The stomach had become a near perfect brain. Pale pink. Covered in folds.
BMW pointed at it. “What the fuck is that?!”
Daniel knew that you needed to shoot them in the stomach to put them down, but he didn’t know why—until now.
Daniel gawked. “Is that their brain? Their fucking brain?”
7322 drew a long knife from its sheath on his side, inserted it where Daniel’s original bullet had entered its skull, and with a flipping motion, lopped off the top of the man’s head just above the bridge of its nose. The creature swung its arm as if swatting away a fly, but it kept plodding in the direction of Daniel.
Daniel stood on the tips of his toes and BMW stepped up for a closer look. They could see that within the cavity of his skull, there was nothing but a small pile of black goo sloshing around.
7322 motioned with his hand. “Welcome to the future. Now you see what we’re up against.” He used the same knife to slice the intestine keeping the stomach-brain attached to the body, allowing it to fall to the floor with a wet thud.
The Skell it had occupied immediately went limp and crumpled to the floor, no longer a danger.
Daniel sputtered. “Wait. So...so...wait.”
BMW managed a “What the fuck!”
Daniel stammered, trying to form his question. “S-s-so...wait...”
7322 said, “I don’t pretend to understand the science behind this, but yes, their stomach is their brain. It takes some time after infection to fully form. This gentleman must have been infected for at least 48 hours to have become so advanced. He has had some time to undergo the transformation.”
Daniel blinked. “So...wait.”
“Okay, I will let your minds digest what you just saw,” said 7322 in a rare attempt at humor. “I need to call this in. Stay here and try not to attract any more Skells.”
7322 walked outside to the chopper. Daniel and BMW stood in stunned silence staring at the spectacle in front of them. BMW stepped forward, extended his leg, and poked at the stomach brain with his shoe.
Daniel threw up a hand. “Dude, knock that shit off. Thing might still be alive.”
7322 returned with a case, placed it on a table, and unbuckled the latches. “If your minds are functioning again, I can tell you what I know. These things are transforming in more ways than meets the eye. We all know that they consume and digest human flesh. The virus causes accelerated body fat absorption, which is why they are thin. They are absorbing their own flesh. As their brain dissolves, their stomach compensates by forming its own brain.”
He removed the Shit Storm weapon from the case. “It’s not a real brain. It can’t really think, it can’t reason, no higher functions that would allow the infected to communicate.”
BMW said, “So these things function on impulse?”
“Exactly, they only know what they need to survive, which is human flesh.” He pointed to BMW and Daniel. “Which is you.”
Daniel said, “Sounds like some strippers I used to know.”
7322 ignored Daniel’s comment. “So everything else is gone, just base instincts. Killing, eating, reproducing.”
“You mean these things are screwing?”
7322 looked at Daniel and rolled his eyes. “Disgusting, and no, they are not screwing. They reproduce via transmission of the virus. Bites. Those that do manage to escape being eaten completely will eventually turn. It could take minutes to hours, depending on the bite, the size of the victim. A child can turn almost immediately. A morbidly obese adult could take most of a day.”
“So the only way to kill these things is by gutting them?”
“No, they are human, they can die from almost anything that would also kill us. It is just that their internal organs are adapting, evolving. They need oxygen, but they can absorb it through their skin. They don’t need a mouth and windpipe like we do. We have seen some without heads that can still function.”
7322 handed the Shit Storm device to BMW. “Here you go, quick draw, but promise me, no more purposefully aiming it at uninfected.” He then focused on Daniel, BMW and 9104, whom until that moment had not been briefed on the full effects of the infection. “Now you know what we are dealing with, but our task right now is not to kill these people, nor round them up. Our sole job is to find that truck, and hopefully the contents, and then head back south to Cape May. That is it. Please, no deviations.”
The four of them walked back out into the parking lot. 9104 jumped on a dumpster at the rear of the building and then pulled herself up onto the roof of the Happy Burger. She surveyed the area and saw no movement, but she spotted the truck parked in an empty lot behind the steak house. She pointed it out to her cohorts and climbed back down.
They quietly marched towards the restaurant. It was a nice place, nestled on an otherwise residential side of the street. It appeared family owned, not a chain. Perfect place to sell off stolen steaks in a hurry. This must have been the hijackers’ last stop.
A large fence separated them from the steak house parking lot, so they decided to maneuver around the block rather than risk the noise that would come with cutting or climbing the chain link fence.
As the three walked around the block, they saw house after house with lights on, but no movement.
“Man, something just ain’t right here,” BMW said in a hushed tone to Daniel. “All these houses have their front doors open. People don’t leave their front door open.”
Daniel kept his voice down too. “Neither of us grew up in a town like this. You know, idyllic and shit. Maybe people here always leave doors open and cars running.” He knew this was ridiculous, but he just wanted to finish the job and get gone.
“Bullshit,” BMW countered. “There ain’t no place that idyllic. People don’t leave their houses wide open when they’re not around.”
“Agreed,” 9104 chimed in from behind the two men. Neither Daniel nor BMW realized she was listening in. “What?” she said, giving them a shrug. “You think I can’t hear you? I know you fly a helicopter, but did you learn to whisper in one?”
BMW noticed her appeal. “Well, maybe if we survive this, I will take you up for a spin and you can teach me how to better modulate my speech volume.”
It was then that both Daniel and BMW realized 7322 was staring daggers at them—they were moving in on his territory.
Daniel continued the banter. “Hey Niner,” he said to 9104. “It’s just that BMW isn’t used to walking through a nice neighborhood like this at dusk and not seeing all the doors and windows being quick slammed shut and locked. You know, racial profiling and what not. All he needs is a hoodie.”
“Go to hell, Sullivan,” BMW said through a laugh. “They see you coming down the sidewalk, they think a shaved gorilla escaped the zoo.”
“How about we stow the chit chat,” 7322 hissed.
They arrived at the truck and Daniel jumped up to the driver’s side door of the cab. It was empty, but the door was unlocked and the keys were sitting right on the passenger seat. An invitation for a thief to come take it away.
“Well, this is going to be a lot easier than I thought,” Daniel said with relief. “Get in. I’ll drive you guys back to the bird and meet you back at—”
He was interrupted by a horrified shriek from 9104.
CHAPTER 29
From the Diet Underground blog:
Hello and goodbye, Diet Underground readers. This is Donut_destroyer66, and this is my final blog post.
I am going to share a weight loss secret with you, and then I am logging off, and deleting my account, and forgetting it ever existed. In fact, I am going to forget the old, fat me ever existed as well.
The reason I will be vanishing from our cyber fat forum is because what I am going to share is controversial. If it worked for me, it can work for you. But I don’t want to hear from any of you who screw up and get hurt or killed. You can take my advice at your own risk. Any haters out there or anyone looking to file a lawsuit, please stop reading right now.
If you are still reading, I am about to give you the magic secret to massive weight loss.
Last week I was over 500 pounds, and today, I look like a flagpole. How?
Did I go on the Oprah diet? What a joke. Unless the Oprah diet means eating Oprah’s weight in ice cream, I would never have lasted a day on it. Did I have surgery? Nope. Exercise? Give me a fucking break.
So how did I do it? All I can tell you is that I was in a McDonalds enjoying my third quarter pounder with cheese when this emaciated, bloody, freak staggered into the place. It took a minute, but everyone realized it was one of those infected Skell people. The customers went crazy and started running for the doors. I was about to do the same, but realized I was stuck in my chair. No, not frozen with fear, but actually stuck between the bolted to the ground chair and table.
By the time I extracted myself, it was just the two of us, the zombie and I. The thing came at me and I knew I could not outrun it. So what did I do? I sumo’d the goddamn thing. I ran directly at it while it was coming directly at me. The thing hit my stomach and bounced backwards and landed on its back. It was scrambling up, so I threw myself on top of it to hold it down, but the thing was so emaciated, I crushed it and its insides popped out underneath me like a squished grape. I stood back up, puked, and then I hauled my fat ass out of there.
I don’t know what the rules are now. Can you just kill zombies when you see them? Do you have to wait for those black pajama wearing storm trooper guys to show up to haul them away? Am I going to get sued for killing it in some sort of zombie court?
I did not want to find out, so I just took off.
I got home, threw my clothes away, and took a shower. It was then that I noticed a small amount of blood coming from the fold underneath my right chest area. I felt underneath and found two Skell teeth stuck in my skin. I did not even realize I had been bitten.
I was scared that if I went to the hospital, they would report me, and then I would be taken to one of those freaky FEMA camps they are setting up. So I kept my pie hole shut and told no one.
That night, my stomach was going nuts. I was sweating, puking, farting. I rushed to the bathroom with the Hershey squirts like no one’s business. I punished my toilet. It was as if I was melting through my pores and out my anus.
Sometime during the night, I finally passed out and had the most insane dreams ever. It was like someone or something was conscious inside of me and trying to control me. Like my own mind was fighting with a foreign mind trying to invade me.
It was an epic battle, but when I finally came to—nearly 30 hours later—I raised my head off the pillow, looked down, and saw something I had not seen for years: my feet.
I dragged myself over to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. The sight of the stranger before me made me fall backwards into my bathtub. I looked around for the intruding bastard and realized I was alone. The stranger in the reflection was me. I am now about 120 pounds! I am not kidding you. I dropped a few hundred like a snake shedding its skin.
It must have been the bite. I got bit, but not enough to turn me full zombie. Just enough for me to drop down to a thirty-inch waist.
So do what you want out there, my fellow fatties, my porcine partners, my chubby chums. I am not telling you to go out and get bit, and I don’t know if I am going to keep losing weight, or maybe turn into one of those Skells, but for now, I am going out and getting laid!
Goodbye from the former Donut_destroyer66. #zombiediet
CHAPTER 30
TO: All Post Conflict Restoration Corp Employees
FROM: PCRC Marketing & Communications Department
Memorandum to all PCRC Contractors.
RE: Rules of Infection Engagement
This is a directive for all PCRC contractors involved in citizen-facing roles.
•PCRC Containment Teams
•PCRC Security Teams
•PCRC Collection Teams
As you are aware, PCRC is the exclusive contract holder for managing the current security situation. While we do not fully understand the impact of the virus and how it affects individual victims, we are aware of four distinct types of infected individuals, to be referred to as Patients.
In security, containment, and collection roles, you may encounter anyone one of the four following classifications of patients.
1.Virus Infected Individuals (VII’s). Upon initial infection, depending on the size of the individual, and severity of the transmission, the individual may be infected, highly contagious, but showing no signs of contagion or symptoms. These individuals are to be immediately quarantined in established camps (Q Camps). See Civilian Infection Protocol 2.1 for additional information.
2.Virus Infected Deceased (VIDs). These are unfortunate individuals who have succumbed to the virus or injuries incurred during the infection (usually through a violent encounter with another infected individual) or injuries incurred post infection (usually through a violent encounter with an uninfected individual). VIDs are to be treated as extremely dangerous biohazardous materials. Please review the documentation provided on specimen handling and bio surveillance.
3.Virus Infected Necrotic (VINs). VINs have fully succumbed to the infection and are to be collected and transferred to quarantine camps for housing until a cure can be identified. VINs, which have been referred to in the public as Skells, may exhibit distended stomachs and are most easily neutralized via broadcasting the hum. They will congregate around PCRC sound and security systems, which have been deployed around the state. While they may appear docile, they are to be treated with extreme caution. They can become extremely violent and there is a 100% chance of transmission of the virus though their bites.
4.Virus Infected Non-Necrotic Individuals (VINNIs). These are to be treated with utmost care. VINNIs are subjects who have managed to survive the wasting effects of the virus. The virus appears to either pause, or burn itself out completely within these individuals. There is initial evidence that these may have been individuals who were suffering from morbid obesity prior to infection. VINNIs are lean, muscular, and do not exhibit the full, distended stomachs that are found on VINs. They retain their full mental and emotional abilities and would appear to be virus-free. But please note, these individuals are extremely dangerous, can still transmit the virus, and are not biologically the same as they were prior to infection. To repeat, while they appear to be the same, they are no longer as they once were. They are biologically altered.
VINNIs must be detained at all cost and reports or encounters with VINNIs must be immediately reported to your PCRC Contract Supervisor. VINNIs are to be treated with care and should be considered extremely dangerous.
If a VINNI is acquired, they are to be transferred directly to the nearest Q Camp.
Thank you for your absolute compliance with these directives. Any deviation can result in loss of contractor status and immediate termination.
Nick Letterman
VP, Marketing
CHAPTER 31
9014 had opened the bay doors at the rear of the truck and what she encountered was so horrific the always calm, tough as nails, crisis negotiator let out an involuntary scream as if she were a ten-year-old girl.
The truck was filled from floor to ceiling with bodies. Mangled, decapitated, and torn limb from limb. They appeared to have been drawn and quartered. A flood of blood and guts spilled out of the back as the doors opened, splashing to the ground in a waterfall of gore. There were hundreds of them. They all appeared to be Skells, but with the remains in such a state, ripped apart or split in half, it was impossible to tell.
Sudden blinding illumination lit up the truck as two large military style Humvees roared up and stopped near them.
The PCRC gang shielded their eyes and could see only the silhouettes of soldiers as they exited from the vehicles and approached holding assault rifles.
One of them barked an order: “Drop your weapons now!”
7322 reached for his pistol.
“D
on’t try it asshole!” one of the other men yelled, pointing his gun at 7322’s head.
“You, out of the cab!” they shouted to Daniel.
He complied and tossed his gun to the ground, as did 7322 and 9104. Each raised their hands.
One by one, the headlights and floodlights were turned off.
Daniel could see a man exit the first car along with two additional heavily armed troops. The two guards stayed back at the vehicle, pointing their weapons at Daniel and his crew, while the one man walked over to the second and then a third vehicle, reaching into the driver’s side window and flicking off the lights of each.
This new man was not in uniform. As the last of the blinding headlights went dark, Daniel saw that the other men with him were not soldiers either, but private security forces, hired muscle, just as 7322 and 9104 were—just as Daniel and BMW now were as well.
The non-uniformed man approached them.
He was older, dressed casual in slacks, shirt and suit jacket. He looked familiar. “I figured Gold would send one of the mutant brothers. Always out fetching sticks, huh Sullivan?”
Daniel knew this guy, but again, he could not place it.
“Where’s my son, Sullivan?” The man asked tersely.
Pinskey! Daniel thought to himself. It was Pinskey from that escort mission in Pakistan that went to hell. He was in the building when a truck bomb took it down. They assumed he was dead.
This is why that kid, Eric Pinskey, was so important to Maxwell Gold.
Daniel began putting the pieces together. “He’s fine, I took him out of New Jersey. I did not know you were even alive.”
“I am.” Pinskey jutted his chin out. “Obviously.”
“Look, if this is just about your kid, I had no idea. Max told me he was important and to protect him. I did.” Daniel ‘s eyebrows lifted on his face. “I got him out of the state, he is safe and fine.” He tried to appear reassuring.
Exit Zero (Book 2): Nuke Jersey Page 11