Zombie Apocalypse

by Cassiday, Bryan

  Mellors flinched, shoulders hunched. He yanked out his Glock semiautomatic from his waistband and wheeled around to confront his attacker in a crouch. To his surprise nobody was there.

  Then Mellors picked up on a hand snaking around a corner of an intersecting corridor at the other end of the hall. Inside the hand was a pistol.

  Mellors loosed a shot at the pistol then spun on his heels and fled toward the opposite end of the hallway. Adrenaline coursing through his system, gasping for breath he ducked around the corner of the nearest hallway. Another shot sang behind him.

  He had no intention of standing in the hall and engaging in a gun battle without cover. He was a sitting duck in the hall. For that same reason, he doubted his assailant would pursue him. If Mellors’s attacker did give chase, he would be exposing himself to Mellors’s gunfire without anywhere to seek cover.

  Mellors wondered what was going on. He crept toward the corridor’s intersection and peeked around the corner toward the area where he had spotted the gun. The coast was clear. He saw no one.

  Mellors had no intention of hanging around here waiting for the shooter to attack again. Mellors had to get out of the hall. Scoping out the rooms around him, he realized he was standing across from FBI Director Paris’s room.

  In fact, Paris’s door was opening this very minute.

  Gingerly, Paris squeezed his head through his doorway into the corridor. With a start he clapped eyes on Mellors, who was standing less than ten feet away from him, gun in hand.

  “What’s going on?” said Paris, noting Mellors’s gun with concern etched on his face. “I thought I heard gunshots.”

  Eyes wide, heart hammering, Mellors scampered toward Paris. “Somebody tried to bushwhack me. Can I come in?”

  Paris surveyed both ends of the hallway on the qui vive. “I don’t see anybody.”

  “I think he took off. I’d rather not stand out here and find out otherwise.”

  Paris made to leave his office. “I’ll help you track this guy.”

  “The problem is, there’s no cover out here.”

  “Well, there’s two of us,” said Paris, entering the hall. “That’s two against one. Unless—”

  “Unless what?”

  “How many attacked you?”

  “I saw only one gun aimed at me.”

  “Then the odds are in our favor.”

  “Do you have a piece?”

  Paris withdrew an automatic from his leather shoulder rig under his jacket as they approached the corner.

  They reached the end of the hall and peeked down both ends of it.

  Out of nowhere, Ernest Slocum came barreling around the corner at the other end of the hall, his bespoke Brooks Brothers jacket flapping open at his sides. Mellors was in the act of training his Glock on Slocum when he realized that Slocum was unarmed.

  Slocum pulled up short when he spotted Mellors’s Glock. “What the hell’s going on? I heard gunshots.” Taking in Paris, eyebrows quirked, Slocum realized Paris was armed as well.

  “Somebody tried to kill me,” said Mellors, lowering his weapon.

  How could he be sure it wasn’t Slocum who had opened fire at him earlier? Mellors wondered. He could not imagine Slocum trying to blow him away, but somebody sure had tried to take him out, and that somebody had been in the area from where Slocum had emerged.

  Seeing that Mellors had lowered his pistol, Slocum strode down the hall toward Mellors and Paris.

  “What’s this all about?” said Slocum in a lather.

  It was Paris who said, “I heard gunshots. I came out to check. And I spotted Mellors here. He said somebody tried to kill him.”

  “Did you see a shooter down there?” Mellors asked Slocum, gazing down the corridor beyond Slocum.

  “No,” said Slocum.

  “Why would somebody take a shot at you?” Paris asked Mellors.

  “I don’t know for sure, but I have theories,” answered Mellors.

  “Such as?”

  “Such as I’m asking too many questions about the Orchid Organization and the apocalypse equation.”

  “Why would anyone care about them?”

  “It’s the same person that killed Molson, I’d wager.”

  “Molson killed herself,” said Slocum.

  “In a pig’s eye,” said Mellors.

  Slocum shook his head. “You’re jumping to conclusions.”

  “The fact is, somebody just tried to kill me. You can’t argue with facts.”

  “This whole thing seems blown out of proportion,” said Slocum, unable to get his head around it. “What’s the point of shooting you?”

  “They want me to stop asking questions about Orchid.”

  “So this is a warning? Is that what you’re saying?” said Slocum and scratched the grizzled sideburns on his temple.

  “Either it was a warning or the shooter bungled his shot.”

  Slocum didn’t buy it. “This is insane.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Paris told Mellors. “Are you saying there’s some kind of sinister cabal at work here running the show behind the scenes?”

  “It sure looks that way,” said Mellors. “Why else would somebody try to kill me?”

  “That’s what I want to find out. The president’s life could be in danger if what you say is true.”

  “Let’s get our facts straight before we go running off to the president with this half-baked cockamamie idea about a cabal,” said Slocum.

  “It’s the only explanation that makes sense,” said Mellors.

  “It sounds too far-fetched to make any sense to me.”

  “What’s your explanation?” said Mellors, put out that nobody would take him seriously.

  “I need more facts before I can come up with an explanation. Quite frankly, none of what you’re saying adds up.”

  “Jesus H. Christ! What more do you want? You want me dead on a slab before you’ll believe me?”

  “Are you trying to buffalo me? Remember, I’m your superior, Scot,” said Slocum, bridling.

  “Let’s dial it down a notch, gentlemen,” said Paris. “We’re not gonna accomplish anything flying off the handle.”

  “Somebody tried to waste me,” said Mellors heatedly. “I have the right to blow my stack.”

  “Take it easy. Having a cow isn’t gonna solve anything.”

  “The point is, we’ve got a murderer running around this bunker. Who knows where he’s gonna strike next?”

  “We don’t know for sure that there’s a murderer running amok,” said Slocum. “Who’s been murdered?”

  Mellors was still annoyed at Slocum. “We have a difference of opinion on that. For anyone who has eyes it’s easy to see Molson was murdered.”

  “We’re not gonna solve anything by bickering in the hall,” said Paris.

  Slocum spun on his heel impatiently and peeled off. “I don’t have time for this. I have work to do.”

  Mellors turned to Paris, peeved that nobody would believe him. “Do you believe me?”

  “I know I heard gunshots. Did you return fire?”

  “You better believe it.”

  “Did anybody else see the shooter?”

  “Not that I know of.” Mellors paused and frowned. “Wait a minute. Are you saying I made him up?”

  “You could have fired all the shots yourself.”

  “Why would I do that?” said Mellors, exasperated.

  “I have no idea.”

  “There was a shooter.”

  “I don’t understand why somebody would try to kill you.”

  “I’m turning over too many rocks every time I ask questions about the Orchid Organization and the apocalypse equation.”

  “I don’t know,” said Paris, looking puzzled.

  “If I can show you a copy of the apocalypse equation document, will you believe me then?”

  “I’ll certainly read it. Believe it or not, I want to know what really happened with this plague business as much as you do. If this apoc
alypse equation you’ve been yammering about had anything to do with it, I want to read this document.”

  There was nothing else for it, Mellors decided. He would have to take his laptop with him, break into the NSA on the next floor, and decrypt the document. He knew in his bones there had to be something in that document that explained the cause of the outbreak, whether it was the result of an accident or of something far more sinister.

  The problem was, even with the NSA’s bleeding-edge software, Mellors knew, it could still take many months or even years to ascertain the password that would open the encrypted document. There were just too many possible permutations. By then it might be too late to matter what the apocalypse equation was. Unless Mellors could figure out the password himself. Maybe it was something so simple it was staring him in the face.

  But that was a long shot.

  Maybe he had another option. The NSA had the most massive database of information anywhere in the world. If he could just log into their intranet, he might be able to find mention of the apocalypse equation there. It was worth a try, he decided.

  All he had to do was break into the NSA. Piece of cake! he thought.

  There had to be a way . . .

  “Maybe I should try Himmler,” he said.

  “Who?” said Paris, his brow furrowed.

  “I mean Holmes. Haven’t you ever noticed his resemblance to the SS Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler?”

  “Can’t say that I have. I don’t believe he’d appreciate the comparison.”

  CHAPTER 58

  Nevada

  Followed by a dozen guards, Wolfman steered Halverson down the hallway to the guest room. In front of them Halverson was astonished to spot two guards manhandling a flesh eater with a snake grabber. One of the guards was guiding the flesh eater in front of him, keeping the creature away from him by means of the snake grabber’s steel pole whose wire at its far end was looped around the neck of the slobbering, growling creature. The creature flailed its arms in futility.

  “You have flesh eaters in here?” said Halverson.

  “What’s it to you?” said Wolfman and jabbed Halverson in the gut with his MP7’s muzzle.

  Halverson winced.

  Wolfman chortled, a leer on his face.

  Guy doesn’t like living, thought Halverson.

  Bridling his wrath he wondered what the significance of the presence of flesh eaters in the bunker was, if any. Why would Guzman be keeping the infected creatures in here? Halverson was convinced there was more going on here than met the eye. Whether this was Area 51 or not, he figured the government might be involved in some manner, though he had to admit his suspicions were groundless as yet.

  Wolfman opened the door to the guest room and escorted Halverson inside, making a point of not shoving him, which Halverson found surprising, given Wolfman’s treatment of him in the hall.

  “Remove the chairs,” Wolfman told his retinue.

  The guards obeyed and hustled into the room to gather all of the chairs that surrounded the dinner table.

  “Get a move on it,” said Wolfman.

  The guards bustled out into the corridor with the chairs. Wolfman locked the door behind them.

  It wasn’t difficult for Halverson to figure out why Wolfman had taken the chairs away. It also explained why Wolfman hadn’t shoved him into the room. Halverson wondered anxiously how this would play out.

  Victoria, Swiggum, and Nordstrom looked shocked to set eyes on Halverson.

  “What happened?” said Victoria with astonishment.

  “They brought me back,” said Halverson.

  “They never brought anyone else back,” said Nordstrom suspiciously. “Why you?”

  “Yeah,” said Swiggum. “Did they decontaminate you?”

  “No,” said Halverson.

  “I don’t understand. Where’s Klecko and Probst and Simone? How come you’re the only one to come back?”

  “How should I know? All I can tell you is that they didn’t decontaminate me.”

  “Then why did they take you?” put in Victoria.

  Halverson didn’t know how much he should tell them about his session with Guzman. Halverson figured he should not tell them too much. If he told them about Guzman’s trying to ID him, they would start suspecting him like Guzman did. Halverson didn’t have time to answer.

  The other shoe finally dropped for Swiggum. “Hey, wait a minute. Why’d they take our chairs away? You saw that, Nordstrom.”

  “Yeah, I did,” said Nordstrom. “What’s that all about?”

  “We were gonna use them to escape. How did they know about that unless somebody told them?” Swiggum gazed accusingly at Halverson.

  “I didn’t tell them about the chairs,” said Halverson. “Think about it. Why would I do that? It was my idea to use them to escape. Remember?”

  “And right after these guys bring you back, they take the chairs away. All you got to do is put two and two together to figure the answer out. You snitched.”

  “What else did you tell them?” said Nordstrom, equally worked up. “That’s what I want to know.”

  Swiggum advanced on Halverson threateningly.

  Swiggum had only one arm, Halverson knew, but Swiggum was a big guy that was in shape and he would not be a pushover in a fight. A heavyweight, he had a size and weight advantage over Halverson. The long and the short of it was, Swiggum looked like he could take care of himself.

  Halverson figured he could take Swiggum in a mano a mano. After all, Swiggum had only one arm and Halverson was a trained black ops agent. But what if Victoria and Nordstrom ganged up on him, as well?

  Halverson had no desire to pick a fight with any of these guys. He needed all of them on his side if they were ever going to escape this cement prison.

  “Look,” said Halverson. “I didn’t tell them anything about the chairs.”

  “Then why did they take them?” said Swiggum, not believing him, eyes dark with menace.

  “I have no idea.”

  “What did they ask you?”

  Halverson had to improvise. “They asked me how long I was exposed to radiation from the nukes.”

  “Sounds like bullshit,” Nordstrom butted in. “I have a built-in BS detector. I know bullshit when I hear it.”

  “Let’s beat the crap out of him,” said Swiggum.

  “It is strange that as soon as he comes back here, they swipe our chairs.”

  “Why would he rat us out, though?” said Victoria, confused.

  “That’s easy,” said Swiggum. “He’s working for them now.”

  “Why would he want to work for them?”

  “Who knows? Maybe they’re paying him. It could be anything. Let’s beat him to a pulp.”

  Sneering, Swiggum took another step toward Halverson.

  He remembered he had the letter opener wedged inside his rear waistband. He wanted to avoid a brawl. If they killed or wounded each other, it would reduce their force when they mounted an escape, decided Halverson. If need be, however, he would defend himself.

  CHAPTER 59

  Who was the rat? Halverson wondered. Somebody had told Guzman about the chairs. There was no way Guzman could have overheard him, Swiggum, and Klecko when they were in the bathroom hatching their escape plan. The gushing water from the tap and the showerhead had drowned out their voices. Swiggum was right about one thing. Somebody had ratted them out.

  “Don’t you believe me?” Halverson asked Victoria.

  The two of them had been through a lot together during the plague and the ensuing atomic holocaust. He figured she should trust him by now.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, massaging her brow. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “There’s no percentage in me ratting you all out.”

  “Maybe you did it to save your own skin,” said Swiggum.

  Halverson thought about it. If it wasn’t him and it wasn’t Swiggum, it must have been the schlub Klecko. Klecko must have been a plant. It had to be
Klecko.

  “Klecko was the mole,” said Halverson.

  “Klecko?” said Victoria, bewildered.

  “That’s right,” said Swiggum sarcastically. “Blame somebody else. You’re just like the cons in the joint. Always blame somebody else.”

  “Don’t you see?” said Halverson. “It had to be him. He was the only other one in the bathroom when we hatched our escape plan.”

  “They why didn’t he come back? How come they killed him, while you came back alive? Do you take us for fools?”

  “Where is Klecko?” said Victoria.

  “Dead with the others. And that’s the way we’re gonna be, now that our escape plan’s foiled.” Swiggum glanced at Nordstrom, balling his hand into a fist. “What say you grab a hold of Halverson while I turn his face into a slab of meat?”

  Nordstrom relaxed a bit and settled onto the tabletop amidst the paper plates, plastic utensils, and leftovers. “Why don’t they clear the table?”

  “What!” exclaimed Swiggum, bent out of shape.

  “I don’t know why you’re making such a big to-do about this.”

  “What are you talking about? He’s a mole.”

  “The thing is, we don’t need to escape. Simone and the others are waiting for us in another room after we get decontaminated. What’s the problem with that?”

  “You’re all messed up, man. They’re all dead, like we’ll be if we don’t get out of here.”

  “Even if Halverson did betray us, I don’t see how it screws us.”

  “Because we can’t escape now. You need to wake up to what’s really going on here. Grab Halverson and I’ll rearrange his face. He’s a stinking traitor.” Swiggum raised his fist and brandished it at Halverson.

  “What’ll that accomplish?”

  “He’s working for them,” said Swiggum, ticked off at Nordstrom’s indifference.

  “So what if he is?”

  “What? Are you chicken or something?” Swiggum squawked like a chicken. “Is that what it is? You’re scared of him.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” said Nordstrom, not allowing Swiggum to bait him.

  Swiggum shook his head in disgust at Nordstrom and, glowering, turned to Halverson. “It looks like it’s a mano a mano between you and me.”