. He would have to go there and switch vehicles. With his bag packed, he rushed out of the apartment, forgetting to turn the television off. The newscast in his living room continued as he sped off down the street.

"In other news, there has been a rash of thefts around Seattle tonight -- of women's underwear. It seems a man is breaking into houses, rummaging through women's bedrooms, and stealing their underwear."

Sam pulled up in front of Tasha's house and saw his baby blue moped sitting right where he left it. He killed the car engine, pulled his bag from the passenger seat, and hopped on his preferred chariot. He thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out the spare key he grabbed from the apartment. As the engine buzzed to life, Sam realized he was missing one very important item.

Shit. The door is locked. Now how the hell am I gonna get inside?

Sam skulked around Tasha's house, knowing no one was home since he had seen Tasha partially devoured by a zombie (and subsequently ventilated by the snubnosed revolver that now rested in his waistband) just twenty four hours ago. He tried window after window in the off chance that one would be unlocked. None of them were.

"Hey! What are you doing out there?!" A nosey neighbor started screaming at Sam, thinking he was the panty robber that she just heard about on the news. "I know exactly what you're doing, and I am calling the police right now!!"

"No -- wait -- " It was too late. The nosey neighbor had already disappeared from the window and Sam knew she was serious. "What the hell is it with this neighborhood?! Fuck it!"

Sam broke the window he had been trying to open and clambered inside. Frantically he searched for the one thing he needed before he could go on.

Where is it?! I know I threw it down in here somewhere.

In the quickly darkening house, he saw a flash of orange.

Jackpot!

Sam picked up the missing piece of his puzzle. "Safety first, even during the apocalypse," he said aloud to no one but himself. He buckled the helmet securely on his head and ran out the front door. Off in the distance he could hear sirens getting louder by the second. Sam buzzed off into the night, the flame decals winking against his black helmet as the police cars came screeching to a halt in front of Tasha's house.

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