by David Aslin
SCHIZOMEGA
Zombies made in the USA
An Ian McDermott Paranormal Investigator Novel
David Reuben Aslin
This story/book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Copyright© 2015 Author: David Reuben
Dedicated to:
My beautiful wife Denise.
My five fabulous boys:
Dustin, Devan, Drew, Cody, Moe
Without their loving support this work would not have been possible.
To: Dad, Love eternal - R.I.P.
Special thanks to my dear friend:
TaeKwon-Do Master, Dan Huntington
(8th Dan/Degree Black Belt)
Who graciously consensually is one of the inspirations
for the character in this book:
Mister “E”
References are made suggesting the author,
Ian Fleming… and his immortal character - super spy,
James Bond.
Additionally my special thanks to:
Crystal Cooper
Angie McCain
Leslie Morrison Bryant
Cover art by Virgil Edwards
A HUGE THANK YOU to my editor and friend:
BILL SNOW JR.
About the Author:
David Reuben Aslin,
Is the author of this book: Schizomega – Zombies made in the USA… as well as: Red Tide – The Flavel House Horror / Vampires of the Morgue, the second novel of the continuing sequels to: Loup-Garou - The Beast of Harmony Falls.
In addition to being a writer of literary fiction, concentrating on the genres: Suspense Thriller/Horror - David, is an entrepreneur. He is the co-inventor/co-patent holder of a popular beverage dispenser: The BrewTender… and he is the owner and black belt instructor of, Kim’s TaeKwon-Do & Mixed Martial Arts Academy. David is married to his wife Denise, together they have five children, all boys, and they and his wife Denise reside in Southwest Washington State.
"Rather than mocking their very existence, perhaps you should be praying to them. Unless your desire is to be preyed upon." -Clayton Collins
Two Evenings Previously
The rain pounded incessantly at the terracotta tiled roof. Pile driven in torrential sheets by gale force, gusting winds. Lighting flashed as thunder crashed in counter-riposte to the onslaught of atmospheric discharge. Tropical storms of this intensity though rare, were not unheard of this time of year. And this year, there had been a series of them.
The latest weather forecast suggested that if the next storm due to make land over the course of the next few days continued on its present course feeding from the gulfs warm water; though not likely, one model illustrated by the National Weather Service, demonstrated the possibility of it transforming from a tropical storm of significance, to a full-on hurricane.
The present tropical storms fury though certainly no hurricane, challenged the fortresses resolve. Mother Nature was once again fiercely prosecuting another assault on the slowly decaying remains of the once heavily fortified embattlements, of this nearly ancient castle-like fortification. One that had been converted decades ago into a prison, and hospital of sorts, for the intensely criminally insane. The old fort had been reconfigured to contain psychopathic inmates that society had little choice but to keep locked away out of sight, as they are completely out of their minds. Persons whom by their own repeated despicability’s have precluded themselves from incarceration, and possible treatments, within the confines of the typical prison system at other more socially, and physically, evolved facilities.
“Give him another injection of Thiopental! Can’t you see he’s coming out of sedation? Then inject the serum. If all goes to plan that should bring him close enough to flat-line to pass him as dead for the next sixteen hours or so. After that, when the virus and toxin cocktail kicks in, well that’s when the fun really begins. Is the training room fully set-up, with the portable cage and plenty of restraints?” The lead doctor loudly exclaimed to his assistant. The doctor had to nearly yell his orders above the intense noise created by the thunder storm that seemed to now be directly above them. The assistant, also a doctor, gave his superior a quick glance and nod indicating that all was in order. He didn’t have time to talk, he was busy acting as a would-be anesthesiologist regarding the procedure they were performing with no other assistants.
Wide-eyed the lead doctor shouted loudly. “This one, I tell you, this time it’s going to work. It must! This time there should be no more surface levity or significant rigor than necessary to fool that moron coroner before he pronounces Mr. Edward Sims here. He is unknown to the world, nobody at all… dead. Once he signs-off on the corpse we can proceed with the burial, the quicker the better! I don’t wanna have to be paying off anyone else, especially downtown if you get my meaning… too dangerous! There’s way too many hands in the cookie jar already for my liking.”
The assisting physician nodded his head once again in agreement.
The lead doctor, a skilled surgeon, took two steps back from the operating table. “This time I know we’ve got it right. All of our previous failures be damned… this is the one.”
Both doctors removed their surgical masks and caps. Then one by one they both pulled off their latex gloves. The assistant spoke. “Congratulations, you are indeed, victorious, Doctor Speer. I’ve been waiting months to say that to you, Albert. Perhaps it might be too soon, but, the serum… no rejection, nothing beyond the expected initial viral hemorrhagic effects. I concur with your optimism doctor. Everything went perfectly according to plan this time! For the cause!” The Dr. Speer smiled and nodded his head once as he replied, “For the cause!”
The wind and rain was still hammering down, but the thunder and lightning had now passed by. No longer was the flash-bang of the lighting and thunder occurring in unison. Both men could now speak normally without having to nearly shout at each other. The Dr. Speer looked at his assistant and smiled. “Yes … well, Doctor Fritzholter … Fritz my old friend, it may be too soon to be certain, but my money says this is the one. Too bad the subject only has one arm, but, he should do fine. One arm’s all he’s gonna need. Well that, and a good set of teeth! Come here and have a good look at these pearly whites.” Doctor Speer pointed with his right index finger at their subjects teeth as he continued, “The young ones definitely make the best candidates … wouldn’t you agree? They have all of their beautiful carnivorous weapons in tact! Take this guy. Why I’ll bet he could bite right through a man’s throat with no trouble at all!” Suddenly the man on the operating table’s eyes opened wide. Unlike his arms and legs, his neck and head had not been shackled, or strapped down in any way. The man on the table lunged his head towards the nearest examiner, wildly slinging his head, lashing out, teeth snapping rapid-fire chomping. Appearing to both men to be like a snapping turtle eating an invisible ear of corn. “Son-of-a-bitch got me, well, a little. I’m okay. Mainly, the fucker just startled me. There see, not much more than a scratch.” The Speer held his hand towards his assisting physician.
�
�Barely broke the skin. Still, I’m gonna go and deep cleanse my finger in some strong disinfectant. We just got some more of that, protease enzyme foam. Aw Fuck! Am I’m gonna be required to have a hepatitis, and HIV screen, plus MRSA and god knows what else? Wait, no need to answer that. I know, I know, you already told me all the candidates have been previously screened and are clean. And all this shit we’re giving him well, we know it has been engineered to be non-contagious to at the very minimum ninety-nine percent of humanity.” Suddenly Doctor Speers got a perplexed look on his face. “Fritz, didn’t you tell me that Sims here, his blood type is AB -. As you know that’s the rarest of blood types; and he’s got sicklemia to boot?” Doctor Fritzholter slowly nodded his head yes as he asked,
“What’s on your mind Doctor Spears, are you concerned about something?” Doctor Spears continued, “Hm, no… nothing, really. It’s just as you’re no doubt aware, people afflicted with sickle cell have immunity vectors to malaria. I don’t know what I’m saying, or even implying. I’m just tired, that’s all.” Doctor Spears picked up a dry sponge and began wiping away sweat beads that had been collecting on his forehead as he continued, “Of course, what we’re dealing with here is far beyond malaria. It’s just, it seems to me that I heard a small portion of the serum contains the plasmodium parasite. I wonder, what if Sims here, knowing how under the right conditions, nasty bugs and viruses can mutate. I mean…?”
“Excuse me, Fritz, all contingencies no matter how rare, or improbable, were undoubtedly taken into consideration by the scientists who verified the engineering of the formula for us to follow. Helix Tech, we’ve used them before. Their absolute discretion, like their services, can be purchased by hard cash. And to make matters even better, they’re located outside this country, Canada. Matt Larsen’s the money guy. He doesn’t ask too many questions if you get my meaning. The stuff comes to us from a network that has so many arms, and firewalls, it’s an absolute untraceable ghost by the time we receive it. You and I are untouchable by the law and we’re getting richer by the day. Imagine it, Fritz, the perfect blend of science and so called voodoo black magic. Still, regardless, I’m going to leave you for a bit and disinfect the shit out of my hand. Anyway, we don’t want any screening tests, no paperwork of any kind that could show up on any books connected in any way to this human shit-bag.” Dr. Speers pointed with his slightly cut finger towards the man on the operating table, who had once again fully relaxed, under the effects of sedation.
Seated by the doorway in a folding chair watching the entire procedure was Warden, Dean Schultz; who seeing the two doctors smiling, stood up and was now smiling himself. The doctors looked across the room at the Warden, who then nodded his approval to them. Warden Schultz then turned and opened the one door that led to and from the make-shift operating room. Still smiling, with cane in his left hand, slightly favoring his right leg, Warden Schultz proceeded to exit the room as he spoke, “I’ll call the Coroner’s office. This time don’t let those cronies of yours bury ‘im too deep. And make damn sure the coffin isn’t nailed too tight! Damn strange this series of storms we’ve been getting every night this time of year. Makes things damn messy at the gravesites. Anyway, he’s… it’s only got one arm to dig itself out with, for god sake!”
CHAPTER 1
SCHIZOMEGA
Room 222
Sitting on the edge of the bed he reached over to the end table and retrieved a small voice recorder reflecting for a moment on something that Clayton had once said … "Rather than mocking their very existence, perhaps you should be praying to them. Unless your desire is to be preyed upon." He then cleared his throat, switched the device on, and began to speak.
RECORDING: “I hate talking into these things, but here goes. This is the voice recorded audio journal entry of, Doctor Ian McDermott, PhD. The date is, November seventh, the time, approximately seven-sixteen in the evening. It was starting to get dark out when we pulled into town and by we, I mean myself and my dog, Scout. It’s a nice evening, the stars are out in force, but the air’s thick here. I’ve heard people use that old cliché all my life, the airs so thick you could cut it with a knife. Well, cliché or not that’s the best way to describe this kind of heat and humidity; which I’ve been told that the temperature as well as humidity is uncharacteristically high for this time of year, even here in the deep south. Primarily due to the unseasonable tropical storms they’ve been having. As a former cryptozoologist turned paranormal investigator; I have come to understand that as often as not, there is usually some truth behind most myths. With that in mind, I’ve traveled here to New Orleans in search of the facts, if any, behind the following question: Zombie-ism… truth -or- myth? Outside of traveling to various countries in Africa, or traveling to Haiti, and other Caribbean locations; due to the large concentration of Haitian, and Jamaican transplanted populous living here in New Orleans, it is here that I shall begin my quest to find answers to the before mentioned question. Years ago, while working on my dissertation towards achieving my doctorate; I proposed, and associated names of my own invention, to a theory that attempted to offer in detail a plausible explanation that under the strictest most specific conditions, could define, explain, or potentially lay blueprint to create an otherwise supposed fictitious condition; which in common vernacular is referred to by the provocatively descriptive term: Zombie-ism. A condition, or disease, that I have given the names: Schizomega Syndrome or, the Schizomega Effect. Or simply in short Schizomega.”
Ian paused for a moment to collect his thoughts as well as catch his breath before continuing. “Essentially, Schizomega refers to a hypothetical mental and physical altered state or disease. One in which the afflicted of such a hypothetical disorder’s, metabolism is slowed to a point that mimics a death-like, yet ambulatory state of existence. One that symptomatically, in many respects closely resembles sufferers of advanced Hemorrhagic Fever… Ebola. I surmise that if such a condition exists, or could be achieved, it would present itself as a potentially highly communicable contagion. Communicable via aggressive DNA transference, such as by ingestion, by introduction into the bloodstream, or, potentially under certain circumstances such as mucosa infected by aerosolized pathogens.”
Ian momentarily stopped speaking and took a couple of deep breaths before continuing. “To achieve the Schi-zom-ega effect: Initially, an infected subject, which I call a, Zom, a subject that demonstrates classic characteristics of what in common vernacular would be referred to as a zombie, and yet in actuality, a zom is a living subject that in reality very nearly simulates in almost every aspect, what’s commonly referred to as, the undead in the classic and contemporary reference.”
Ian coughed twice to clear his throat. He reached over to the end table and picked up a glass of water that he’d previously poured for himself. He took a large swallow, then set the glass back down onto the table. Ian coughed once more and then began speaking into his voice actuated recorder.
“To induce such an effect would require the introduction to a subject, specific combinations of drugs and most probably venomous neurotoxins as well. Combined in conjunction with likely specific genetically altered virus and or bacteria. All administered in accordance to a very specific regimen and dosage. One devised to achieve a severe mentally and physically diseased, highly suggestive subject with protracted aggression, remorseless, and amorality. Yet... remaining in an ambulatory state of likely anthropophagus proclivity. The possibility exists that all of the afore mentioned introductions into a human subject intent on achieving the Schizomega Effect; might also be enhanced, initially, in a test subject zero, by the additional introduction of other external stimulus. Such as a strong belief in concepts associated with certain practices in voodoo. In particular, the belief that one is skilled in the voodoo arts; such as a Bokor. A Bokor is supposed to possess the knowledge, or power, to resurrect a dead human subject. It is even believed by those who proscribe to voodoo beliefs, a Bokor is also reputed to be able to cast a spell over a living per
son, by method of black magic. Whereby transforming that person into a sort of walking corpse, or, combinations of the afore mentioned effect that creates the mythological state of zombie-ism. Or a zombie if you will.”
Ian stood up for a moment and stretched his back. He then began pacing around the hotel room as he continued to speak into his recorder. “My hypothesis pertaining to what I call, Schizomega Syndrome … further suggests that it might be within the scope of possibility, that a sufferer of such a diseased condition… might be physically, as well as mentally, driven to seek high levels of sustenance in the form of protein. Such as that which can be most readily found in the form of flesh and blood. In an effort to lesson, or abate, albeit temporarily, the severity of some of the more painful side-effects associated with advanced stages of such a diseased state. If all, or at least a significant portion of the before mentioned mental and physical elements were prosecuted to fruition in precise accordance in a human subjects. I surmise Schizomega Syndrome could theoretically be achieved. A state, a disease closely resembling what in common vernacular could be referred to as acute, irreversible, zombie-ism. That is until the disease reaches its unavoidable conclusion; the real death of the afflicted.”
Ian once again sat back down on the corner of his bed as he continued recording. “In summation: Due to its potential for extreme communicability, Schizomega Syndrome, I believe under the right conditions it could quite possibly evolve or manifest itself to become a mass schizophrenic anthropophaginian epidemic. That is, in the absence of effective countermeasures, and, if left unchecked almost from the onslaught, represent itself in little time, as a very plausible global pandemic of catastrophic proportion.”
Ian stood up from his bed, took another deep breath and began his final summary of his notes regarding his current investigation. “Schizomega, a word of my own invention, which quite literally is intended to mean, ‘Crazy End!’ I devised to better explain the supposed supernatural condition commonly referred to as, zombie-ism. A condition that I believe has either been achieved and so far contained; or, potentially could be achieved with today’s modern scientific technology. But in doing so, such actions could result in the opening of a Pandora’s Box, so to speak. Whereby unwittingly, or worse… knowingly unleash the ultimate plague. A non-containable, irreversible, pandemic of apocalyptic proportion. The total en masse Schizophrenic breakdown of all human rational thought processes. That is… all except a greatly exacerbated primal need to feed on whatever animal, or human, the infected person, or persons, can lay their collective hands on before their imminent dreadful demise from such a highly diseased state. Schizomega, would not be the world ending all at once cataclysmic event such as a devastatingly large comet colliding with the Earth. Nor, is it like the instantaneous near extinction of most human life caused by a mass detonation of nuclear bombs; followed by the immanent total extinction of nearly all life on Earth caused by perhaps subsequent years of nuclear winter. Schizomega would be manifested to its ultimate fruition over a period of cannibalistic disease spread devastation; that would be fought on all fronts around the globe, but albeit too late, resulting in quite simply the ultimate extinction of the human race. Not by any one ‘Big Bang!” but one ‘bite’ at a time. A ‘crazy end’ indeed.”