Zombie Apocalypse

by Cassiday, Bryan

  “This is getting better by the minute.”

  “The most important thing at this point is not to panic as you evacuate.”

  “I wish I could understand what this guy’s saying,” said Foster. He scratched his bald head. “One minute he says lock yourself in your house, the next he says evacuate.”

  “He’s a talking head,” said Tom. “In other words, he has no idea what he’s talking about.”

  There was a loud bang at the plate-glass door. Halverson whirled around to locate the source of the commotion. He shrugged his MP7 off his shoulder. He drew a bead with the MP7’s muzzle on the door.

  A twentyish man sporting two days’ growth of brown stubble on his face and wearing baggy tan trousers and a red gimme cap was lifting a fluorescent orange plastic pylon that he had found somewhere on the tarmac and smashing it into the door. Snarling with his broken teeth, he hammered the pylon against the door.

  “Can these things think?” asked Halverson.

  He lowered his submachine gun. If he shot through the door at the creature, it would weaken the integrity of the plate glass.

  “It figured out how to use a pylon for a club,” said Tom.

  “I don’t think we can categorize that as thinking,” said Rogers. “If that thing can think, it should know better than to use a soft plastic cone to break glass.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  Tom withdrew his iPhone from his trouser pocket. He trained the lens of the iPhone’s video recorder on the ghoul to film the ghoul’s rampage.

  “Smile for the camera,” Tom told the ghoul.

  “Look at its ugly mug,” said Foster. “How can a thing that looks that repulsive think?”

  “I don’t know. Gary seems to think OK.”

  Foster laughed from deep inside his chest.

  “Don’t panic,” the newscaster went on. “Help will be arriving soon in your neighborhood. Wait a minute. We’re getting a live feed direct from Washington, DC. President Cole will be addressing us from the Situation Room.”

  An image of the president sitting at a desk in his Situation Room appeared on the TV screen. The president was pushing sixty. Before he had become president his close-cropped hair was black. It was now mostly grey, shot with black. He had a large face with broad features that dominated the TV screen. He exuded a folksy charm that belied his Yale education.

  Cole’s down-home persona and his joyous zeal for campaigning had probably won him the presidency, decided Halverson.

  Halverson knew that the Situation Room generally regarded by the public as a single conference room in the West Wing was actually a warren of small rooms. The “Sit Room,” as Washington insiders called it, was ordered built under Kennedy by his national security advisor McGeorge Bundy.

  Bundy had a team of navy sailors convert a ramshackle bowling alley under the West Wing into a top-drawer command center for Kennedy in 1961. The room was renovated many times after its original construction.

  The conference room in which the president now sat in the televised image contained six flat-screen high-definition TVs lining its walls. Offscreen, Halverson knew, soundproof glass phone booths were situated strategically within the room. He also knew that was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to all the latest sophisticated communication devices housed in the room.

  “Good afternoon, fellow Americans,” said the president. “We are receiving numerous reports of outbreaks of plague all across the country. We are monitoring the situation closely. Do not worry. We are stopping the plague dead in its tracks.”

  “Not here in LA,” said Tom, putting away his iPhone.

  “Shhhh,” said Rogers.

  “It is important that in these trying times we don’t panic. That is the worst thing we can do. President Roosevelt’s famous first inaugural address comes to mind. Remember what he said and we will weather this storm of adversity. ‘The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.’”

  Before Cole could complete Roosevelt’s quote, two stone-faced secret service men wearing black suits and sunglasses burst into the Situation Room. Earbuds with flesh-colored wires corkscrewed down their necks and under the collars of their jackets. An Uzi submachine gun in one hand, each agent grabbed an arm of the startled president with the other and hustled him off the set.

  Halverson and the rest of the group stood dumfounded in front of the TV.

  Thirty seconds later, the TV screen faded to black.

  “What was that all about?” demanded Tom.

  “Are those creatures in Washington now too?” said Foster.

  “We’re up in the air for less than six hours and all hell’s broken loose all over the country by the time we land,” said Ray, bemused.

  “That can’t be it,” said Tom. “It must be something else in Washington. Probably some kind of terrorist threat that has nothing to do with our situation here.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I’ve heard enough,” said Rogers. “We’re on our own.”

  He strode toward the baggage carousels.

  Halverson took after him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “We need to find a safe place to hole up in,” Rogers announced to the clutch of passengers standing near the baggage carousels.

  Somebody screamed near the carousels. On account of the crowd, Halverson could not make out who it was. Passengers craned their necks around in fear, trying to ascertain what was happening.

  Halverson ran toward the sound, MP7 in hand. A brunette broke out of the serried ranks of the crowd, screaming.

  “He tried to bite me!” she wailed.

  Halverson shoved his way into the mass of people.

  Once he arrived at the nearest carousel he realized what had happened. Albert had died from his ghoul-induced wound at the air traffic control tower and was now morphing into a revenant. Albert swiped clumsily at Halverson’s MP7.

  Halverson swung the submachine gun’s muzzle in a tight arc at Albert and let the creature have it with a full burst. Halverson had made sure he had targeted Albert’s head. As a result, fragments of milk white skull with gobs of brains attached blew out the back of Albert’s head and clumped onto the canted aluminum wheel of the carousel.

  “OK, people,” said Rogers. “Settle down. These creatures are dangerous. The only way to deal with them is to kill them, as you just saw.”

  Distraught looks on their faces, the passengers milled about nervously.

  “We need to organize ourselves and find some kind of a stronghold to stay in,” Rogers went on.

  He patted the air around him with his open hands, palms down, gesticulating for everyone to chill out.

  “Who put you in charge?” asked a man in his midforties of average height who was standing near the front of the mob.

  A cornucopia of thick white hair sprouted from the man’s large, boulderlike head. On either side of his Roman nose he had a deep-set large dark blue eye which turned black at times due to the prevalence of flecks of brown in his irises. Perched on his squat neck, his head seemed to sit flat on his chronically hunched shoulders. A black pin-striped Giorgio Armani suit fit him to a T.

  At first blush Halverson didn’t like the looks of him. There was something about the man’s dark eyes that suggested sleaze.

  “We need to organize,” answered Rogers.

  “Why should you be our leader?” asked the man. “What kind of leadership experience do you have?”

  “Here, here!” said Gary.

  “I was a colonel in the air force,” said Rogers.

  “And you nearly killed all of us because you stupidly decided to land here right in the middle of this mess,” said the man.

  Rogers stalked over to the man. It looked to Halverson like Rogers was on the verge of taking a swing at the guy.

  “And who are you?” asked Rogers. “What is your experience?”

  “I’m Peter Lemans, the president of World Perfect Bank,” answered Lemans, not backing down from Rogers who w
as in his face.

  His granitelike face set, Lemans took a step forward and bumped into Rogers with his stomach.

  That was enough to set Rogers off, Halverson could see. Rogers gave Lemans a rough shove that sent Lemans stumbling back on his heels.

  Angrily, Lemans regained his balance. “So this is how you rule? By force? You tin-pot fascist! You don’t belong here in America. In case you haven’t heard, this country is still a democracy.”

  “That’s debatable,” said Halverson under his breath, recalling the news he had just heard on TV and what had happened to the president in the Situation Room.

  “This is a struggle for survival,” said Rogers, “and it’s a military struggle because those things out there would like nothing better than to sink their teeth into us and eat us for dinner.”

  “I’ve got enough money to buy your plane,” said Lemans, the cords in his stubby neck tensing. “Hell, I’ve got enough money to buy you. How dare you come over here and push me around!”

  “I don’t care how much money you have. Do you think those things out there care about your money? Why don’t you write a bunch of checks out to them and tell them to go away? See where it gets you.”

  “That’s not the point. The point is I’m a born leader. That’s why I’m the president of a bank, while you’re just a flyboy on a commercial jet. Born leaders rise to the top like cream. There’s nothing anyone can do about it. It’s a force of nature. That’s me.”

  “That’s funny. From where I’m standing I don’t see you rising anywhere. You’ve got the biggest head I’ve ever seen, but other than that—” Rogers shook his head.

  Reverend Jim raised his hand in the back of the group.

  Rogers broke off his staring contest with Lemans and nodded at Reverend Jim.

  “What’s up, Reverend Jim?” asked Rogers.

  “We need to make peace with those people outside,” said Reverend Jim.

  “They’re not people,” said Halverson.

  He felt a stitch in his side. He figured that meant he was hungry. After all, they had not eaten for the better part of six hours.

  “We need to blow those creatures away so they can rest in peace,” said Rogers.

  “We are all God’s children,” said Reverend Jim. “We need to coexist with the people outside. If you sow the wind, you will reap the whirlwind. Just because they have the plague doesn’t give us the right to cast them out of the society of man and destroy them. We are sinners, so God smote us down with the plague. We must repent and learn to live with the victims of the plague. In God’s eyes we are no better than they.”

  Lemans ignored him. “We need to get out of the airport. Those creatures outside have wiped out over half of us already. We landed with more than two hundred passengers. Now we’re down to less than a hundred the way I see it,” Lemans said, surveying the crowd.

  A smattering of applause rippled through the audience. A statuesque blonde in a tight black strapless dress strutted over to Lemans. She looked like the original ice queen to Halverson with her high angular cheekbones and hoity-toity visage. Molten lava would turn into rock on that face.

  “I’m with him,” she said. She grabbed his arm and snuggled against him.

  “We are all sinners in the eyes of the Lord,” said Reverend Jim. “The wages of sin is great. Who among you can say you are without sin? The Lord has rained plague down upon us to punish us for our transgressions. Even though our brothers have plague, they are still our brothers and we cannot cast them out.”

  Silence hung in the air.

  “I say we kill those things and send them back to where they came from before they kill us,” said Rogers.

  “Let’s get out of here and let the authorities deal with these creatures,” said Lemans. “It’s the job of the police to protect us. We’re not a bunch of gunslingers.”

  “Now you’re talking,” said Gary.

  “We can’t count on the authorities,” said Rogers. “This whole city is on fire and infested with plague. The police are stretched to their limits. They have too much to do. We have to fend for ourselves. We need to find a safe place that we can secure.”

  “What about the national guard and FEMA?” said Lemans. “And the CDC,” he added. “It’s their job to handle these federal emergencies and help us.”

  “I’m telling you the city is in chaos. The authorities don’t even know we’re here at the airport so how can they know we need their help? We’re on our own.”

  “I could eat a horse,” said Gary. “Let’s get something to eat before we do anything else. There’s not a whole lot we can do without food in our bellies.”

  Many in the crowd applauded.

  “Let’s go,” said Lemans. “There must be restaurants somewhere around here.”

  He made tracks for the interior of the building. Gary and many of the other passengers followed him.

  “Be careful where you go,” Rogers warned them. “There are plenty of doors in this building where those creatures can enter.”

  “Be sure you’ve got guns,” Halverson told them.

  Several of the departing passengers waved weapons at him as they marched off.

  “Fools,” said Rogers.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  About half of the crowd stayed behind at the baggage carousel opting to ally themselves with Rogers.

  “We’ve got to eat sooner or later,” Tom told Rogers.

  “I only hope we don’t end up being eaten ourselves before we find somewhere to eat,” said Rogers. “There could be ghouls in this building. We haven’t had a chance to inspect it.”

  “All of those people need to be armed,” Halverson said, watching the crowd leave.

  “They don’t seem to realize the danger we’re in,” said Tom.

  “That reminds me,” said Rogers. “We need to get more ammo.” He made for the Homeland Security armory.

  “I wish this was a schlock movie we were making.”

  “But it’s not,” said Halverson. “It’s really happening.”

  “Then I wish it was happening to someone else. Do we have any chance at all of getting out of this mess?”

  “I’ll give up when I’m dead.”

  Halverson followed Rogers to the armory, Tom, Ray, Foster, and Rosie in tow.

  Halverson met Rogers inside. Rogers pulled down a leather bandolier full of magazines for his MP7.

  Halverson found ammo clips for his MP7 and stuffed them into the empty slots in his bandolier. He managed to scrounge up another bandolier of clips to drape over his shoulder. What with the NVGs hanging around his neck and the bandoliers slung over his shoulders he was getting pretty loaded down.

  “I’ve been thinking about where we can hole up,” said Rogers. “I think I’ve come up with an answer.”

  “We still need to eat,” said Halverson.

  “This idea of mine will kill two birds with one stone.”

  “I’m all for it,” said Tom, “if it includes food.”

  “It’s nearby so we won’t expose ourselves to the ghouls for too long while we get over there.”

  “And it’s got food?”

  “Yep. Actually, it’s a restaurant. It’s the Encounter Restaurant.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Halverson. “The one that looks like a spaceship with four big spider legs.”

  Rogers nodded. “Once we get in there, we’ll gain a tactical advantage. We’ll have the high ground. We can see all around us and spot any ghouls that try to attack.”

  “If the smog ever clears,” said Tom

  “It’s also got a latticelike wall around it about ten feet high surrounding it.”

  “A lattice doesn’t sound like much protection,” said Halverson.

  “It’s shaped like a lattice, but it’s thicker. It’s not great but it’ll slow them down. If they had any coordination they could easily crawl over it.”

  “Sounds like the only game in town,” said Ray with a shrug.

  “Besides being high, t
he restaurant is circular and its exterior wall is in reality one big window so we’ll be able to survey the area all around us with no blind spots.”

  “Enough said,” said Halverson. “Let’s do it.”

  He picked up on a crate of grenades on the floor under the first shelf. He reached into the crate. He pulled out a grenade. He clipped it to his belt. He proceeded to load his belt with more grenades.

  “These might come in handy,” he said.

  “What about Lemans and those guys?” said Tom.

  “I’ll tell them my plan,” said Rogers. “If they want in, they’re welcome to join us. If they don’t, the hell with them.”

  “Do those guys know you need to shoot the ghouls in the head to kill them?” asked Halverson.

  “I doubt it,” said Tom. “None of them were with us at the control tower.”

  “How do you know so much about these ghouls?” Rogers asked Halverson.

  Halverson used his cover story. “I’m a reporter. We’ve been following this plague ever since it first broke out in China.”

  “We?”

  Halverson could not tell Rogers he worked for the CIA.

  “The media,” Halverson explained.

  Rogers didn’t look satisfied with Halverson’s answer, but he let it go. “Let’s see if we can track down that fool Lemans.”

  “I thought you said we could eat first,” said Tom.

  “We better get Lemans. There could be ghouls in the rest of the airport ready to ambush him and the others.”

  Rogers headed out of the armory.

  Halverson followed soon after. He thought about his brother lying in a hospital at UCLA. He wanted to contact him. He wondered if the pay phones worked. All he had to do was find one. That would have been easy not long ago. They used to be all over airports. Nowadays, pay phones should be on an endangered species list.

  He cast around the baggage claim area without luck. He saw Rogers up ahead and made tracks in Rogers’s direction, still scouting the area for a pay phone. At last Halverson clapped eyes on one in a nook near a black door that said Employees Only.

  He darted over to the phone. He wanted to make it quick so he would not lose sight of Rogers up ahead.