The Zombie Theories (Book 3): Conversion Theory

by Rich Restucci

  The rest of the operators seemed to relax, and while they didn’t lower their weapons, the barrels drooped some. Douche number one let his rifle dangle on its sling, and pulled the hoods off of the two men. June sobbed and made to move forward, but the guy in charge said, “Uh-uh.” Although the arrogant prick didn’t raise his weapon.

  He snipped the zip ties on June’s family and they walked to her. Guy in black stepped up and looked down on me. “Lot of people are looking for you.”

  I looked up at him through the ancient, mirrored aviator glasses. “Do you know why?”

  “Didn’t ask. Don’t care.” Snide asshole. “Let’s go.”

  He made to reach for me to help me up, but I whipped out the Sig Sauer I had behind my back and poked him in the stones. All my guys sprang up from absolutely fucking nowhere. Each of his boys had two of mine covering them. The guy on the helo that was manning the machine gun got a rifle butt quickly to stun him. Both sides started yelling stand down or drop your weapon, or freeze. It was comical and terrifying at the same time.

  He kept his hands out as I stood. The yelling stopped and we seemed to be at a Mexican standoff. “You are all going to fucking die,” he told me in that same superior voice.

  Very slowly. Every so slowly, I reached up and removed my sunglasses. “I’m already dead, fucktard.” He did what everybody does when confronted with my red eyes; he took an involuntary step back while at the same time having his eyes go wide. “Guns down or we fire in five seconds, then I’m going to eat you.”

  “How do I know you won’t just kill us?”

  “You fucking don’t. But I guarantee we’ll kill you if you don’t lower your weapons.”

  The rotor wash was blowing my hair back, even though it was fifty feet away. It felt good with the sea air. I thought for a moment there was going to be a bloodbath, then this asshole confirmed it. “Kill them,” he said.

  None of them fired. None of us fired. “Lower your weapons and we will let you live,” I shouted over the rotor. “And kill the engine on the bird.” Remo and Ship were with me by that time. Everybody looks at Ship funny, and this guy was no exception. Ship had his M4 pointed at this dumbass while Remo spoke, “This is over. I don’t want to kill you, but your five seconds are up.” Remo drew his sidearm and pointed it at the guy who finally looked scared. To the dude’s credit, he still didn’t say shit.

  “Wait!” one of his guys yelled. “Okay! Okay! We’re dropping our weapons.” That was all it took, and they all followed suit, removing slings and allowing themselves to be disarmed.

  “Idiots,” the first guy said. “Now they’re going to kill us all.”

  “No, we’re not. Not if you play nice.” I tried to look as overly pensive as I could when I said, “Although you did threaten to kill us all. Actually, what you said was you’re all going to fucking die. Then you told your guys to kill us. We’re still not going to kill you, but I do have some questions.”

  Ten minutes later, the helo’s (a Blackhawk, the military guys told me) engine was off, and we were once again in the galley with a bunch of shitheads on their knees. They were all trussed though, ankles and wrists. Our guys had searched their guys up and down and removed all of their weapons and anything else that looked dangerous.

  The leader, who would not give up even his name, was sitting on the bench across the table from me. He wouldn’t say anything, and it was pissing me off. I pointed at him. “Clip his tie.” The three sailors that were guarding him looked at me like I had three heads. I made a scissoring motion with my index and middle finger. “His zip tie, handcuff thingie. Cut it.” That got through, and one of them produced a pair of cutters and snipped his bonds. “All I want to know is how you keep finding me?” Nothing. “You’re not gonna tell me anything, huh?” Nothing. I sighed. “Ship, tear his arm off.”

  The guy snorted. He didn’t move when Ship came over and stood next to him. Ship indicated that he should stand, but in an epic move of insolence, the guy did nothing. Ship grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and lifted him up like a kitten. Sasquatch shifted his grip and held the helpless guy by the throat. His feet weren’t dangling off the ground, but if you for one second think Ship was incapable of one-handing this guy into the air after all the shit I’ve written about him, put this book down and kill yourself right now. The dude started to hit my buddy, and Ship gave him a buffet to the side of the head, stunning him. Then he gripped the guy’s wrist. Holy fuck, was he really going to rip this poor bastard’s arm off? I was just kidding!

  “Ship, stop. This douche can’t answer anything with you crushing his windpipe to the thickness of the ace of spades.” Ship gave the guy a forward slap and let go of his throat. “Do you have any doubts he’s willing to do what I ask?”

  The guy was obviously grateful to be able to breathe. He was so grateful that he took a deep breath, coughed a little, and flipped me off. I was really starting to like him.

  I sighed again. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.” I sauntered over to the guy and grabbed his arm. He didn’t resist at all. I lifted it a bit and glared at him.

  “You think if I wouldn’t say shit when Gargantua had me I’m gonna talk to you?”

  “Nope,” I said, pulled his arm to my mouth, and bit him. Hard. Motherfucker did not expect that. He yanked his arm away, cradling it. That semi-circle bite mark that signified death was just starting to bleed. It was just a bit, but I had broken the skin. I hope the guy doesn’t have hepatitis or some shit.

  “You… you killed me.”

  I hadn’t infected him, two hundred plus doctors had confirmed I can’t transfer whatever the fuck this plague is. He was painfully unaware of this fact though.

  “Cuff him to that guy.” I pointed to one of his men. “When he turns, he’ll tear into him, and then we’ll feed the rest of you to him one at a time until somebody tells us what we want to know.”

  “You bastard!” one of them said. “You swore you wouldn’t kill us!”

  “I’m not going to.” I thumbed at the guy I had bitten, “He is.”

  “You’ve got a tracker on you,” the leader said. He looked sad. “Now just kill me and please let them go.”

  Fuck! Fuckity-fucksickles! A tracker! I began to check my clothes before it dawned on me. I pulled my shirt over my head and drew my SOG. “Remo, it’s in my shoulder.” I handed him the knife, handle first, and he looked at my shoulder. He nodded, and before I could tell him to count to three or some shit, the point of the blade was in me. “Ow! Fuck! You couldn’t have told—”

  “Stop moving, pussy.” I stopped, scrunched up my red-eyed face in pain for a couple of seconds while he dug around in there, and a moment later, he was showing me a bloody chip with a little tail on it. A transmitter. I had been fuk’n bugged like Douglas Quaid. Cancer my ass. I was pissed about the bug, but happy that I wasn’t going to die of melanoma.

  I looked at the guy I had bitten, my rage beginning to escalate. He was staring at the floor, resigned to death. This was a guy who would never let himself turn. He or one of his buddies would have his brains on the wall the second they were able. Poor bastard was probably just doing his job. I mean, he was a prick and working for what I consider the bad guys, but still. This false power I had over people, them thinking I would or could infect them, was helpful, as it unnerved everyone. I could see it coming back to haunt me if it got out though. Nobody would want a carrier of the plague on their ships or rigs to help fix stuff. You and I know I’m not a carrier, but nobody else would buy it.

  “Look at me asshole.” Ever the nonconformist, his face was still pointed down, so I grabbed his chin and made him look at me. I took a deep breath before I began, “I can’t infect you. Whatever this is, I can’t pass it on. I’ve been studied extensively by scientists and doctors and they can’t find anything different inside me.” He blinked, so I continued. “You’re not infected. You’re not going to die. You’re not going to turn.”

  It came to him quicker than i
t does to most. Not the fact that he wasn’t going to die, I’m sure that was a good feeling, the other thing.

  “Jesus Christ… you’re immune.” He had looked at me a lot of different ways since he had landed in his helicopter. Superiority, shock, fear, and most assuredly hatred. Now it was awe, proving once again that I am, in fact, awesome. “That’s why they want you.”

  I touched my nose. “Werrp! Give that man a cigar.” I heard a couple of holy craps, another Jesus, and at least one bullshit. From the crowd, but honestly, I didn’t give a rat’s ass. “That’s why they want me. The thing is, the top surviving minds from the government have already studied my ever-so-sexy ass, and they came up with bupkis. They can’t figure out why I’m immune, but there’s more than that. They can’t even figure out why this is happening or even what it is. There’s nothing different between me and everybody else that they could find. In fact, they can’t see any type of new virus or bacteria in any of the infected either. Basically, they don’t know anything. I mean, they asked me if I was abducted by aliens.”

  “Were you?” one of the guys from the Diamond asked. Fucker was serious.

  “No. But that doesn’t change the fact that the powers that be want to study me to see if they can come up with a cure. Cut me up, stick me with needles, probe my brain. Fuck that. I’m done with their bullshit. And before you start citing duty, I already did it all. For months they worked on me and came up empty.”

  Remo stepped up. “Fabulous. This mission is over. Let’s get back.”

  He was right, this shit was done. Team Ares was already standing up, and Ship clipped the zip ties on their feet. The leader, already unzipped, stopped when I put my hand on his shoulder. “You can take this back to the assholes you take orders from.” I dropped the bloody tracking chip into his open palm. “I swear to God if we see you guys again, there will be a lot of dead people.” He looked at the chip, put it in his left hand, then did something I totally didn’t expect. He stuck his hand out for me to shake.

  “Good luck.”

  I warily shook his hand. “You too. Stay alive.”

  “It’s you that needs to stay alive. I hope I don’t see you soon.”

  “Me too,” I told him. We escorted them to their helicopter, which I thought would be an excellent addition to our air force, but honestly, I didn’t know where to put it, or if we commandeered it, where to put the guys who came in on it. Then there was the issue of a pilot. Remo was playing with the mount for the machine gun, and within seconds, he had the weapon off of the bird and in his capable hands. “For our trouble.” The bad guys didn’t object as they boarded the helicopter.

  The fast boat that had dropped off Schumitz’s teams showed up as the bad guys were leaving. Max, June’s second, came up to me as I was stepping into the boat. “Look, we never would have tried this if—”

  “Forget it.”

  “I thought if—”

  I cut him off again. I just wanted to go home. “I said forget it. It’s done. Good luck and goodbye.” With that, I got in the boat and we cast off. I looked back over my shoulder at the Diamond as we sped across the waves. I felt bad for them; they were in way worse condition experience-wise than we were. They were still alive though, and that was something.

  What a Dive

  The past few weeks have been exceptional. I haven’t been writing because I’ve been so busy. Usually, I’ll grab the pen and hammer out some words right before I go to sleep, or if something particularly interesting happens, I might jot down a few notes and scribble it in later. Now is the later, as I’ve been so exhausted from the work around here that I pass out each night as soon as I hit the pillow.

  When we returned from the Diamond, I spoke to Captain Schumitz about events. Past, present, and future. He and I are never going to be drinking buddies, but we’ve come to a mutual understanding that we sort of need each other. We did actually have a drink together in his office when I got back. He apologized for not speaking to me about the call he had received demanding he hand me over. I apologized for being a douche and challenging his authority. We’re cool now, and we have more than just a grudging respect for each other. I think it borders on actual respect.

  I’ve been out to two other rigs this past week, both times with armed escort. We’re hoping nobody else knows that I’m a fugitive with a price on my head, but we aren’t taking any chances.

  Some things of note have happened since the fiasco on the Diamond. Another boat, this one a huge ferry from Florida, the Constance, called in a distress call. She was in the process of being overrun. Schumitz sent a team and they rescued three people, the rest were shamblers. One of the rescuees tried to hide a bite, but she was discovered during quarantine. She had that slim hope that the bitten have: maybe I’m not infected. She was, and she died. She didn’t spread any infection, and that was good.

  One of the helicopters from one of the rigs out here discovered a half-sunk military vessel in the shallows on the coast of Louisiana. A team from the Stockdale went in for a closer look and they told us that the wreck is the USS Cole. Another Arleigh-Burke-class destroyer. The Stockdale has a shit-ton of spare parts and a machine shop way better than the one on Atlantis, but plans are underway to hit the Cole on a scavenging mission.

  A small pleasure boat drifted by yesterday. It was covered in blood, and didn’t respond to multiple hails by either Atlantis or the Stockdale. Schumitz sent a skiff out to check it, and we all saw the lone zombie on board. The stupid thing tried to attack the skiff, which was about two hundred feet away, and fell overboard, slipping beneath the swells, hopefully forever. The skiff sunk the boat with a couple of blasts from its machine gun.

  I’ve been working on sign language with Sasquatch so he can use his book less. Remo has been teaching self-defense classes, and there has been a shitload of cross training on everything for obvious reasons.

  My foray idea was put on hold for a month until we can rule out this carrier group coming to take the Stockdale and enforce a court martial on its captain. It hasn’t shown up on radar, and scouts haven’t seen anything. Schumitz said he will not fire upon the US Navy, so if they come, he’s surrendering peacefully. In two more weeks, he will call bullshit on the whole thing, and we can return to business as usual. He had a big meeting with his entire crew telling them that he had plans on a mutiny from the Navy, and that they would all be considered rogue. He and Austin offered sanctuary on Atlantis for any sailor that wished to stick with the Navy instead of the Stockdale. Not one crew member decided to leave.

  If the carrier group shows up on radar, or any other way, I am taking off and heading to the Drifter, one of our buddy rigs. I’ll stay there until they leave, and if the Navy is still there in three weeks, I will take my chances on the mainland. Ship, Donna, and Remo will come with me, but Tim and the kids are staying behind. Tim is needed here, and I’m not bringing the kids to the mainland.

  Other than the undead on the little boat yesterday, I haven’t seen a zombie since the Majestik a month ago. Hopefully, good times lay ahead.

  I had to open my mouth, or my pen rather. After all the shit I’ve seen and done and been through, I just couldn’t shut up. Full circle to shit magnet. Evil finds its way to me no matter what I do. God hates me, that’s got to be what it is. I said that last sentence out loud the other day, and Ship flashed his notebook in my face. If God hated you, you wouldn’t be immune. Maybe, dumbass, he likes you more than anybody else.

  He had signed it to me first, but all I got was immune, more, and anybody. That was also the first time I have ever read a swear word in his book I think…

  Schumitz called Ship, Alvarez, and me to the Stockdale for a meeting. Austin and Remo were already there, as was the leader of the team that had come save my ass on the Diamond. His name is Ensign Everly. One other guy, introduced as Smithers, was also there. Yeah, all I could think of was the Simpsons too.

  “We’ve discovered a half-sunken vessel a day’s sail away,” began Schumitz.
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  “Yes, sir,” I said, “the Cole.”

  I had added the sir on purpose; it was the first time I had used this particular term of respect with the captain, and it didn’t go unnoticed. I think it took him off guard for a moment. Or maybe it had been my interruption.

  “Negative, not the Cole, the Kanawha. She’s a USNS Auxiliary Force ship. She’s an oiler actually.”

  I screwed up my face in confusion. “You mean there’re two half-sunken Navy ships nearby?”

  “Yes.” He looked at me, waiting for me to intrude upon his brief again. As I was trying to get a better rapport with this guy, I shut up. “She has something aboard that we’re going to need.” He stared at me again. “You’re a mechanic and a machinist, correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So is Smithers. He’s the best I have, and I want you two to work together on how to get what I need off of the Kanawha.” Little pause before he asked: “If you’re okay with that?” Seems I wasn’t the only one out to mend fences.

  “Of course, Captain. Dare I ask what we’re after, or is that need to know?”

  He smiled. “Need to know, and I’m sorry, but you don’t.”

  “So a smash and grab? What do you need from me?”

  “You mentioned you were an underwater welder?”

  “Yeah, two years.”

  “I want all of you to accompany a team of my men to the Kanawha. They will board the ship and retrieve the item. It is entirely possible that the location of the item is submerged, so divers will be ready.” I didn’t like where this was going, and my expression said it. “You won’t have to board the ship or dive,” he added quickly, “I just want you there as a consultant. We may have to cut through some bulkheads, and the item is most likely in a safe.”