Zombie Battle 4: War

by Jacqueline Druga

  ZOMBIE BATTLE 4: WAR

  Jacqueline Druga

  Zombie Battle 4: War

  By Jacqueline Druga

  Copyright 2012 by Jacqueline Druga.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Thank you so much, Gene, for all your help with this one.

  Cover art Image provided by © James Thew - Fotolia.com

  Chapter One

  May 12th

  Pittsburgh, PA

  In his prime, Hess McWilliams was unstoppable. A professional wrestler known as Big Hess, he was larger than life in the days of Studio Wrestling both in physique and style. He not only had talent, but the personality to showboat himself into stardom.

  Being seventy-four years old, those days were long gone. Occasionally he’d made an appearance on the big wrestling screen. But that was for fun and a few extra bucks in his pocket. Wrestling glory days now were stories he told young people and days he dreamed of.

  The walls of his bedroom were filled with photos and posters of Hess in his heyday. Even his championship belt was there. But now those items were spattered with blood. A memorial painting, so to speak, of what occurred in that room not fifteen minutes earlier.

  Any other man his age would have been easily defeated. Hess was a battle because of his size, strength, and background.

  His son, George, had to take him out. Because of the emotional aspects, it waseven more difficult.

  It stated out a normal day. Hess and his lifelong friend went to local VFW, bragged about stopping a street fight, came home and seemed fine. But not for long.

  Hess and George shared a house inside the city limits. Hess excused himself not long after arriving home and said he was going to bed. He had a headache and his stomach felt queasy.

  George really didn’t think much about it. His father did like to drink, probably drank a lot at the VFW. And he was up the night before watching the news about all the rioting. He figured his father was just tired. He even checked on him several times; he was fine. Sound asleep with the cat curled up next to him. Then as the evening rolled into late hours, he didn’t bother his father as much.

  Later, thinking his father might be hungry, George went to wake his father. .

  He knocked once, no answer. A second knock brought more silence and just to be sure his father was fine, George opened the bedroom door.

  Hess was already having a meal. Hess was eating the cat.

  The limp animal, held in his huge hands, had a gaping hole in the midsection. Hess sat on the side of the bed, blood poured over his fingers and fur mixed with blood smeared across his face like a tar and feather situation.

  Hess’ pupils were white and he snapped a growl at George the second he saw him as if to say, ‘How dare you interrupt my meal’.

  George, not always the brightest of the bunch murmured in shock. “Dad, what are you doing? That’s the cat.”

  Hess dropped the cat and he didn’t just stand up, he stood and lunged toward George.

  He had twenty four years on George and George still didn’t stand a chance. His father’s massive physique sent George stumbling back into the door, slamming it closed and trapping him inside.

  “Dad, you’re sick. You’re sick!” George pleaded as he struggled with Hess.

  He held his own for a little. He watched his father’s teeth snap for him. Saliva, blood and fur spattered George as he fought to free himself, as he did a dance of survival around that bedroom.

  They slammed into the nightstand, toppling the lamp to the ground. The bulb didn’t break until George was tackled and landed on that lamp.

  He tried to roll from his father’s grip and he almost succeeded. His thoughts were to get out of there, get help for his father who obviously had some sort of rabies. He flipped to his stomach, scurried to his knees and that was when Hess grabbed his leg and took a chunk from his calf.

  Screaming, George reached for the lamp and wildly swung outward. He connected, startling his father enough for George to stand. But Hess kept coming. George had no choice but to hit him again and again. Blood splattered with each hit until Hess finally toppled to the bed.

  George dropped the lamp and fled from the room. Immediately he picked up the phone to call for help, but the line was down. Thinking, ‘The hell with it’, George, blood pouring from his leg, raced downstairs, grabbed his cell and the keys to his dark green Jeep Cherokee and fled the house.

  He’d call for help on the way to the hospital.

  Chapter Two

  North Carolina

  ‘The USS Hartford launched its entire bay of trident missiles.’

  That was the message Jack Edwards received when trying to send his one final report. He had seen all that he could see, or rather wanted to see. The small town of Huntersville, North Carolina would forever be a nightmare to him. It was the first time in his entire military career he couldn’t follow orders. The town was overrun with infected children and he refused to shoot them. There was something inside of him that just couldn’t.

  It was time for him to leave. Saul Klein, a friend born out of circumstances was in trouble. Jack promised Saul’s wife he’d get him to her. She was with Jack’s wife, Lil, safe and tucked away in the safe haven fortress of a long time friend. A friend Jack believed was off his rocker and spent way too much money prepping for an apocalypse that would never happen.

  How wrong Jack was.

  But he needed to report in before he left to find Saul and head to the fortress. His initial decision to just ‘just go’ was wrong. Even though the only other survivor of the Huntersville raid was a private who pretty much said, ‘Dude, do what you need to do.’, Jack didn’t feel right going AWOL like so many others. He made the radio call. And waited.

  He received no reply for the longest time.

  It was when he made the final desperate call that he learned of the trident missiles.

  But they had to have landed? Where? They weren’t anywhere near Jack. He surely would have seen or heard them.

  He waited for confirmation before he headed to Vermont for Saul. Finally it came.

  “Foxtrot Zuler Niner, do you copy, over.”

  Jack looked at the young man with him, then lifted the radio. “Foxtrot Zulu Niner, I copy, over.”

  “Hold for the Secretary of Defense.”

  Jack cringed. That was not what he expected. If there was a single button in Jack that could be pushed to stop him from going AWOL and stay the course, it was speaking directly to the President or the Secretary of Defense. His button was about to be pushed.

  Chapter Three

  Washington DC

  General Greg Lance and Secretary of Health Don Kraus were the only two cabinet members remaining in Washington; in fact they were probably the only two members alive.

  Even with limited warning, Lance and Don were able to make it with others to the bomb shelter below the White House and did so before the trident missiles hit. Three hit DC, and it was confirmed later that another hit in Sarasota. Lance couldn’t figure out what the good folks of Sarasota did to the Hartford to deserve that.

  Maybe they were better off with all that was going on.

  The destinations of the other missiles had not been learned. Whether it was important, remained to be seen.

  That was all Lance needed. An outbreak of the undead mixed in with the start of a world war. It was not how he expected his week to begin.

  In the midst of the madness of the nuclear blast, Lance had to maintain order. He already had a country in chaos; he didn’t want a coun
try without leadership.

  The news of the President’s death and then reanimation had not been released. He was already reeling in the aftermath of the footage captured at the blood bath of a news conference.

  Organizing with another General on what could be the next plan of attack, he received word he had been waiting for.

  The soldier.

  Sgt. Jack Edwards had not only been in the Army his entire adult life, he had been with the outbreak since it started. Sent to Peru, he saved the life of a fellow soldier by amputating a bitten arm. He then returned to the states with the CDC director, was instrumental in the CDC house cleansing. The soldier helped with the exodus until it went out control. Then he traveled north with a special team to a small town.

  Edwards wasn’t just balls deep in the outbreak he was a front line warrior and Lance needed that experience.

  “Sgt. Edwards, this is Secretary of Defense General Lance. How are you, son, over?”

  “I’m fine, General, sir. Over.”

  “What is the situation now?”

  “There are only two of us remaining from our squad, positioned twenty miles north of Huntersville, North Carolina. The town is dead, sir. We were emotionally unable to clean sweep. Over.”

  “Explain, ‘emotionally unable’. Over.”

  “They were children, sir. They moved at an incredible speed and just the fact they were children made it very difficult to execute them. Over.”

  Lance paused, he understood. Children or not, he was pretty certain he wouldn’t have had a hard time. “Sergeant. I don’t need to reiterate how grave of a situation this is. Right now we are trying to keep a semblance of government, use every available man to start moving people west where the infection rate is minimal, all while trying like hell to find a means to end this. Roger that, over?”

  “Roger that. Over.” Jack replied.

  “I need someone with experience to go into a zone and find someone. Over.”

  “Would that be CDC director Klein? Over.”

  As if Jack could see him. Lance gave a curious look, he shifted his eyes to Don, then replied on the radio. “No. No it’s not. I’m sorry to say this, but we lost all communication with the CDC. I have no idea what has become of Dr. Klein. I wish we did. Over.”

  “I do,” Jack stated. “Over.”

  “Sergeant, you know for a fact Dr. Klein is alive?”

  “Yes, sir. I just spoke to him a few minutes ago. He’s alive. He’s trapped. But more than that, he has with him what might be the means to end this infection that you’ve been looking for.”

  Before Jack could even sputter out the customary, ‘over’, Lance was snapping his finger to a specialist, while getting location information from Jack.

  It was the first encouraging thing he had heard all day.

  Chapter Four

  Vermont

  “Try to get out. Just leave, Saul.”

  “I wish I could,” Saul said. “But once again, I’m trapped at the CDC and the city is swarming. This time, I’m on the roof and it won’t be long before they get to me.”

  “Saul.”

  “It’s over for me, Jack. Tell my wife I love her.”

  “No.” Jack said strongly. “Tell her yourself. Hang tight, I’m on my way.”

  “Jack.”

  “No Saul, end of discussion, end of call. I’ll be there in ten hours. I won’t leave you. I’m on my way.”

  “Jack.” Saul cried out, but the call ended. Saul tried to call Jack again, but it was futile.

  How long had it been since he spoke to Jack? An hour maybe. Saul sat on the roof listening to the relentless attempts of the undead as they tried to get to him. Slamming against the door, crying up from the street. While his situation on the roof hadn’t worsened, Saul’s condition had.

  He wanted to tell Jack and he didn’t get the chance, but Saul was injured. Not just injured, he was bitten. In his attempt to flee, one of them got him.

  The small bite by his thumb bled worse than any cut he had ever had. And as the hour passed, it began to swell, grow discolored and Saul shivered with fever.

  What made matters worse was in a briefcase, Saul had two doses of what he believed was an antidote to the infection. It worked on a previous patient and Saul held high hopes. SP1, as he called it, would work on everyone. A serum synthesized from the antibodies of a victim who almost beat it.

  Unfortunately the hope for humanity would die on that roof with Saul.

  He had the case open, and a syringe ready to give himself an injection. But what good would it do him? He’d live only to succumb when the undead finally broke through to the roof.

  He place a small note in the case regarding the contents of the vials and instructions for replicating it should it be found. Saul doubted it. Once the dead broke through, the case would be destroyed in the chaos of it all.

  Saul thought about his end. He couldn’t even peacefully jump off the roof to his death. He’d land in the swarm. One way or another they would get him.

  His only weapon, the M-4, was jammed in the door handle of the roof. Could he be fast enough to grab it and put a bullet in his head before the door burst open?

  To Saul, that really was his only option. He didn’t want to be one of them, nor did he want to die screaming as they tore him a part.

  In those final moments, he thought of his wife Irma, how much he adored and loved her. How he worried about her and was saddened that he’d never see her again. And their grandson, Jerry. Little Jerry, barely in the world a couple years and the child would never know the love of his mother, would never know the normalcy of a happy life.

  Along with all that, his heart broke for his daughter. Knowing that he would see her on the other side was the only thing that made his death bearable.

  His hand ached and head throbbed. It was time.

  Just as he readied to place the syringe in the briefcase, he heard it. A helicopter. It drew closer and louder and Saul stood to visually seek it out.

  He spotted it flying his way. A rush of excitement filled Saul and then he realized they were probably only there to assess the situation not rescue.

  As he allowed that brief moment of hope to pass, a voice called from the speaker of the chopper.

  “Dr. Saul Klein, raise your hands if that is you.”

  Saul lost his breath for a moment then after a slight hesitation waved his hands high.

  “Hang, tight sir, we’re circling around to get you. We’ll drop a line.”

  Saul gave a thumbs up and then did something else.

  He looked to the syringe in his hand. He crouched down to the briefcase, closed it, then took the syringe in his hand and injected the serum into his wound.

  Chapter Five

  North Carolina

  If Lil Edwards was asked to name one person who could defy the odds in an apocalypse scenario without a doubt she would say, ‘Garrick Long’.

  Since then she met Garrick he had been talking about the end of the world. Planning for it. He was a little different that those some would call, ‘preppers’, because Garrick didn’t boast or brag of what he had. He didn’t think armory first, although he was protected and armed. He thought protection from the elements and whatever was the reason for the extinction event and he thought long term.

  He had notebook after notebook of what he needed. When his parents passed away and he received his inheritance and share of the property in the mountains, instead of using it for investments like his brother Steve, Garrick built his dream survivor fortress.

  He stocked it constantly and rotated goods; he had a satellite phone as well. Lil remembered when she and Jack got a good laugh about Garrick hightailing it to the fortress when some preacher in 2011 predicted the Rapture.

  Garrick said it would prove to be protection against those who were left behind and how crazy they would get.

  Lil thought if he were safe from the forces of evil then surely he was safe from zombies.

  But when the reali
ty of the rising dead happened, Lil feared the fortress wouldn’t be strong enough.

  Sure it had a strong fence, but a mob of undead might be able to break through it. Then again, the house was built of concrete with steel shudder window bars.

  A prison and a death sentence. Those weren’t her words, they were Steve’s.

  It was a hard evening, and she blamed that for the reason Steve was so pessimistic.

  A virologist who fled his post to help a boy that had ‘turned’; the boy was different. He was violent or deadly; he was a child trapped in a decaying body.

  As hard as it was, Lil ended the extended life of the child. It was something she’d live with for the rest of her life. While she pulled the trigger with ease, she did not do so without heartache.

  The walk from Steve’s cabin back to the fortress was a quiet one. Until they got inside.

  They spoke in whispering voices because Jerry, Irma’s toddler grandson, had fallen asleep in her arms.

  “We need to get out of here,” Steve urged. “This place isn’t safe.”

  “Your ass is itchy,” Garrick retorted. “I got concrete walls. Even if by some slim chance those things break through my fence, they can’t get in here.”

  “Then you have sealed us in.”

  “Leave then.”

  “I will.” Steve said.

  “Go.”

  “I will.”

  “Enough,” Irma hushed them as if she were scolding two boys. “Please, enough of the bickering for this evening. Steve’s been though an ordeal and Garrick, you have been very generous to let us all stay here. Steven, sit, relax, have a drink. If you want to go in the morning, we’ll discuss it.”

  Steve exhaled heavily. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Here’s something to add to your list of discussions,” Garrick added.

  Irma, so motherly, sung out a warning, “Garrick.”

  “No, I’m not starting. Just want him to think about this. As a doctor.”