SCHIZOMEGA: Zombies Made in the U.S.A. (Ian McDermott Paranormal Investigator series Book 3)

by David Aslin

  E continued, “Ian, I’ve been after these Nazi sons-a-bitches and their descendants since the war and I’ve taken out my fair share of them over the years. But they’re like cockroaches, you find their hiding places and kill ten of them, and twenty more pop up somewhere else. But this time, things have gotten further out of control than ever before, with new technology, gene splicing and… well you’ve seen the results; they nearly accomplished their devilish plan, only they had the arrogance to believe that they could put the genie back in the bottle with impunity. They came closer than ever before this time due to the vast advances in science, that and their funding this go-around is more vast than ever before, because they aligned themselves with local New Orleans organized crime syndicates that love the idea for obvious reasons.”

  E let out a small sigh, “Anyway, I’m here to stop this plague from reaching land, at any and all costs. I’m here to terminate this experiment gone wild, and all those responsible, with extreme prejudice. Now, I’ve given you my word that I’ll get you out of here in one piece if it’s within my power to do so. And of course all of those people over there, and as many more survivors as we can find, as well.” E pointed with his chin towards the others who were around thirty feet from them. “But, make no mistake, I will burn this place down, down to the ground, and the ground out from under our very feet if that’s necessary. Understood?” Ian nodded his head that he understood. Somehow hearing the facts one more time with a slightly broader explanation was almost comforting to Ian. He understood the gravity of the situation if this plague was to hit the mainland. He knew there was a much larger picture to consider beyond his own survival.

  “Okay E, yours may be a lot larger than mine, but I’m ready to put my hero’s cape on too. Let’s rescue as many people as we can. Let’s smoke these zombie mother fuckers!”

  E smiled, “That’s the spirit!”

  “Oh, E, one last thing.”

  “Yeah, what?”

  “I once hypothesized, you know, with my Schizomega theory that they, the zom’s, are anthropophagous. Cannibals primarily because of an acute disease and drug induced hunger, an extreme biological need for large quantities of protein. It’s the ingestion of protein in the form of flesh and blood, that metabolizes in such a way as to act not only as their food source, but to help reduce their pain and suffering from the deterioration of their bodies caused from the disease. Think of it like, their bodies are telling them they must replace what is dying in them with fresh meat, as it were. I should think that it has nothing to do with just wanting to eat brains, like some of those Hollywood movies suggest.”

  Ian scratched his head, “Though maybe, maybe they would. Maybe they would especially, like brains? I mean, beyond their baseline hunger for all things flesh and blood. Maybe zom’s, now I’m just spit-balling here but, it’s possible that they might respond to specific hormones produced in the brain, like in the thalamus and hypothalamus regions. Those hormones in sufficient quantity could act as a pain suppressant. Now that’s really reaching, but it’s just that all of these supposed myths and legends that I keep getting myself involved with, most of them seem to keep pretty close in many respects to the roots of their stories.”

  E held up his hand motioning for Ian to cease with all of the speculation, and for them to re-join the others.

  “Okay, doctor Frankenstein, you’re starting to sound like the mad-scientists who created this mess in the first place.” Ian smiled and nodded in agreement that they should get back over with the others.

  As they headed back towards their newly acquired band of survivors, E spoke quietly intended for Ian’s ears only. “Ian, that ole saying that there’s safety in numbers only applies to certain situations. Unless we can get at least some of these people some weapons, they are more hindrance to us than help. Regarding the mission.”

  Ian had momentarily lost sight of the bigger picture, the “mission” in lieu of just trying to get himself and present company to safety in one piece.

  The moment they re-joined the group E motioned for them all to gather around. He looked at each one of them then asked, “Are there any weapons. I mean beyond a guard’s handgun, that we might happen across.” Sharon Ingles spoke right up, “I have a key to the lock-up where they keep the big guns, mainly intended for the guards who man the towers. I can take you to them. The gun lockers not far.” E smiled as he replied, “Okay, good! With enough big guns we might just get out of here in one, that is, with all our pieces.”

  Ian motioned for the small group to come close. He spoke up before E had a chance. “All right. We move quickly but cautiously, and we all stay close together. Nobody lags behind, or is ever out of sight, understand?” Ian, hoping he hadn’t overstepped his bounds glanced over at E, who smiled at Ian as he nodded his head in agreement.

  E moved up close to Ian as the group began to move in single file across the cell block heading towards the guard station egress. E whispered to Ian, “Nicely done, Ian. It’s important these fine folk don’t get any ideas regarding this being a democracy. That is, if they hope to have any chance of surviving.” Ian nodded in agreement. E continued, “Should something happen to me, you’re their best, and probably only chance to get off this rock. You can find your way back to the boat, yes?” Ian nodded with confidence that he could.

  CHAPTER 18

  NO TWO ZOM’S

  The group had nearly reached the guard station and the exit from the cell block. Sharon Ingles the guard lady quickened her step and caught up to E and Ian who had taken the lead.

  “The gun locker is just up the hall from here and through them doors over yonder.” Sharon pointed across a hallway that Ian surmised was around thirty feet long. “Just through them extra heavy locked doors and inside is a vault the guns be’n kept safe in.”

  E smiled at Sharon as he spoke, “All right. What types of weapons are kept locked up in there?”

  Sharon smiled large, “Some real big hand guns and sniper rifles mostly. And some smoke grenades, that’s about it.” E looked Sharon over and noticed that she wasn’t carrying a gun. Sharon must have realized that, that was strange to E because she picked up on it, “We don’t generally pack heat in the place. Just nightsticks and pepper spray, mostly. Can’t afford if’n we got overpowered by one of these killer lunatics in this place, can’t have ‘em have any chance ta get their hands on any guns.”

  E realized she was right and let it go. He did note that she had a heavy black utility belt that was indeed strapped with a nightstick and a deployable container of, MACE.

  Just then from the hallway they were heading towards, they all spotted a door handle sporadically moving up and down in what appeared to be a heavily labored attempt to open the door. E motioned for the group to stop and hold still. They did as silently requested. Seconds later with all of their eyes collectively fixated on the spastically manipulated door handle, the door burst open, soon revealing nearly a dozen severely diseased men and women of every ethnicity and job description that the place had to offer. Blood appeared as viscous tar-oil looking ooze that dripped from their hands like thick dark paint. With rancid flesh-filled mouths they immediately began a stumbling marching nightmare, heading towards Ian and company. As they made their way forward they moaned loudly, seemingly as if in extreme pain. And made an almost gargling-growling sound as they approached as fast as they could spasmodically walk, bump and shove themselves forward towards their next intended meal.

  As the band of veracious flesh-eaters drew closer, Ian, even while back-peddling, with his hand gun aimed at the closest one’s head, began noticing that their eyes were all wrong. There were no discernable pupils. Their entire eyes seemed to swirl with colors as if they were anamorphic orbs, primarily comprised of garnet and pasty-gray; but other colors were present as well. Ian would later reflect that their eyes appeared to look like pictures of some moon or planet from some far-off galaxy, taken by the Hubble Space Telescope.

  Ian didn’t wait to hear any co
mmand or go-ahead from E, with both hands to steady his aim, he slowly squeezed the trigger. Instantly, the carnivorous creature, a women, her head snapped back and blood, brains and bone fragments sprayed from the exit wound all over the marching diseased parade behind her.

  E began rapid firing, one after the other they began dropping as his hand gun with the silencer just popped over and over. E didn’t have a chance to warn Ian that the zom’s likely would be drawn by loud noise.

  Suddenly, seemingly from nowhere there were zom’s behind them as well. Before anything could be done. Before anyone had a chance to make any move at all. Two of their group had zom’s launching into their heads and necks. Joyce McMann was the first to fall. She like all the others had been too preoccupied with what was coming at them, to even consider what might attack them from behind. Joyce’s death came swift as a blood soaked white man dressed as a guard, grabbed her from behind around the throat and rapidly chewed halfway through her neck. In a nano-second E glanced backward at the commotion, just in time to see that the guard who’d grabbed Joyce, initially snapped her neck with one deft move before feasting on her; as if he had at least some residual memory of prior self-defense, or combat training. Just the kind that a prison guard or former military man would have at some time gone through.

  Sharon Ingles who was next to Joyce at the time of the attack, sprang into action. She drew out her night stick and began swinging and beating Joyce’s attacker with experienced forceful strikes. Finally she hit a grand slam with one of her swinging blows to his head. He fell to his knees but managed to grab one of her legs with both hands. Sharon struck his hands with her nightstick with all her might, but it was as if he felt no pain from the blows at all. Sharon then lifted the nightstick high above her head readying herself to strike down on the man’s head with enough power to break any skull, but as the man pulled her legs she lost her balance and fell. The man was on top of her in seconds, tearing at her throat with his teeth. Sharon screamed until she didn’t have enough throat left to utter another sound. E made his way to her so fast he became for an instance little more than a blur. He immediately shot the man in the back of his head and threw him off of her. E knew what he had to do next; though still alive and bleeding badly, Sharon knew what had to be done as well. She looked up at E and slowly nodded her head. Without further hesitation E pointed his pistol at her head and fired.

  Ian shot the last two ambulatory, walking cannibal corpses. For the moment no more could to be seen. Everyone, with the exception of E, were nearly in shock over the blood bath that had just occurred. Ian now shaking looked at all of the gore and bodies all around them.

  E spoke, “We’ve got to keep moving forward. We’ve got to get to that gun locker.” Jamal replied, “Yeah, that’s right. I want a gun, I want a real big gun!”

  Ian began thinking to himself, That zom guard, he moved much faster than all of the others that we’ve faced, so far.

  Ian walked over to E as they continued toward the gun room. “E?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That guard, who got behind us?”

  “What about him?” E said wanting Ian to get to the point.

  “I’ve got a theory. About, you know, maybe why he seemed faster than all the rest of ‘em. Faster than any we’ve seen so far.”

  E, with a look of intrigue replied, “Do tell, Ian. Anything, any intel that we have on these things could prove helpful.”

  Ian took a deep breath then began. He spoke in little more than a whisper, intent that his words were for E’s ears only. “I think some of them, maybe some of them can move faster than others for two reasons. One everyone is different. Some people naturally are more athletic than others. And there’s age differences. But, I think how long they have been infected is the major deciding factor. The closer they are to death, the slower they move.”

  E nodded his head in agreement as he replied, “Makes sense. I noticed something too Ian.” Ian got wide-eyed. E continued, “I think one of the reasons these things have the potential to make such good killers. Why this whole thing got started. Is some of their prior basic or ingrained skills, they maintain them. At least for a while. That guard who killed, he attacked that nurse like a trained martial artist or such. His attack was that of someone with a special trained set of skills. I tell you this just so you are painfully aware that they aren‘t totally mindless. All are dangerous. All of them will make a meal of you. But, some present an even greater danger than others. Don‘t even get me started about the average serial killers that make up the general population of this place. Ones we haven‘t yet encountered. Which is both weird and unnerving.”

  “Oh, Ian. I was going to tell you back there to use your handgun wisely. More than likely just like anything else, they’re going to be drawn by loud noise. That, and Ian, I like your theory, but on the subject, I have one of my own on why some are faster than others.” Without hesitation Ian asked, “What’s your theory?” E smiled, “Zom are fast, zom aren’t!” Almost shocked by E’s levity, Ian nearly choked on his own spit as he bowed his head, smiled, and began shaking his head back and forth. They both began laughing, as quietly as they could manage. Ian laughed until teary-eyed. Not so much at the joke, but as a much needed release of tension. Ian would realize later that E’s joke was intended to both entertain and to accomplish just that, lower Ian’s tension. The rest of the group looked at them in utter confusion. Ian silently mused, I’ve got to get Charlie Redtail and E together sometime. Together they could take on the world. These people have no idea. If anyone can save them, save any of us, it’s E.

  “We should have stayed locked in that cell. I knew it!” Jamal almost shouted.

  Ian looked at him sternly as he replied, “If you’d of stayed in that cell, you all would have starved to death.”

  “Why you say that? Someone be a coming to rescue us sometime soon.” Jamal fired back.

  “We are that someone.” We’re all there is.” E said blankly.

  Ian silently mused, These people have no idea how lucky they are having E trying to keep them alive.

  Ian looked at all of the blank faces that stood all around him. He then started staring to at all of the water-bleeding through the nearly ancient stone walls and retro-fitted steel bar cages. The image was surreal and made even more-so by the storm that was raging just beyond the fortress walls. The lights continued to occasionally flicker from the intensity of the lightning and thunder that periodically crashed above their position. For some reason unknown to Ian, he suddenly became fixated on a song from the sixties, it’s haunting melody, and cryptically surreal lyrics captivated his mind, “When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead,” Ian felt just like the lyrics of, White Rabbit by the Jefferson Starship, suggesting he, much like Alice, had unwittingly fallen into a sub-sane, subterranean world, but this world, rather than being hosted by a Queen who wanted to “off with his head” this world was inhabited by rabid, raving, cannibalistic lunatics who Ian mused, wanted what’s located inside his head. “Remember what the dormouse said, feed your head” or, rather, feed on my head. Ian began seriously, silently considering that this massive rabbit caged hell hole, might prove too deep to climb out of, even for E, and he’s ten feet tall.

  Just as the group was picking their way through the dead, once again trekking towards the cell blocks ground floor egress, they all heard at the same time a loud moan above their heads. Just then, suddenly a body leaped over the upper guard railing head first, plummeting from nearly twenty feet above, nearly directly atop of them. They all managed to jump back just in time to successfully avoiding being taken out by the terminal velocity seeking, falling human missile. Even with his arms and legs severely dislocated and shattered from the impact, the jumper managed to look up. His right eye dangled outside its socket, slowly swinging with his labored movements by the optic nerve, back and forth like a pendulum. With the left side of his face was nearly caved in and still he began crawling towards them. He was dressed in what an
yone would instantly recognize as inmates garb. His dirty head bore nicks and scratches that a person didn’t have to be a forensic examiner to readily surmise were likely caused by a fast hap-hazard shaving. His bloody and otherwise stained filthy shirt, had at one time been a white crew neck t-shirt; he wore white colored pants that bore a distinctive singular half inch navy blue stripe on the outside of each leg. His pants were becoming increasingly bloodied by the moment due to a compound fractured femur that protruded through the skin of his leg, and had torn a hole in his state-issued trousers. Both his shirt and his pants were marked with the same letter and numbers: Z-00126.

  “Shoot him! Shoot him in the head, it’s the only way to…” Doctor Larry Tate shouted.

  E looked up from the laboriously crawling human monstrosity, over at the Doctor. He then walked briskly to the wretchedly diseased, severely hobbled man-monster, got alongside behind him, then as quickly as a cat can snatch a rat, E powerfully grabbed his shirt at the back of his neck and lifted him nearly half way up off of the ground. He then proceeded to drag him as he flailed around violently, snarling and thrashing his head with his rancid mouth filled with broken teeth, rapidly clashing together, attempting in vain to take a bite out of any part of E that he could.

  E drug the living corpse of a man over to the nearest open cell and with one powerful heave he threw the man inside. The man slid across the floor of the small prison cell and came to a stop only upon crashing into the small stainless steel commode.

  E then looked back over at the Doctor. “Say, Doc, I need your expert medical opinion. Come have a look at this, if this is what I think it is, we might benefit from knowing for certain.” Doctor Larry Tate did as E requested, he came over to him, both men stood for a moment looking into the cell at the bloody, diseased ruins, of what not long ago was just another otherwise unremarkable criminally insane inmate.