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Randy DeMarco was at the head of the SWAT van as it tore through the abandoned wrecks littering the streets of Houston when he spotted a group of people near the end of the road. Their drunken staggering was a dead giveaway that they weren't much on the side of the living anymore. Randy stomped the pedal as a fellow officer dove across the seat to steer the mad dog man's maniac rampage.

"I'm gonna ram'em." he growled.

It had been three weeks since they begun taking control of the world, every dead person coming back as one of those things out there. All he could think about as their dead eyes locked onto the speeding van, was the wife they took from him days earlier. The evacuations had begun just days ago it seemed, once the military and police forces began to crumble upon the onslaught of violence that ensued after panic struck the city. He was at ground zero of the riots that claimed many of his fellow officers, many of which returned to kill their murderers. The National Guard began backing out almost immediately, leaving the SWAT units on the ground to take the hit as they herded scared people to safety. His wife Jenna was among the crowd that began surging forward to the shuttle buses out of town when she was trampled underfoot.

Randy opened fire to clear the crowd but by then it was already too late. The barricades fell and the few thousand drooling faces, with their glazed marble eyes, began overtaking the crowd quickly. Jenna was injured, having her leg broken and was trying to crawl to safety as he ran across the terminal to her. It was in a blind moment, he failed to look up and see them coming. All he could hear were the screams of the people that they dragged down, tearing into them like feral beasts. All he could think about was Jenna, sweet Jenna, with her tear-filled brown eyes and her leg twisted at an angle.

He only caught a glimpse of the man that took her arm, a mangy cat man with half his face gone and gnawed to the bone. His teeth sank into her arm and pulled a chunk of flesh away, blood jettisoning into space like a red fountain. Randy lifted his rifle, his maw in a twisted scream of anguish, when we was tackled in the fray by a pair of men pouncing on the poor soul falling on him. The gun went of ripping through the cat man as other began to close in and sink their teeth into Jenna. He was buried beneath the flailing man whose intestines were now on the menu as they split his gut open, Randy forcing his way out of the hellish dogpile as he wailed in horror as they tore his liver from his gut.

"OH GOD HELP ME!" the crazed man at his feet begged with his dying breathes, his tear filled eyes glistening from his frightened face.

Randy shot him dead in the face, the machine gun chirping loudly as the young bucks life was snuffed out. He turned to see Jenna screaming as they tore into her sides, pulling her vitals out through holes they clawed into her. Randy felt a scream well up from his soul as he pulled the trigger, the MP5 jumping in his hands as the bullets tore through the hellish feast. Jenna's head snapped back, her brains erupting from the back of her head onto her murderers, the collie's brown eyes replaced by a hole to end her suffering. The feasters were next, blown apart by the hail of gunfire as National Guardsmen in a truck pulled him up into the bed screaming.

"DeMarco, stop! That's an order!" shouted the wolf man beside him.

Randy didn't listen as the things made a satisfying crunch beneath the wheels, thumping lifelessly against the windshield as the van threatened to upend. Once through the horrific speedbump, he kept on going with his mind set on the destination, hoping that he would get there in time despite his officer's warnings.

Martinez was feeling his balls drop knowing that he was the only way through the mess in the bank across from them. Inside were at least seven hostages and an unknown number of dead that potentially reanimated, making it the worst odds ever. But if he could draw their fire long enough, the other guys could make it through and get to the hostages.

"Chato," he said to the badgerman, "I got a crazy idea."

The badgerman responded to his nickname looking up at his tall friend.

"You are out of your fucking mind," he said almost reading what his face.

"It's the only way," he said, "the boys will be here soon, but how long before the deader's get'em."

"Son you got brass balls," he said looking back at the end of the alley and sighing heavily, "stay close. I mean low, we don't know how many snipers they got and I'm not about lose another officer."

"It wasn't Denny's fault. He didn't know," Martinez said softly replaying Denny's head splattering on the pavement moments earlier.

Chato handed him an extra clip and said, "Get goin', we'll be behind you."

Martinez nodded then hurried along the end of the alley toward the street. The bank was a block away and a left turn, then wasn't any of those things that he could see. He scurried along the cars left parked on the side of the road, damaged during the riots with a few flipped over in the streets having burnt up.

The only sound of his boots crunching on the glass in the blistering afternoon heat was the only sound that greeted him as he moved in on the target ahead. The intersection ahead was filled with abandoned cars, some with their hoods up and others wrecked into each other or hugging a street lamp. He steeled himself and looked out onto the road, thankfully with no sign of trouble.

There will be, he thought sourly, once I'm out in the open.

He checked his clip and took stock of potential hiding spots, then began to scurry like hell through the wasteland. The crack of high powered rifles echoed through the streets accompanied by the staccato chatter of automatic gunfire. He jumped and ducked as the asphalt peeled away around him, diving under a wreck to return fire once he was pinned down. The car above him rattled and pinged as bullets ricocheted off the insides, tumbling past him at times. Much to his amazement, his troop pulled through and the screaming of tires meant back up had arrived. What he wasn't prepared for, was the smoke pouring out of an upstairs window.

"OPEN FIRE!" Chato shouted as a hailstorm of lead pounded the granite face of the bank, two snipers falling from their posts, riddled with holes.

Martinez rolled out from under the car and joined his crew as they stormed the door of the bank, smashing through into the lobby. Once in they threw themselves under cover as men stormed down the back steps armed to the teeth, firing blindly as thin wisps of smoke began to drift down from around them. The intruders were mowed down as they stormed the upper story, finding a four alarm fire beginning to rage in offices on the other end of the building. The officers moved fast clearing the rooms ahead of the flames as they came back to the main stairwell up. To their right were more rooms and a conference room as they kicked in doors, while some of the men jumped out to their death.

The conference room was where they hid their hostages and much to their chagrin, the dead as well. The double doors opened to horror as victims were being pulled to pieces by the corpses their captors refused to turn over. The fire was probably set to cover it up as well, as the flames were cascading down the hallway as the smell of gasoline lingered in the air. Chato's squad mercifully ended the lives of the things and the people they had killed, only to realize they were now in danger from the flames sending plumes of dark smoke their way, fanned by an open window at the other end.

"Fall back," Chato shouted, hurrying them back to the stairwell as the flames began consuming the institution.

The squad hurried down the steps as the fire swept the upper story in minutes, the floor above groaning as the wooden beams began to blacken and smoke. Their boots thudded over the ceramic tile as they dove out into the empty street as the roar began to increase followed by a crash, jettisoning hot smoke and ash through the open doors and blowing out windows. The officers hit the asphalt as ten foot jets of fire tore through the air, consuming the building as quickly as it could as they dusted off and hurried to their vehicles.

From the road Martinez could see Sugarland in flames, the fire so big he could see it from the highway. He couldn't tell anymore if there were fire crews still out there since most of them might have abandoned their post. Everywhere he looked he could see signs for help written on roofs and streets amid all the destruction that came before it. A few blocks down from where they were, military brigades were storming buildings for survivors, hoping they would come peacefully.

He knew that they would resist to some degree, and that further bloodshed was already everywhere. He could see a few of those things wandering helplessly around a looted Target Store, possible victims of the violence that had ensued in the parking lot below. The gleaming edifices of Houston's skyscrapers sat like lone sentries in the horizon, watching over the fallen city long after their board rooms had been emptied. The most impressive of those edifices was coming up soon, the AstroDome complex. Sprawling across several acres of land, the Astrodome complex was easily one of the biggest refugee centers in South Texas. People all the way from Huntsville were coming to find shelter here. The expansive parking lots had become a virtual tent city with areas cordoned off for military choppers to land supplies and troops on the ground. Roads in were barricaded with armed guards and heavy cyclone fencing with barbed wire. Every so often they past a gunner port with .50 caliber machine gun aimed into the surrounding area, just beyond were the stadiums and arena themselves, housing refugees, medical center and military HQ.

Their check in point was on I-610 entrance, allowing them into the main areas of the camp as they set up along a line of police and military cruisers. They were debriefed by the top brass of running the show, then Martinez made his way to the tent city. Despite how organized the place was, there were ladies offering "morale services" for the soldiers and decided to get some action. He walked through the city and felt like he was on the moon, noting how quickly everything began to look like a third world refugee center. Some people were crying, some he could see were in the midst of private moment despite several others nearby trying to ignore them.

He had his mind set on one thing only, a woman in a red tunic. It was a call sign for ladies of the night that began working the tent city shortly after all hell broke loose, their way of keeping it familiar he guessed. Here the world seemed somewhat normal, even had a kids center with coloring books and a puppet show. A news broadcast center was nearby with reporters jamming microphones into the scared faces of the people here. Thankfully he didn't have to look at the injured, they were in the arena area being cared for.

He was nearly struck by a chair flying out of a galley tent as two men went to town on each other in the main walkway. Martinez jumped in and subdued one, only to have the other jump him and try to pull his weapon.

"STAND DOWN!" a voice shouted, bringing the crowd to a hush as fellow officers jumped into arrest the pair.

Martinez brushed off the incident as they hauled off to the brig, a special holding area of the complex in one of the stadiums. He turned down an alleyway and finally spotted her standing alone by a tent with a red mark on the beside her head. She was a tall slender form, maybe about his height with a red tunic draped on her body. She had chestnut colored hair cascading in golden brown ringlets over her slender shoulders as he approached her. Her gray-green eyes set upon him and a cordial smile crossed her dark lips.

"My, my, officer," the cheetah woman purred, "am I under arrest."

"Depends," Martinez said twitching his tail as he glanced down the empty alleyway.

"I take cash in advance." she said sweeping back her hair.

Martinez nervously handed her a rolled up bill as she slipped into her tunic and guided him inside. It was cozier than most areas, with a matress and actual pillows among the gauzy curtains separating sections. She motioned him toward the bed as she walked over to semi-lit space and let the tunic fall from her curvy body.

"Talk to me officer," she said softly, brushing her hair in a hanging mirror as he undressed. "What brings you to me?"

"Bad day," he said flatly.

"Very tough by the looks of it," she said, her soft voice never wavering.

"It was," he said wanting to chew on another cigarette.

Martinez felt his loins gorge with blood at the sight of her wafting over to him like sensual ghost coming to him in the night. Her white breasts were still quite pert and topped with a pair of bubblegum pink nipples, her belly flat and toned like that of an athlete's. She moved with incredible grace as she knelt down before him and smiled warmly at him. Martinez' frost blue eyes were world weary, though the sight of her had the rest of him at attention.

"Relax" she said softly kissing his lips, moving down his chest and finally there.

She moaned softly as she tasted him, Martinez' eyes half closing as her warm maw closed around him and the rough texture of her tongue set chills up his spine. He began to ease back letting her down into his lap as he stroked her hair, looking up at the sun baked roof of the tent as the velvety lining of her throat came at the end of his member. He could feel her working him deep as she could, the feeling incredible as his legs began to spasm with excitement. It has been a while since he had someone that good working his crank, but it had been a while for everyone right?

She rose and straddled him, her toned form lowering as he was engulfed by her, feeling her tense up as she began rocking against him. Martinez rose as she embraced him, working her powerful hips against his with a warm welcoming smile on her face. He pushed her back against the bed, surprising her as he began thrusting away inside her. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly against him as pushed his way home into her belly. She could see the fear and frustration welling up in his face, the desperation and the horror as she smiled back at him urging him on. He rolled her onto her belly and came at her from behind pumping her shapely hips to his as she could do nothing but submit to him.

"Do it," she cried. "give me your pain,"

Martinez' mind was shattering, between pleasure and pain, Heaven and Hell. His body was clenched in death grip as the cheetah gave in and began pushing back against him with all her might. His mind demonized him with the images of the day while the heavenly sensation of her warm love canal fought back to control him. He let out a cry like a dying beast as he emptied his seed into her, collapsing into a heap like a man freed from his shackles and now basking in the glory of freedom.