Death Squad (Book 2): Zombie State

by Dalton, Charlie

  “What appears to the problem?” the man said.

  “This,” Damo said, tapping the engine. “The filter. I think air is getting into the pump and making the fuel entering the engine inconsistent. That’s what’s making it hop.”

  “You know a lot about engines?”

  “Not really. An old man in town used to help me fix it. He knew what he was doing.”

  “Is the old man still around?”

  “In a way.”

  Together, they removed the filter and installed the new one. The man held the cables and wires out of the way to make it easier. After he was done, Damo wiped his hands and moved to the driving seat. He turned the key. The engine purred like a pussycat.

  “Mission accomplished!” Damo said. “Thanks for your help. What’s your name, by the way?”

  “Michael,” the man said, taking Damo’s hand. “You?”

  “Damo. Nice to meet you.”

  Damo moved to the back of the car, lifted the trunk, and put the tools inside. He dumped the old filter in the trash and slammed the trunk shut.

  It was only then that he realized his mistake.

  The driver’s side door slammed shut. Michael had gotten in behind the wheel. He hadn’t taken off yet.

  Damo approached the door. The window was already wound down.

  “What’s going on?” he said.

  “You’re a smart kid. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  Damo grabbed the handle on the door. It was locked.

  “Let me in,” he said. “This is my car!”

  He eyed the keys in the ignition. If he was quick, he could grab them and take them out before Michael could react.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Michael said.

  It was the tone of his voice that arrested Damo more than the words he’d spoken. There was something beneath his voice, a droning, wheezing, groaning noise. Damo had only heard a sound like that in one place.

  Old Man Marley’s barn.

  “But hey, I’m not unreasonable,” Michael said. “Here.”

  He reached over for the sack he’d put on the passenger seat and took something out of it.

  Damo’s stomach turned to ice at the sight of the orb in the man’s outstretched hand. He backed away, a hollow shriek squeezing from his throat. He turned and ran. He reached the forecourt and watched as his car pulled onto the motorway and disappeared into traffic.

  “Hey man,” an open-faced black man said. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” he finally said. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  He walked in the opposite direction his car had gone. He didn’t know where he was heading or what he was going to do once he got there. Perhaps if he had no plans, death couldn’t find him.

  18.

  KEVIN HATED the rain. It meant he couldn’t play outside. Playing outside in the nighttime was one of his favorite things to do. There was a streetlamp that cast a bright ball of yellow light over the garden. All sorts of insects liked to flutter around it, casting dancing shadows. In his mind’s eye, they weren’t the shadows of lowly insects but huge dragons battling in the sky.

  Kevin sat at a cabinet, a chair from the dining table pulled up to it. He lay across it, rolling the metal orb between his hands across the table’s surface. All day he’d stared out the window, waiting for his friend whose name he didn’t know, to show up. He might want his little silver ball back. Kevin didn’t mind. He only wanted to see his friend again.

  Kevin ran his fingers over the little orb and was surprised to find it wasn’t perfectly round like a big marble at all. There were little grooves in it. He put his finger to it and followed its unbroken single track.

  It looked like the kind of treasure he could find in his magical adventure world. It would have something important inside it, but it took special skills to pry it open. Skills he didn’t have.

  He hopped off the chair and moved to his mother, who was fleshing peas while watching a game show. She called out the answers to the questions as they came up. She was always good at that.

  “Mom, can you open this?” Kevin said.

  “Sure, baby.”

  She dried her hands on the tea towel on her lap and picked up the ball. She bent down over it to peer closely at it, her attention divided between it and the TV. She was so focused on the task that she didn’t register what she was doing.

  “Saint Christopher,” she said, answering some unknown question.

  The image flickered and changed to a man sitting behind a large desk.

  “We’re sorry to interrupt your program, but breaking news just in,” the man said. “The military has issued reports of the mystery virus that has seized Austin. It appears to have been a leak. I repeat, we’re getting reports there may have been a leak. The authorities are warning for all residents within a hundred-mile radius to stay in their homes. I repeat, stay in your homes.”

  An image flashed on the screen. It showed a replica of Kevin’s metal ball. Kevin was watching his mother, also bent intently over the little device she was attempting to open.

  “The military are on the lookout for a device that looks like this. It’s a small metal object about the size of a fist. If you see one, you are to leave the room immediately and call the authorities. The lives of you and your loved ones may be at stake.”

  Kevin’s mom grunted and shook her head. “I can’t open it, babe. Wait for your dad to get home. He’ll get it open.”

  “Okay,” Kevin said with obvious disappointment.

  His mom switched the channel.

  “Damn breaking news,” she said. “I was doing well, too.”

  She hissed through her teeth when she found the same message on every channel. The anchor turned in his seat to a panel of experts. They would end up talking about this for hours.

  Kevin’s mom turned the TV off. She picked up the bowl of shelled peas and carried them into the kitchen, grumbling under her breath.

  Kevin climbed back onto the dining chair in front of the cabinet. He picked up his other toys and began to construct a world around him. It was easy to lose yourself in an imaginary place, especially when you controlled everything about it. You could go anywhere and be whatever you wanted.

  Every few minutes, he glanced out the window at the driving sheets of rain. He missed his friend.

  19.

  THE POSTBOX was located outside the grocer’s, a beacon to the slow and old fashioned. Many people passed it each and every day. It was a part of the town’s furniture. It was an ideal location.

  People would come, deposit their letters, get infected, and take it home to their loved ones. It likely wouldn’t even look like they’d gotten the virus there. By the time they turned, no one could retrace their steps. More and more people would get infected.

  They’d gotten a hot tip from a concerned citizen after a man not local to these parts was seen snooping around the postbox. It ticked all their boxes.

  The officer was observing it from the tallest building in town—a staggering four floors—and lowered his binoculars. He spoke into his radio.

  “Execute,” he said.

  The van screeched around the corner and pulled to a stop before the junction. The armed response unit hustled out of the van and surrounded the postbox. Locals paused to see what was going on. It wasn’t the kind of thing that often happened in the sleepy town of Mundford.

  They unlocked the postbox and removed the sack containing the letters. The team leader opened the sack and peered inside. He identified something in the bottom. He reached in.

  He brought it out, holding it in his hand.

  The officer on the roof licked his lips. He couldn’t make it out clearly through his binoculars. It looked to be the right size, shape, and color.

  “Is it one of them?” the officer said. “Did we find one?”

  “That’s a negative,” the team leader said.

  “Are you sure? What is it?”

  “A toy.”

  He pressed a button o
n the side and the robot unfolded itself from the ball and into a robot, the kind of thing you’d see in a “Transformers” movie.

  The officer on the roof noticed movement out the corner of his eye. He aimed his binoculars at a gang of children with grins on their faces as they took off into an alley.

  They’d been had by a gang of preschoolers.

  20.

  NOT FOR the first time, Cathy wondered why she’d allowed herself to have kids. They were on the backseat of the car, arguing over something. It was raining and they were stuck in traffic. Cathy tried to focus on the music from the radio but those beasts on the backseat just wouldn’t stop fighting.

  Children irritated her long before she got pregnant. She hated the parents that never watched over them, never disciplined them. They thought everything their little princes and princesses did was special and majestic and the rest of the world would think the same.

  Cathy certainly did not.

  Barry told her she would feel the same about her own kids as other parents did with theirs. He turned out to be dead wrong on that one.

  Still, Barry’s warm affection ought to be enough for them, she told herself. Except, her cold attitude also bled into their relationship. No more hugging and kissing. No more sweet post-it notes on kitchen cupboards.

  He began to focus on work and not come home until late. Cathy had panicked that he would leave her for someone else, that she would be alone with children she never really wanted. And then the dreaded day arrived.

  He’d run off with Betty. Barry and Betty 4eva. Or until she had kids and ended up fat as Cathy had done.

  Cathy had debased herself, pleading with him to stay with her. For the kids. Just live with her and the kids, that’s all she asked. He could still have his bit on the side, she didn’t mind. (In actual fact, it killed her, but it was better than having to raise the kids by herself.)

  But he’d refused.

  And then Cathy had gotten angry. She told him they were more his kids than hers, that he was the one who’d wanted them. Cornered, and with no other arguments to make, she threatened to hurt herself, to hurt the kids, if he stepped through that front door.

  And he’d left them.

  Cathy had burst into tears, weeping harder than she had as a teenager over Ronnie, her first love. A small hand had patted her knee.

  “Mommy, are you okay?”

  She wiped at her eyes and smiled. The worst thing you could do with a child was pretend. They could always see the truth.

  She didn’t know how much of the shouting they’d heard. She assumed all of it. The walls were not very thick. She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she got up, climbed the stairs, and shut the bedroom door.

  The kids would have known then that she’d meant every word she’d said. She cried all day and night. Despite being hungry, they never bothered her. They knew, in their heart of hearts, that something was wrong, and would never again feel entirely complete after hearing those words from their mother.

  That’d been two weeks ago. Cathy had emerged from the bedroom, broken, and on the surface of it, everything had returned to normal. But only on the surface.

  The music came to an end and the boring news bulletins started. About some far and distant war in a country she couldn’t point to on a map if asked. They had enough problems in this country. Why did they have to go halfway around the world to get involved in someone else’s?

  The news item changed. The announcer was talking about objects the military was looking for. “An orb,” they described it as. “With a hard metal shell and a groove worked into the side like a baseball seam.” They warned that if they were to find one, they were to report it to the authorities immediately. They shouldn’t touch it or go anywhere near it.

  “Blah, blah, blah,” Cathy said as she reached for the radio dial and tuned it into another station. Music. That was what she needed. Some good tunes. Something to fill her body and soul so she could forget about her problems.

  The traffic moved forward. An inch.

  The kids were still fighting in the back, cajoling Cathy’s seat and knocking it forward.

  “Will you two knock it off?” Cathy said, glaring over her shoulder at the little monsters. “If I have to come back there, there’s going to be hell to pay.”

  The kids settled down, but not before Agatha got in a few whining words.

  “It’s mine!” she said. “The man gave it to me!”

  “What man?”

  “The man who gave me this ball.”

  She extended her hand to present the odd grey sphere while holding the other arm out to block her sister from attempting to swipe it.

  “He said it was for both of us!” Christie said, bottom lip protruding.

  The girls had been playing in a big ball pit at the supermarket, but none of the balls looked like this. They were tomato red. This one was made of metal.

  With little money and no ideas of where to take the kids, Cathy took to getting just half their groceries on Saturdays. She got the second half on Sundays.

  The only reason she went shopping at the WalMart, an extra ten miles out of her way from the more convenient CostCo, was because of the playroom they had installed. Parents could drop their kids off and do their shopping in peace.

  It was the highlight of Cathy’s week, those few hours she got to be by herself. She enjoyed looking at the food and deciding what new recipe she’d try out this week. The same ingredients, but with slight changes. Once she was done with her shop, she would take her trolley to the cafe and buy herself a nice hot chocolate and relax, preparing herself for the long week ahead. Then she would drag herself from the table with a grimace, pick the little monsters up, and take them home.

  That, she realized, was when they’d brought the odd little ball with them. She hadn’t seen the man, and though she felt she ought to have been concerned about a grown man giving her girls a gift, she didn’t care at all.

  The ball was big in Agatha’s tiny hand, with a thin double-seam that worked around the orb, reversing back in on itself. Cathy recognized it immediately, of course. It was exactly what the voice on the radio had described earlier.

  Weird, she thought. It doesn’t look dangerous. Better safe than sorry.

  She opened her door and drew her arm back to throw it. A trickle of ice-cold water ran down the back of her neck.

  “No!” Agatha and Christie cried.

  It wasn’t their cries that had stopped her. It was the high-pitched squeal in the back of her mind.

  Don’t waste this opportunity, it said. This is what you wanted. A chance to be free.

  The rain pattered the metal sphere, making a soft metallic noise. Was it the sphere that’d spoken to her?

  She brought the orb back inside and shut the door. She turned to look at her girls before handing it over.

  “Keep hold of it, girls,” she said.

  “Yes!” Agatha said.

  “The man gave it to both of you, so you have to share it. Understood?”

  “Aww, man!”

  Cathy leaned in close and spoke conspiratorially.

  “This ball is very, very important. I want you to keep it with you at all times.”

  “Even at school?” Agatha said.

  “No, not at school or outside the house. Only in your room and in this car. Okay?”

  “Why not?” Christie said.

  “Because I’ve got a feeling it is very, very valuable. Other people will get jealous and try to take it from you.”

  “Really?” Agatha said, clutching the ball close to her chest. “You think it’s worth a lot?”

  “More than anything in the whole, wide world.”

  “Wo-o-w,” Christie said.

  The sisters turned to look at it, probing with their little fingers.

  Cathy straightened up and turned to look out the window. A smile hesitantly spread across her face. She was in a better mood than she’d been in for years.

  21.

  TH
E ARMED response unit entered the quiet hallway. Hand signals suggested they should move slowly.

  Loud music pumped from behind a door on the left. Light spilled through the window at the top of the hall. Through another door, a couple was arguing. Not the best neighborhood in the world.

  A little further up, a door opened. A teenage girl stepped out, music blaring from her headphones. She locked her door with a set of metal keys. She turned. Her eyes bulged at the sight of guns drawing down on her. She clutched her shoulder bag close as the SWAT team eased down either side of the corridor. She stood unmoving, even after they’d passed.

  The door ahead opened and an old lady stepped out. Unlike the teenager, she appeared to have been expecting to see them there. She was in her sixties, hair rolled up in curlers. She wore a motheaten nightgown cinched at her slim waist.

  “I’m so glad you came!” the old lady said. “Next door. They’re the ones I saw take something that looks suspiciously like one of them orb things I saw on the box. Then they started making noises, knocking things over. Honestly, I’ve never heard anything like it in all my life.”

  “We’ll take it from here, ma’am,” Private Leslie said.

  The unit shared a glance. They’d seen what the orb could do to people. Was this another potential outbreak?

  “Please go back in your room,” Private Leslie said. “We’ll take it from here.”

  The old lady stepped over the threshold. Her head popped out from the doorway a moment later. She watched the armed team approach the door. Who knows, maybe it would be on the news.

  The unit formed up. A nod and one member knocked on the door.

  Thud, thud, thud.

  There was no response.

  He knocked again.

  Thud, thud, thud.

  “Police!” Private Leslie said. “Open up!”

  Something inside the apartment crashed to the floor.

  Another nod and the officer armed with the battering ram stepped up. The door was flimsy and probably didn’t need the ram. A swift kick or firm shoulder would have done the job. Still, he pulled it back and swung. The lock splintered and the door gave way.