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ZOMBIE STATE
DEATH SQUAD | BOOK TWO
Charlie Dalton
1.
THE SUN was just beginning to crest the thick copse of trees when Michael pulled the motorbike over. He kicked the stand out, removed the helmet, and placed it on the seat. The engine’s metal casing made satisfied tick sounds as it cooled.
He turned to take in the beauty of a new morning, a new morning that would be marked in history as the day when everything changed. He breathed in through his nose—not that he could really do this, of course, as he couldn’t breathe at all—but he could pretend he was breathing in the fresh scent of the countryside. The memory of doing it was enough to make his heart soar.
He stretched his arms to either side and rolled his shoulders, making clicking, cracking sounds. He needed to be careful. He couldn’t harm himself. Finding a surgeon would draw attention, and that was the last thing he needed. He had to be a grey man. At least I’ve got the skin for it.
He walked across an empty brown dirt field with a hedgerow down one side. A tractor’s large wheels had formed a hard earthen path that had dried in the sun. He followed it, pushing the motorbike alongside him. It was only a few hundred yards long.
He made it to the end and turned right. There stood his new ride. His shoulders slumped when he saw it.
It was a small motorbike with a box on the back. The kind of thing pizza delivery boys might use. It was a ratty old thing. Nothing like the sporty number he had in his hands right now. He sighed. Instructions were instructions.
He shoved his bike into the ditch and let it come to a stop at the bottom. He kept the helmet.
Beside the second-rate delivery bike was a wide-lipped postbox. It was made of wood and had been warped and twisted by numerous winter rains, and blasted by the bleak summer sun. It hadn’t even been treated, or if it had, its effect had long since worn off. No varnish, not even a lick of paint. The edges curled back like unwashed hair, revealing fibers underneath.
This box, if it was ever discovered in the future, would forever be touched by history. He could imagine it in a history book somewhere. A nice big photograph and a caption underneath it: THIS WAS WHERE IT ALL BEGAN.
He opened the box’s top and was unsurprised to found what was inside. He lifted the bag out. It was heavy and rattled with the movement. He carried it to the box on the back of his new delivery bike. It fit snugly inside.
He took a knife from his pocket and pulled back his sleeve. He took a breath before sliding the blade across his forearm. Undead he might be but used to slicing open his own flesh he most certainly was not. The blood that oozed from the wound was not the watery excretion you’d expect from a healthy person. It was thick and sticky and didn’t want to come out. Michael squeezed his arm, increasing the pressure.
The sludge splattered over the small metal orbs. For a moment, nothing happened, then they flashed as the blood entered their hairline grooves. A red light flashed and the orbs turned silent. Michael smiled and shut the bag.
He pushed the motorbike around the corner, embarrassed he’d now have to use this piece of junk. He moved his foot instinctively for the kickstand but found it didn’t have one. He sighed.
He put on his helmet and climbed on board. History would point to this very moment where the tide turned and the New Beginning occurred. His payload was death itself.
He chuckled and shook his head as he started up the bike and pulled away. He was talking about going down in history as humanity’s great savior. The truth was, there wouldn’t be any historians around to write that history. There wasn’t going to be any humanity left for much longer. And by then, all this, including himself, would be forgotten.
He pulled the visor down and hit the road.
2.
TOMMY COULDN’T keep his tongue from flapping as Samantha came out of the bathroom wearing one of her smaller negligees. Samantha could have worn an apron and looked sexy.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Tommy said, tugging the bedspread up to his neck.
“I’m going to bed,” Samantha said, fixing her hair. “What does it look like?”
“With me? I thought—”
“You thought wrong.”
Samantha pulled the comforter back and slid into the bed. She lay with her head perched on her hand. She made no effort to cover herself.
“You’re torturing me here,” Tommy said. “You can’t look this good when I can’t do anything about it.”
Samantha ran a bare foot up and down her leg, letting the fabric slide further up her thigh. “You don’t like it?”
Tommy gulped.
“No,” he said. “It’s disgusting. I hate looking at you.”
Samantha smiled. She ran a hand down Tommy’s face.
“My fiance is only half-zombie,” she said. “I want to be with the part of him that’s half-human.”
“It’s sort of a mixed deal.”
“You won’t hurt me.”
“You don’t know that.”
She looked him in the eye. “I do. We have lots of time to be together. We should make the most of it while we can.”
She leaned forward, pressing her body against his.
“Sam—”
“Relax.”
She interwove her arms and legs with his. She was no more than an inch from him. She smelled so good.
“Kiss me,” she said.
A million guys would have given their best arm for a woman like Samantha to look at them that way and say those words. Tommy, fool that he was, turned away. Samantha gripped his chin and pulled his face back to her.
“You won’t hurt me,” she said.
Tommy’s desperation was evident on his face. A war of emotions battling for supremacy. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. A single peck. She kissed him back.
“See?” Samantha said. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Tommy was lost. She looked so good, smelled so good, tasted so good. He had to have more.
He kissed her on the face, neck, and collar bone. She shrugged her shoulders as he slipped the spaghetti straps off, letting it slip down to her waist.
She obligingly rolled onto her back as he kissed her breasts and flicked her nipples with his tongue. She moaned with pleasure. He took them in his mouth, cupping and massaging one at a time. Her nipples were firm before he even began. Now, they were rock solid.
He kissed down her flat stomach to the soft skin of her inner thighs, gently probing with his lips and tongue. All the way down to that soft, warm space between her legs. He got to work.
He was very careful, moving gently at first, as he licked and probed at her, working her the way she liked. He rubbed her gently with his fingers, giving his tongue a rest before he got back to working her.
She rocked and writhed beneath him, gasping as she touched herself. He felt her wetness on his tongue and knew she was already getting close.
She groaned loudly, one hand clenching her thick hair, her head thrown back, her other hand pressing Tommy’s head for him to keep exploring. Her whole body tensed and relaxed.
Tommy could have kept going for hours, but she was already sliding down the bed, off the end, and getting to her knees to repay the debt.
“Your turn,” she said.
“Sam, I’m not sure I can—”
He was surprised when he looked down to find he was already aroused. He supposed it was a physical response. Heaven knew he’d had plenty of stimulation.
Tom
my was about to reach for the bedside table for the condoms when he noticed Samantha was already tearing a packet open. She slipped it on him.
“I feel like I’m being used,” Tommy said.
“Isn’t that what all men want?”
Her mouth got to work, moving up and down as she did her thing. Tommy couldn’t feel the physical aspect, but he sensed the rush of adrenalin hitting his system.
When Samantha stood up, Tommy thought she’d brought him to climax already. He could tell by the look in her eye that wasn’t the case. She was still hungry. She pushed her negligee down over her hips and let it slip to the floor. There she stood, mature, confident, and magnificent.
She climbed on top of him and, before he could utter any words of concern, slid him inside her. She grunted softly and looked him in the eye. Then she began to rock back and forth. She shut her eyes, writhing on him, grinding hard.
And still, he didn’t feel a thing. Samantha appeared to be enjoying herself. That was the important thing, he thought.
Then Tommy felt his hips contract, his muscles growing stiff, as the moment of his release arrived. Samantha must have felt it because she lowered her face to kiss him, a smile on her face and a thin film of sweat encasing her body.
“Thanks, loverboy,” she said, kissing him on the lips. “My sex machine. I’m going to hit the shower.”
Tommy sat up and watched her perfectly-formed rump walk to the bathroom. He was surprised by how little it mattered to him that he couldn’t fully enjoy the physical aspect of their relationship. He loved this woman. That was enough. He looked down at his little man and smiled.
“Good job,” he said.
3.
TOMMY WAS fast asleep when he heard the creak. He immediately slipped his hand under his pillow and came out with a pistol. He sat up and aimed it at the door.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Tommy said.
The man stepped into the silvery moonlight that spilled through the curtains. He was wearing a US soldier’s uniform and had his hands up.
“Sir, I need to ask you to come with me,” he said.
“What?” Tommy said, still groggy with sleep.
“You need to come with me, sir. Something has happened.”
“What? What’s happened?”
“I’ve been ordered to pick you up and take you, sir.”
“Let me get washed and dressed. I’ll meet you outside.”
The soldier nodded, turned, and left. It was only then that Tommy relaxed, lowing the pistol to the bedspread. He really ought to make sure he kept it loaded next time.
He yawned, stretched, and tucked the pistol back under his pillow. He leaned over the sleeping Samantha and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled and contentedly mumbled something under her breath.
4.
THE SOLDIER responded to all of Tommy’s questions with a respectful, “I don’t know, sir.” He was nervous and couldn’t even bring himself to look at Tommy. He was driving and pretending to keep his full attention on the desert.
It was still dark out and Tommy hadn’t gotten more than a couple of hours’ sleep since he’d returned from his mission in Austin. He could have laid back and caught an extra forty winks, but the situation, whatever it was, had already buried its talons deep inside him.
Just what the devil was going on here?
The jeep sped across the desert flats, heading deeper into the wilderness. It only occurred to him then, on the fringes of sleep, that perhaps this wasn’t what it appeared to be at all. The mission was over, they had saved the city and prevented the virus from spreading. Perhaps now they had outlasted their use.
Within the Death Squad’s genetic code they had something that prevented the virus from taking hold. They were still infected, still carriers, but the full effect of the virus hadn’t presented themselves. He and his team were Walkers, zombies in name only. They still had their heads and minds firmly screwed in place.
He recognized the direction they were traveling in. When he spotted the little white pod that squatted on the desert floor, glowing brightly beneath the moonlight, and the large black van outside, he began to fear the worst.
As the jeep pulled to a stop. Tommy threw the door open and stepped out. A pair of soldiers carried a black bag on a stretcher between them. They wore an all-in-one boiler suit and broad helmet cap with a plastic visor built into the front. They slid the heavy shape into the back of the van, alongside several others they’d already loaded. They shut the back doors and moved to the front seats. The van started up and took off.
A white-clad soldier was doing something with footprints preserved in the dirt. Another filled tire tracks with a watery white liquid.
On either side of the entrance to Hawk’s pod were squiggly lines, like someone had started an art project before giving up halfway through. But it wasn’t paint. Tommy recognized blood when he saw it.
No one paid him any attention as he ducked his head and stepped inside. The room was dark, the colors inverted due to some kind of UV light that covered the entire space. The hazmat suits of the investigators glowed blue.
So did the splatters across the floor.
The greatest concentration was in the middle of the room before it spread out and flowed, forming petal-like sprays outward. Someone had indeed worked on a piece of art. And here was the setting for the masterpiece.
It’d been a bloodbath.
A flash of white as the investigators took photos. Others collected samples. It was a crime scene. A particularly horrific one.
“Whoever did this, clearly enjoyed it.”
Tommy recognized the voice. It came from the figure who emerged from the bathroom, wiping his hands on a bright blue towel. One of the white-clad scientists took the towel from him and carried it away. Colonel Maxwell held up his hands in apology, shrugging his shoulders.
“I always touch the wrong things,” he said. “As I was saying, I’ve seen plenty of dead bodies and effective crime scenes in my time. I know a happy murderer when I see one.”
“What happened here?” Tommy said.
“I should think that’s pretty obvious. Someone had a great time. Five others had less of a good time.” He turned to the room. “Can we have the room, please?”
The scientists shuffled out. The Colonel didn’t speak again until they were gone.
“Care for a drink?” he said. “I always want to drown my sorrows when I see something as sorrowful as this.”
“No. Where’s Hawk?”
“Ah. You put your finger on the million-dollar question.” He glanced at the inside of the cupboards. “Your friend doesn’t appear to be much of a drinker.”
“He was but they wouldn’t let him have any.”
“Maybe that was what pushed him over the edge.”
Maxwell reached into his jacket and removed a small flask.
“For emergencies, you understand.” He poured some into a small glass and downed it. He hissed through his teeth. “Are you sure you don’t want some?”
“I’m sure.” Something about what the colonel had said irked him. Pushed him over the edge? “You think Hawk did this?”
“It’s what the evidence suggests. All the evidence, actually. We’re in his pod. No one was here that night. Everyone else is dead, and he’s mysteriously missing. Who else could it be?”
Tommy pressed his hands on the countertop. He shook his head and felt sick.
“No,” he said. “It can’t be him. He wouldn’t do anything like this. Why would he?”
“War can do strange things to a man.”
“He’s seen plenty of war. He was torn apart and you stitched him back together again. If he was going to go nuts, he would have done it then.”
“Call it a delayed reaction. It happens. And you’d just returned from the very place that’d happened to him. Where he’d died. It might be that conjured up some aggressive emotions, don’t you think? I like to think I’ve experienced a lot in life but I’ve ne
ver been through anything like that before.”
It was entirely possible, Tommy thought. People went off their heads triggered by a lot less. But he’d been so plugged in, so normal when they’d entered the city. They’d fought and successfully brought the virus to a halt. Still, perhaps it was conceivable that—
“No,” Tommy said, shaking his head. “Hawk didn’t do this.”
“Show me the evidence for that contention, and I’ll go along with you.” The Colonel leaned against the counter as if they were enjoying a friendly cup of morning coffee. “I read his profile over and over and I do find it difficult to believe someone as highly trained and experienced as him could snap now of all times. But there we are. There’s no arguing with the facts.”
Tommy felt bad. He was the captain. How could he have missed the warning signs?
“Your mission was to stop the virus from spreading beyond the city,” Maxwell said. “You failed in that task. Now, we have an infected man running loose in the country somewhere, poised to cause untold mayhem on countless innocent people. What do you suggest I do?”
“Blame me. I take full responsibility. I was the one in charge of the team. I’m responsible for the actions they take. Punish me. They did nothing wrong.”
Maxwell’s smile was sad. He clapped a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.
“Honorable, as always, Sergeant,” he said. “Alas, the error does not reside with you. You see, none of you were meant to roam free. It was my decision to allow you this freedom. If anyone is at fault, it is me.”
Tommy shook his head. It felt wrong that the one man who’d stood up for them would be the one to get punished.
Maxwell poured himself another drink. It was noteworthy because he wasn’t the type who usually drank heavily.
Unless he was thinking about doing something he didn’t want to do.
“Colonel, where’s the rest of my team?” Tommy said.
“Still in their pods.”
Death Squad (Book 2): Zombie State Page 1