The Zombie Terror War Series (Vol. 2): The Darkest Part of the Night

by Spell, David

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Chapter One - Surprises

  Chapter Two - Terror at 35,000 Feet

  Chapter Three - Our Worst Nightmare

  Chapter Four - Looking the Monster in the Eye

  Chapter Five - Suburban Terror

  Chapter Six - The Next Phase

  Chapter Seven - Back into the Heart of the City

  Chapter Eight - One Down

  Chapter Nine - Friends and Family

  Chapter Ten - Sucked into the Nightmare

  Chapter Eleven - Back into the Arena

  Chapter Twelve - No Greater Love

  Chapter Thirteen - Epilogue

  The Darkest Part of the Night

  David Spell

  Volume Two of the Zombie Terror War Series

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to events or persons, living, dead, or fictitious are purely coincidental. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.

  Copyright ©2017 by David Spell. All rights reserved. Published in the United States by DavidSpell.com.

  To the brave men and women in blue who work everyday to protect our society from the predators.

  They are the Thin Blue Line.

  "Despite what your momma told you, violence does solve problems." Chris Kyle

  Kris 'Tanto' Paronto: “I never really get scared. Is that weird? Whenever bullets start to fly, I always feel protected. You know, like it's...As long as I'm doing the right thing, God'll take care of me. But that's crazy, right?”

  Dave 'Boon' Benton: “Not any more than everything else you say.” From the film 13 Hours

  “I looked up and saw a horse whose color was pale green. Its rider was named Death, and his companion was the Grave. These two were given authority over one-fourth of the earth, to kill with the sword and famine and disease and wild animals.” (Revelation 6:8)

  “Praise the LORD, who is my rock. He trains my hands for war and gives my fingers skill for battle.” (Psalm 144:1)

  CHAPTER ONE

  Surprises

  East of Atlanta, Monday, Three days after initial attacks

  Amir al-Razi checked into a nondescript hotel just off of the interstate. He paid with cash for two nights and kept the baseball cap that he was wearing pulled down low on his head. He kept his sunglasses on as well. The Indian clerk asked for his ID but Amir said that his wallet had been stolen. She handed him the key without any more questions.

  Amir backed his rental car into a parking space and walked up the stairs to his room. He carried a plastic bag of food and water that he had bought at a twenty-four hour convenience store and he had a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder. A skinny drug dealer wearing a Bob Marley tank top stepped in front of him on the stairwell and asked him what he needed. Al-Razi pulled up his shirt and let him see his pistol. “I need you to get out of my way,” he said quietly. The drug dealer scurried off.

  As he was unlocking his door, a rough looking prostitute stuck her head out of the room next to Amir’s. “If you need anything, handsome, you just come knock on my door,” she said. He didn’t even acknowledge her as he stepped inside his room.

  He flipped on the television to continue watching the coverage of his team’s attacks and the others that had been launched throughout the country. The jihad had begun. As he watched the news, he began to understand that the attacks that he had orchestrated in the Atlanta area had only been partial successes.

  The previous Friday night he had launched four teams of jihadi soldiers. Twenty-four warriors of Allah had been unleashed on Atlanta. One group, led by his lieutenant, Farouq Farhat, had attacked the Arbor Place Mall, just west of Atlanta. He witnessed part of that attack from his car in the parking lot. Amir had seen Farhat gunned down by Centers for Disease Control Enforcement Agents. They had also shot and killed the rest of his soldiers, but only after the martyrs had shot and infected many people inside the mall.

  A second team was stopped on the interstate before reaching their target in downtown Atlanta. They were going to attack an outdoor hip-hop concert in the heart of the city. Two of the CDC police officers managed to stop their van and kill all six of them before they could execute their attack. Al-Razi had seen the videos on the news. Just two of these federal police officers were able to stop his entire team of trained warriors. It was some consolation to hear that the officers had been wounded but the reports on the news indicated that their injuries were not severe.

  His third team made it to their target at the Six Flags Over Georgia amusement park. Another CDC officer engaged the van containing six more of his soldiers, killing two of them before they could get inside. The other four were able to get into the park to kill and inflict the bio-terror virus on many. The police managed to eliminate his people quickly but, by then, they had already done much damage.

  Amir’s fourth team had the most successful attack. They targeted the Atlanta Braves Stadium as the crowd was heading in for a 7:00pm baseball game. They were virtually unopposed and were able to kill many with their AK-47s before the virus took effect in the terrorists. Their rifles were no match for the police working security at the stadium. Four officers were killed and three others were wounded.

  All of his men had been given a syringe loaded with the latest version of the zombie virus. Their instructions were to inject themselves five minutes before their attacks commenced. They did not know it was the zombie virus but had been told that the injection would deaden them to pain and allow them to keep fighting, even after the police shot them. After the chemical took effect in them, they continued their assaults by biting and chewing on their victims, infecting them also. The police eventually killed all six of his soldiers, but by then they had infected many of the American infidels.

  The initial death count in the Atlanta attacks was over five hundred. Of course, new reports were coming in all the time of people who had gotten infected and then gone home to die or to turn into zombies later. These in turn, attacked their family and friends, continuing the spread of the virus. Now, three days later, the number of deaths was pushing towards a thousand in and around Atlanta.

  In some cities, such as Los Angeles and New York, though, the numbers of dead were much higher. They were reporting that entire neighborhoods had been infected. Suicide bombers had blown themselves up in crowded areas. The bomb materials had the virus mixed in with the shrapnel. Not only were many people killed by the explosions, many of them were also infected and quickly turned into monsters. National Guard units had been activated in several locations to help law enforcement contain and control the crisis.

  Amir had chosen not to use suicide bombers in these initial attacks. Americans were terrified of mass shootings so he chose to unleash his soldiers, armed with AKs and plenty of ammo. When the drugs in the syringe took affect, his men had died and reanimated as instruments of Allah’s wrath. While not complete failures, al-Razi knew that the death toll in his attacks had been kept lower because of the quick response of the CDC Response Teams, as well as the local police.

  Al-Razi wondered what his handler was thinking. Imam Ruhollah Ali Bukhari had suggested that Amir use suicide bombers but he had chosen to go in another direction. Many infidels had died in Atlanta so Amir hoped Bukhari would not be angry.

  The terrorist was happy with the results but would have been happier with more dead Americans. His hatred for the United States ran deep. He hated their arrogance and their affluence. He hated that they put pressure
on the United Nations and the international community to prevent Iran from having a nuclear program. And he especially hated their friendship with Israel. Maybe one day, Amir could spread the zombie virus among the Zionists, as well.

  He had always had a plan for a follow-up attack but had hoped that the first teams that he had launched would be sufficient. Since they were not, he would begin working immediately on implementing Jihad Atlanta, Phase Two. It would take him a couple of weeks to get his people and plans in place. That could actually work to his advantage. The Americans would be so focused on combating the infected that were already among them, he should be able to launch the second phase without any interference.

  This next wave of terror would involve targeting schools. He would begin working this week on a major attack at a large high school outside of the city. He also had plans to strike two of the large universities near Atlanta. These soft university students would experience a taste of holy war that would turn their campuses into graveyards of the walking dead. He still had a sufficient quantity of the virus to bring devastation to the enemies of Islam. Al-Razi knew that Bukhari would be pleased with Phase Two. The next few days should be very interesting, he thought.

  John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York, Wednesday, 1100 hours

  Alejandro “Hollywood” Estrada shook Detective Frank Walsh’s hand, got out of the unmarked detective car, grabbed his suitcase, and walked into the airport terminal. The limp was almost gone, his right leg almost healed.

  His time in New York had been short but he was glad he had come. His friend and co-worker, Marco Connolly, had been the first CDC officer to be killed in the line of duty. He had been attacked by three zombies the week before and overpowered. Marco had managed to shoot one of them before succumbing to his wounds. Alejandro had killed another one of the infected before they had attacked him, as well. His kevlar pants had kept the creature’s teeth from penetrating his skin, but the bite left him with a deep bruise just above his knee. Assistant team leader, Jimmy Jones, had killed the third zombie but there was nothing they could do for Marco.

  Estrada was thankful to have spent some time with Connolly’s family in New York. He had attended the wake, as well as the funeral. His boss, Rebecca Johnson, and his team leader, Eddie Marshall, would have liked to have been there but they were in the middle of dealing with the zombie virus and the aftermath of the terror attacks in Atlanta.

  He had flown to New York on one of the Department of Homeland Security’s small corporate jets. All commercial flights had been shut down for several days throughout the country after the bio-terror attacks in several major American cities. Now, he was flying back to Atlanta on a commercial flight. The terminal was packed with people trying to get on a plane but his federal police status had gotten him a flight without any problems.

  His first stop inside the airport was the TSA office. He had the letter that Rebecca had emailed him from one of the assistant directors of the DHS authorizing him to carry his weapon on the flight. Estrada’s 9mm Glock 17 was in a hip holster concealed by his navy blue blazer. He had two extra magazines for the pistol, a set of handcuffs, and his folding tactical knife. Of course, dealing with the Transportation Security Administration was on the same level as getting a root canal, even with an official letter and his own federal law enforcement credentials.

  George Carter was ready to get home. He had come to New York as he had been doing regularly for the last several years. He was an IT Specialist who came to the Big Apple once a month to visit his biggest client. George could and did solve most of their problems remotely from his office in Atlanta. This particular client, though, liked having George visit them to give their IT issues his personal touch. And, they were willing to pay the extra costs to have him visit.

  He had flown up the previous Thursday morning and should have flown home on Friday afternoon. With the nationwide terror attacks that had started on Friday afternoon, however, his flight had been cancelled. Today was the first open flight that he had been able to secure.

  George had served in the Army for five years as an Information Technology Specialist. After taking an honorable discharge, he had used the GI Bill to go back to school and get a Computer Science degree. Even at fifty-nine years of age, Carter had managed to stay relevant in the ever changing IT field. And his customers loved him.

  He had spoken to his wife several times over the weekend. She assured him that they were fine. The attacks had not affected them. They lived in an affluent neighborhood north of Atlanta. His wife told him that their two sons and their families were fine, as well. George hadn’t seen any of the “zombies” that they were talking about on the news but he had heard the police sirens almost non-stop around Manhattan. He had also learned from the news that a suicide bomber had blown himself up in a crowded subway station fifteen blocks from his hotel.

  George was relieved that his family was ok, but he was still stressed at being stuck in New York. He had never liked the city and hated being there any longer than he had to be. He felt his blood pressure rising. Or at least he felt the symptoms the doctor had shared with him that indicated his blood pressure was too high. His head had been hurting for the last couple of days and he had started feeling dizzy that morning.

  He was on medication to keep his blood pressure under control. He had ordered a new supply the previous week, before coming to New York. He had thrown it into his suitcase to have if he needed it. Now he needed it. On top of the stress of being away from his family, he hated flying. It was part of the job but he still didn’t enjoy it. He was a big man and he was never able to get comfortable in those airline seats.

  After getting through the security line and getting to his gate, George opened his carry-on bag and removed the medicine bottle. He was only supposed to take one pill but he took two instead. He felt terrible. He must have slept wrong the night before, he thought. His left shoulder and arm were both feeling a little numb.

  He began to feel better almost immediately as the medicine started to take effect. The pressure in his head began to ease and his shoulder started to feel better. Just a few more hours, he thought, and I’ll be home.

  The TSA Supervisor told Alejandro that there was no Federal Air Marshal on his flight. He would be seated towards the rear of the plane so that he would have a clear view of the cabin. A New York Transit Police Officer walked Estrada around the security line and pointed him towards his gate.

  He decided to board with the last group. If he was the de-facto air marshal, by getting on last he could scan the flyer’s faces for signs of trouble as he walked to his seat. He didn’t see anything or anyone out of the ordinary. There was a big black man seated ten rows up from him on the aisle that looked like he was having some problems. He had glanced up at Estrada and nodded at him.

  Military and law enforcement guys always seemed to recognize each other. He had an obvious military bearing to him but didn’t look like he was feeling well. That was one of the problems with flying, Alejandro thought. If there was someone with the flu on the plane, they could also inflict it on the rest of the passengers.

  The reprieve that George experienced after taking his medicine was short-lived. By the time he got on the plane, he was feeling much worse. He was hot, he was sweating, his head was hurting, his left shoulder was throbbing, and he was having trouble catching his breath. He reached up and turned the small fan on all the way. I’ll just close my eyes and take a nap, he thought. When I wake up, I’ll be home with my wife.

  He noticed the young Hispanic looking man walking down the aisle towards the rear of the plane. That must be the air marshal for the flight, Carter thought. He has that, ‘I’m a cop or soldier,’ look to him. As the plane started moving, George closed his eyes to rest.

  What he had no way of knowing was that the medicine he had consumed had been tainted with the zombie virus. Part of the initial attack was that several Iranian operatives, with a background in science and medicine, had been able to add the bio
-terror chemical to hundreds of medical packages which were then sent out to unsuspecting people all over the country.

  In George’s case, the medicine intensified the symptoms that he was already having, causing him to have a heart attack. The virus was in his blood stream. As the airliner nosed into the air, George Carter gasped and then died.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Terror at 35,000 Feet

  35,000 feet, Wednesday, 1215 hours

  Before takeoff, Alejandro was in his seat at the rear of the plane checking emails on his smartphone. A young, pretty flight attendant stopped in the aisle next to him. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

  He looked up and saw her smiling at him. Her name tag identified her as Isabella Rodriguez. Estrada had always gotten tongue-tied around girls and as he looked at Isabella, he couldn’t think of anything to say. He tried to formulate an intelligible response.

  “Sorry, I was just checking my email,” he finally managed to say. “I don’t think I need anything right now. So, are you working on this flight?”

  She laughed. “Yes, this my route. New York to Atlanta and back. What about you?”

  “No, I don’t work on this flight. I work at our office in Atlanta.” He felt hot. I’m making a complete idiot of myself, he thought.

  Isabella laughed again. She didn’t see a wedding ring on his hand. The flight crew had been told that a federal law enforcement officer would be on their flight and that he would be armed. She had seen him get on and thought that he was really nice looking. He carried himself with such confidence as he walked through the airplane. Now, he was having trouble putting his sentences together.