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Just Another Job

The day had started like any other for Logan, just a routine contract, nothing he hadn't done a thousand times before in the last five years. Some man had come to him the day before with the usual request, retrieve something private from beyond the quarantine perimeter's fortifications and bring it back to him. So, after spending hours of preparations for the job the night before, the twenty-five year old hunter flashed his pass at the guards and stepped out of the titanic steel gates and into the Badlands.

Now to the unenlightened, bringing back family heirlooms and other personal mementos didn't sound like a very dangerous job, and they would be right...if it wasn't for what lied on the other side of the massive walls. The Badlands was what remained of the trappings of civilization after the few survivors of the plague had retreated behind the fifty foot walls of reinforced steel, guard posts, razorwire, and automated turrets. It also happened to be home to the ravenous and bloodthirsty hordes of raving infected that held most of the northern hemisphere in their fetid grip..

The plague did more than just kill 85% of the human population of planet earth, leaving the gene-morphs unaffected. It turned the dead humans into little more than mindless eating machines, which devoured almost all of the world's standing armies and surviving populace. Since most of the scientists were either dead or shuffling around the carcass of the old world, no one knew why the virus only affected humans. The dismaying numbers of eggheads left were under strict governmental protection hidden deep underground in secure government bunkers where it was hoped they would discover a cure. But since that was all ten years ago, Logan was sure they hadn't found it and likely never will.

Yet that lesson in history wasn't important to Logan at the moment, who was far too busy hiding inside a dumpster as a hoard of shambling corpses stumbled by with their annoying low moans and piercing howls. They never seemed to shut up, not that he minded. Logan appreciated the early warning. Before he found himself in such an undesirable location, he had been walking down the street when he had first heard them approaching and was forced to take the first hiding spot available to him. As he sat in a waist high pool of ancient and rancid garbage, he cursed his poor luck. He should have kept a better ear out, or at least done some recon first. But he had made a rookie mistake, he had become complacent. He had traveled to and scouted the abandoned town so many times he thought he had it all mapped out. But a new hoard must have come in from god knows where and thrown off his carefully thought out plans. He just hoped he could hold out before the unbearable stench of the refuse floating around the dumpster knocked him out.

As he waited for them to pass, he made sure to keep his gear from slipping into the putrid muck he stood knee-deep in. Cradled in his arms, he held his three most prized tools of the trade, a Rossmore pump action shotgun, a custom R38 assault rifle, and his longsword. Yep, swords, axes, and all manner of melee weapons saw resurgence in popular use after the apocalypse. Melee weapons were not reliant on ammo, and they made far less noise than a gun. They were always handy when you wanted to off a deadhead without alerting others. Most hunters preferred maces and axes, but Logan always went with a blade, call it a personal preference. But he liked the elegance of the longsword and prided himself as a master swordsman. He even entered in the yearly tournament back in New Haven and was the undefeated presiding champion.

Realizing that all was silent outside the thinly metaled container, Logan strained his ears for any sound of the dead. And after another five minutes of silence, he opened the lid of the trash container and risked a peek outside. The street around him was deserted, barring a few abandoned cars and old corpses. Seeing that he was now in the clear Logan climbed out of the trash and took several deep breaths, glad to have finally escaped the terrible smell. Yet he hadn't escaped it completely as the faint odor lingered on his leather armor.

With a disgusted groan, he wiped off the gunk that clung to his legs with old newspapers he found floating around on the ground. Once he was done, he tossed the ruined papers on the concrete and slid his sword back into its sheath on his spine and slung his guns there as well. Dusting off his Kevlar mail gloves, Logan walked into the street and looked at the sign that hung haphazardly from the pole by single rusted chain.

"Hmm...Fleet Street." The man muttered to himself. That put him within a mile of the suspected location of the item he was looking for. His client told him that he had left his grandmother's wedding ring back at his apartment before everything went to shit. Logan nodded to himself and turned down the street, walking towards the large apartment building in the distance.

While he walked, he studied the town around him, at the dying husk of better days. Mixed in-between the ancient pools of blood and discarded shell casings were laptops, toys, empty soda cans, and anything else that people thought was important to them. It was all sad really, most fled into the countryside with the stupidest things, computers that would run out of battery, games they would never again be able to play, and other frivolous things. But, he supposed those were the things they considered important to them, and so he could not really fault them to grab those in their blind panic. No one had ever thought something like this would have happened.

Logan's eyes settled on a small stuffed animal, a tiger, sitting on the hood of a car. There was a small bloodstain next to it along with a pitiful collection of scattered toys. The sight sent a pang of sadness through the man's heart. Not everyone who had died in the Great Panic had been old.

He walked towards the broken down car and picked up the small plush in his large hands. After staring at it a few moments, he placed it in his messenger bag along with a few other children's toys and other amenities before moving on.

Logan walked past an alley, and stopped himself when he heard the telltale grisly crunch of bone and rending of flesh. He turned to the backstreet and spotted an infected sitting over the corpse of a feral dog. Since feral dogs were fast and hard to catch, he supposed it must have either gotten lucky or found the body there already. The undead was a male, probably had been in his late forties before he met his unlucky end, his throat had been torn out and his shirt was stained a ruddy brown with old gore. The biter looked to be on its own, probably having strayed from its pack.

The hunter looked down at his boots and eyed an old dusty beer bottle lying close by. He picked it up and hefted it as he looked on at the infected looming over its unfortunate meal. After a moment he shrugged and threw the bottle, which soared across the short distance and clocked the creature upside the head, shattering in a dazzling area of ceramic shards.

The undead moaned in annoyance and turned its decayed face to stare right at him. Its dead pale baby blue eyes glared daggers at him and the wisps of remaining black hair on its taunt scalp fluttered softly in the wind as the infected stumbled to its feet and slowly began to shamble towards him, moaning quietly as it advanced.

Logan whispered a soft prayer and slowly unsheathed the sword on his back, holding the blade point down at his side and watched as the zombie shuffled out of the alley and right towards him.

The hunter waited until it was within arm distance and gradually raised the longsword, aiming the steel blade carefully before he brought it down in a swift fluid motion. There was a dull and wet thwack as the sword easily carved through the undead's skull, just under its soft blue eyes. Almost immediately, it flopped to the ground, now well and truly lifeless as the top of its skull rolled down the alley's sloping crevice. Logan flicked the blade and sheathed it, turning and walking away from the corpse quietly.

---

Logan slowly opened one of the double doors to the apartment building and peaked inside. The foyer was decorated with a few old gnawed on corpses and must have been the site of some poor group's last stand. Judging by the positions the bodies were in, they had run into the building and tried to hold off the infected. Although, he couldn't tell if there had been any survivors, the scene was too muddled with old blood to see if any footprints left the scene.

The hunter entered the building and drew the shortsword belted to his waist. He had learned to always carry backups. And it would be more suited to the close environment of the apartment building then his longsword.

Passing the foyer, he skipped the nonfunctional elevators. Nothing worked since the government cut the power. And so he instead traveled up the first two sets of stairs and stopped at the stairwell door. Carefully placing a glove on the handle, he slowly cracked it open, peeking into the hallway. It looked deserted so he opened the door wide enough for his body and slipped inside. He checked the door in front of him and saw that it was 203. Logan traveled five doors down and stopped at his destination.

He glanced back around the hallway and slipped inside. The small apartment was quiet, not a sound could be heard. Logan stepped past the entrance, closing the door behind him and began to search. It took him a good half hour to find the ring, and when he did he groaned. There was a safe built into the apartment's wall.

"Fuck."

The client hadn't told him anything about a goddamn safe!

Logan approached the steel lock-box and examined it. The thing was covered in rust and ancient dust, but safes were built to last so that didn't matter much. The man placed a glove on his chin and began to think. How in the hell was he going to get it open? He wasn't some master thief who could 'listen' for the combination, nor did he have the patience to find out.

"Well, go big or go home, and I ain't going home." He muttered to himself as he began to search his deep pockets. He pulled out a small rectangular block and hefted it in his hands as he thought. "Might as well..." He placed the block on the safe and put in a countdown on the timer as he fled into the next room and hunkered down.

A minute later, there was a dull thump and the room shook, shaking the dust from the ceiling. Waiting another minute, he stood back up and walked back to the safe, wafting away the smoke and taking a look inside. There were a few useless documents, papers for loans, and a small purple box. Logan picked it up and flipped it open, staring at the small golden ring that lay within. "Another job done." He said, pleased with himself.

He turned away from the safe and walked towards the door, placing his hands on the handle. But just before he turned it, he froze. His ears picked up faint shuffling outside, a lot of faint shuffling. He slowly backed away from the door, just as it began to shake as many decayed fists began to pound on it. "Shit, shit, shit, mother fucker!" He cursed rapidly. The front door was a no go. Frantically, he scanned the room looking for an escape. The only other exits were the windows. Hurriedly, he went to one of them and opened the blinds. It was a twenty foot drop straight to the walker infested streets. They were out in full force today, meandering in a scattered swarm from the street below all the way to the city center. Why he had not seen them all earlier he had no clue.

Logan looked back over his shoulder and heard the door splinter and the moans increase in volume. He sighed. "Fuck." Logan muttered unenthusiastically as he backed up and sprinted towards the window.

---

The two guards at the top of the gates sat sharing a hand-rolled smoke as they waited for their shift to end. It was another slow day on the wall and both man and canine were ready to relax, and maybe have a few drinks at the bar.

"Hey Fred..." The canine, a husky morph, asked his friend. "How are Lucy and the kids doing?"

The human took a drag on the cigarette and passed it to his friend. "They're doing great, although it's hard to make time for them."

The husky nodded understandingly and flicked his tail as he scratched at an itch behind his ear, sighing in satisfaction as his claws found their mark. "Yeah, this really eats up our time."

"I know that Kyle, but I wish we had some more free time. Dave hardly gives us any time off." The human guard said with a sigh as he leaned on the rail.

"Well we can always ask him for some after we get off our shift." The husky offered as he leaned next to his friend. As he did so, he saw a shambling figure walking towards the gates. The husky took one last drag and flicked the cigarette off his paw and over the railing, reaching for his rifle. "It looks like we got ourselves a customer."

"Is it a walker?" The human asked as he reached for his own gun propped on the wall.

"Maybe, it's certainly bumbling around like one." The canine replied as he leveraged his rifle and looked down the scope. "Lemme see...oh shit, open the gates, quickly!"

"What, why!" The human asked in confusion.

"It's Logan, and he's hurt." The husky relied as he saw that it was in fact the hunter, limping terribly as he neared the walls. "And tell the other guards so they don't fucking shoot him by mistake!" The husky called out to his retreating friend.

The man nodded and ran down the stairs to the guard post at the bottom where a crocodile morph and a mouse were playing poker. "Hey Nico, Hogarth, open the gates."

"Sure thing Fred, what's the emergency?" The large reptilian inquired as he stood up from their makeshift table and walked towards the switches to open the gate.

"It's the hunter who went out this morning, he's back and it looks like he might be injured." Fred explained as he watched the crocodile press the elaborate code needed to open the gates.

"Think he was bit?" The mouse wondered as he stood up and grabbed his carbine.

"I hope not, he's the only hunter we got left in this town, and I rather not we be without one." The human answered as the huge metal gates peeled open. The harsh grating sound of the heavy gates opening brought the attention of the locals nearby who looked on curiously. It was not often that the doors to the Badlands were opened. That was usually reserved for hunters and military convoys. You had to have a permit to go beyond the doors, and not many wanted that.

The three guards raised their rifles and watched as the limping man stumbled inside, painting and out of breath. "Are you bit?" Fred asked worriedly.

"No..." Logan growled as he leaned on his rifle. "But I did jump out of a fucking building so I would really appreciate it you put the damn guns down!"

"Right, sorry Logan, but you know the rules." The crocodile rumbled apologetically as he and the others lowered their weapons.

"Yeah, yeah I know, just get it over with." The hunter grumbled irately as the reptilian walked up to pat him down for any bite wounds. When he didn't find any his snout lifted into a fanged smile and he backed up. "Looks like you live today, Logan."

"Whoopty freakin do." Logan grunted, unamused.

"So...why did ya jump out of a building?" The mouse asked, whiskers twitching curiously.

"Long story...if you wanna know you're gonna have to buy me a drink." The hunter grumbled as he turned away. "I'll be at the bar, after I drop this off of course." He held up a small box. "See ya later."

"Later Logan, stay safe." Fred called out as he turned to head back up the stairs.

"Yeah uh huh...whatever Fred, later." The grumpy man muttered as he hobbled through the streets. As he made his way, he paid no attention to the looks he received. Being a hunter made him somewhat of a local celebrity. Many of the citizens of New Haven were awed that anyone would make a living off going into the old world, especially a human, who was susceptible to the plague. If a morph was bitten, they would become extremely sick, but if they pulled through then that was it. There was no transformation into a deadly insatiable cannibalistic creature.

Logan traveled down the main street and headed towards the business section of the city. New Haven had been built by the government during the initial months of the Great Panic. And it was the largest refuge that housed most of the survivors on the North American continent. There were a hundred smaller settlements like it, but New Haven was the biggest at a growing population of 15 thousand. As he slowly made his way towards his little home/office, he could see all manners of people going about their day. Because of the infection's sole lethality to humans, only about one in nine of everyone in New Haven was human. And Logan found that incredibly ironic. Before the plague, gene-morphs were second class citizens, the equivalent of African Americans in the 1930's and the Irish and Chinese immigrants before them. But after more than three quarters of the human race was wiped out by the virus, the tables had turned. Fortunately, there was no discrimination against them, but humans were now a small minority of the population. This also meant that most marriages involving humans were cross species. There simply weren't that many of us anymore.

The hunter sighed as he walked into the large building at the end of the street. Since he was a hunter, the city allowed him his own building to use. But it was far bigger then he would ever need and so he mostly used it to sore his gear. There were a few apartments on the upper floors, but he never used them, preferring to sleep in the basement with his equipment.Logan rented them out for a small sum. It wasn't much, just enough to help pay for maintenance, the other utilities, and a little extra left over for himself. As he limped to the stairs that would take him down below, he heard a soft feminine voice squeak from behind him.

"Mr. Logan!....I don't have the rent for this month. But I'll have it next week, I promise!"

Logan shook his head and smiled as he turned to face one of his tenants, a petite kangaroo mouse morph. She was standing in the doorway to the building wearing a barmaid's outfit and holding an apron in her paws. So it was safe for him to assume that she was just coming back in from work.

"It's alright Sheila. Just pay me whenever you can." He responded tiredly as he moved to head back down the stairs, having a difficult time with his pronounced limp.

"Are...are you alright, Mr. Logan?" She asked hesitantly, her large foot thumping a nervous pace on the floor.

"I'm fine, just a little sore." He shrugged her concern off.

"Let me help you down!" She offered with a yelp, rushing over to try and assist him down the steps. Half of the reason was her gratitude for his continued leniency with her rent, and the rest was genuine concern for his well-being. The human was the nicest landlord she had ever been fortunate to have.

He accepted her help reluctantly and allowed the morph to help him down the steps. They stopped at a large heavy steel door with a keypad next to it; he quickly put his code in as she turned her muzzle away and hobbled inside.

Sheila was curious to see what the place he lived in was like and so she followed him in.

The basement was huge, filled with racks of various foreboding weapons, both medieval and modern and several diverse suits of armor. Tables were scattered throughout with further strange equipment, boxes of ammo, grenades, explosives, even mechanical parts for vehicles. His home was more of an arsenal then a place where someone would live.

Only a small portion of the place was dedicated to his sleeping area. It consisted of a bare cot and an uncomfortable looking pillow. There wasn't even a blanket there, just old food wrappings and other discarded junk scattered about. It was a surprisingly piteous display for a man that she knew had a decent sum of money. She watched as he limped towards one of the tables that could be loosely considered unoccupied. He took off his small arsenal of weapons and slipped out of his hardened leather trench coat. Underneath that, he wore a full body armored suit, which he shortly removed as well, leaving him in a pair of boxers and nothing else.

The kangaroo mouse morph quickly blushed and turned away, choosing to study the wall of weapons instead. But her eyes did manage to take a mental picture of him. Logan was not overly muscled. His body was sculpted like a long distance runner, lean and packed with muscle. No doubt he did a lot of running with his heavy equipment. At the thought of his attractive almost nude body she felt an embarrassing damp heat between her thighs. Sheila blushed harder and shook her muzzle, trying to block out any more naughty thoughts. When she finally did manage to calm down she looked back over to Logan and saw that he was thankfully dressed once more. The man was wearing a much less restrictive outfit, a simple pair of faded blue jeans and a plain black muscle shirt.

She noticed that as he walked round he was still limping.

"You should see the doctor about that."

Logan glanced over his shoulder to her as he picked up a small purple box, his sword, and a spare sidearm. "I don't like the doctors; they charge you damn near an arm and a leg for anything!" He grumbled sullenly as she strapped the sword to his back and holstered the pistol to his thigh.

"It's well worth the price." She retorted with a grin.

"Yeah whatever..." He grumbled and headed towards the door.

Shaking her muzzle in consternation, she followed him out. After helping the human up the stairs, she looked over to him, waiting to see if he would need anything else.

"I'll be fine now, Sheila. You just focus on taking care of yourself." He said kindly as he noticed her expression. "And don't worry about the rent; just pay me as usual next month. No need to compound it."

Sheila was shocked by his unending generosity and hugged him tightly. "Thank you Mr. Logan!" She squealed appreciatively and swung her large tail back and forth.

"You can thank me by letting go. You're strangling me here!" He chuckled in amusement and patted the morphs furred back.

"Right, of course Mr. Logan..." She blushed and pulled back.

"And stop calling me Mister Logan. You're making me feel old." He scolded her warmly as he headed towards the door.

"Right, got it M-Logan..." She grinned weakly and clutched her tail.

Logan shook his head in bemusement and walked outside of his building. "Nice girl..." He muttered to himself as he joined the bustling crowds heading towards the main street for the usual evening parties.

The hunter arrived at a large apartment complex and walked inside. He meandered through until he found the apartment he was looking for. Logan knocked on it firmly and waited for the owner to open it. He heard a faint shuffling on the other side of the portal and was rewarded moments later when it slowly creaked open, revealing a middle-aged but no less beautiful coyote morph peering up at him curiously.

"Yes, I'm here to see Pete. I have something that belongs to him." Logan replied cordially.

She eyes his weapons distrustfully before nodding hesitantly. "I'll go get him." The female canine growled softly. The door closed and he sat in silence as he waited. Logan glanced round the complex as he waited, observing the regimented flora and freshly painted walls.

"Ah, it's you!"

He heard a man exclaim excitedly and turned to see a short and rather thickset man in about his early thirties. "I have your contract item." Logan replied simply and showed him the purple box, popping it open to reveal the jewelry encrusted ring. Pete grinned widely and reached for it, causing Logan to pull it away. "First, there's that matter of my payment. I went through quite a bit of trouble and misery to obtain this."

Pete nodded assuredly and reached into his pocket and pulling out a battered wallet. "Right, of course, I understand." He pulled out a wad of bills and held them out for him to take, which the hunter gladly accepted.

Logan quickly flipped through the bills and checked to see how much there was and noticed a distinct lack of currency. "This is less than what we agreed upon."

The man frowned and nodded. "I know, but that's all I could spare. I have a family to feed. That woman you saw...I want to marry her. And she has kids that need to be fed."

Logan grimaced and stared at the money before sighing in resignation and handing the ring and the money to him, his conscience ruining another payday. "Keep it, you'll need it. Just take care of your family."

The man's jaw flapped open in disbelief. "I can't do that. You need something for what you did."

"I like to believe that Karma is all I'll need." Logan answered as he placed the bills and box into the man's shaking hands.

"Can I at least offer you a drink?" The man pleaded. "I have a few beers in the fridge."

Logan thought it over and shrugged. "A beer or two wouldn't hurt."

"Great, come on in and mind the mess. The kids have been playing around." Pete warned as he opened the door, letting Logan inside.

Logan stepped into the apartment and took it all in at a glance. There were a few kids' toys spread around the floor and he saw a pair of shadows rustling around in a hallway. The flat was small and yet homely, reminding him of his home all those years ago before the long dark. He followed the man into his kitchen, noticing his serious limp. Inside, the coyote woman was washing dishes and he could see the two adult sized plates and the two smaller colored children's' plastic ones piled up on one side. It looked like they had just finished eating dinner. Pete motioned for him to sit at the small table they had in the kitchen and sat with him.

"Honey, could you get a beer for me and my friend."

The woman stiffened slightly and her tail and ears went rigid. She stopped what she was doing and dried her paws with a rag, walking over to fridge and pulling out two beers, slamming them none too gently on the table and storming out of the kitchen.

Pete winced. "Sorry about that, she wasn't too happy hear that I was giving so much money to you. But she doesn't know what I had you get. I wanted it to be a surprise."

"What's your soon to be wife's name?" Logan inquired as he popped the cap of his beer and took a sip of the yeasty amber alcoholic beverage. It was not the best, but it was also not the worst beer he had.

"Her name's Zoey and I swear she has a heart of gold. She just takes a little time to warm up to you. She started off as my maid and in-home nurse; she cooked, cleaned, and generally looked after my sorry ass. I was a solider in the old U.S army before it collapsed and was discharged after a Humvee rolled back onto my knee. It healed, but not well. I can't get very far on my own and was lucky to even make it here. After a while, she became more than a nurse to me, and I treat the kids as if they were my own."

Logan nodded and took a draft of the cold beer. "So...what happened to the father?"

Pete sighed sadly. "She said his name was Cole. He died just before the kids were born; he was out scavenging with a group when they got trapped by a horde of walkers. Only one of them made it back."

Logan could see that. Scavenging could be a lucrative business, although it was illegal. And what happened to them was a reason it was. There were too few people left, both morph and human, to lose any more than what was unavoidable to the undead. He had met a few scavengers in his time. They were brave, braver than he was. His job, at least, was legal; if they were caught they would face heavy military prosecution. "That must have been tough."

"I would think so. I didn't know her until her kids were at least a year old, so I can't imagine how hard it must have been for her." Pete shifted his head into the direction the coyote had disappeared to and mumbled sadly. "She deserves a break, and I hope I can give it to her."

Logan downed the rest of his beer and sat in companionable silence with the man. It was nice to be able to sit and talk. His job usually meant that he stayed away from the city, sometimes for days, weeks, and rarely months at a time, depending on how far out the contract location was. Thankfully this one had been in the deserted town only a few miles away. The previous contract had him dodging corpses for a week as he made his way back to New Haven. In compensation, those jobs often paid the most. He still had a tidy sum saved away from the last job, so he wasn't so concerned with not getting a payout for this. It was only a few hundred bucks anyways.

With a sigh, Logan got up from his seat and fixed his weapon straps. "I'm going to get going, thanks for the beer."

Pete smiled warmly and waved a hand dismissively. "My pleasure, it's the least I can do after you did so much for me."

Logan reached into his pocket and pulled out a hefty sum of cash, placing it on the table. The amount he put down was several times larger than what he had been offered. "A gift for you and your fiancé...."

Pete's smiling face froze. "I-I...."

Logan grinned and patted the man on the shoulder. "It's alright my friend; I'll make it back up in no time. I think you'll need it more than I do."

The man looked between the money and the hunter, beginning to tear up as he wrapped the hunter in a bear hug. "I don't know what to say other than thank you!"

"Nothing needs to be said, just see to it that you and your family use it well." Logan pulled away from the hug and backed up. "Karma will take care of me."

Logan headed for the door and opened it, turning to see the coyote sitting in the living room are with her two little cubs. "Have a good day ma'am." He ducked his head and turned out of the apartment, walking away with a hearty smile.