The Apocalypse Crusade (Book 1): War of the Undead Day One

by Peter Meredith

  His second briefing, which came five minutes later, had him thinking all of this was some big prank. “Zombies?" he laughed. "Ok, that is funny. Who’s behind this? Is it Colonel Becker? That old dog is going to pay for getting me up in the middle of the night for a joke.”

  “It’s no joke, General. Like I said, you will be dealing with zombies.”

  “Listen lady, I don’t know who you are or who you think…”

  “General, I swear this is on the up and up. I’ve diverted a helicopter to your home. It will be there in four minutes. I suggest you get dressed.”

  “Who is this?” he asked.

  “Courtney Shaw.” She had already overstepped her bounds to such an extent that it didn’t seem right to start going half-assed now. She had commandeered an air-ambulance unit from a hospital in Newburgh by invoking the governor’s name—she figured he’d thank her later.

  “I’ve also taken the liberty of starting your call-chain for the 27th, the 50th, and the 86th infantry brigades. When can we expect full muster, do you think?”

  Collins sputtered at this: “You did…you did what? I’m only authorized to call up the 27th. Who is this?”

  “Courtney Shaw. I’m sorta with the governor’s office. Listen, General. I’ve been on the ground from the beginning with this. Until you see for yourself, you’re going to have to trust me.” The sound of the helicopter overhead had him thinking he didn’t really have any choice.

  Half-dressed, Collins kissed his wife goodbye and then ducked under the spinning blades of the copter that sat smack down in the middle of his street. Eight minutes later he was circling over the Walton facility. The little craft bounced and rocked as the heat of the fire roiled the air.

  Down below people were walking around. There weren’t nearly as many of them as he’d been led to believe. “I only count sixty or so, Courtney. What happened to the hundreds you mentioned?” Sixty didn’t seem like a lot when he was safe in his helicopter.

  Courtney had a fair count going that matched up with the breathless tales of horror the fleeing state troopers had given her. “They must have dispersed, sir. I’ve taken the liberty of calling up the 3rd battalion of your aviation unit. They’re the ones with the Blackhawks, right?”

  “I…I…yeah, but…” Collins was about to ask who she was again and how she knew so much about his own unit when she answered the unspoken question.

  “It’s all on Wikipedia. I figured you’d need to start ferrying your troops as soon as possible, though we should begin with Poughkeepsie. The outbreak there is far worse and the containment logistics are a nightmare.”

  “What can we expect from local law enforcement?” Collins asked into the mike.

  Courtney looked at her board. It was a chaos of flashing lights. Next to her, Renee was busy trying to find out where all the state troopers were, who was dead, who was driving off to who knew where and who was coming to their rescue. “Until morning you won’t have more than a handful," Courtney answered. "Which reminds me, what are your orders concerning the zombies? I hope to God they are to shoot on sight.”

  “I don’t have that authority,” the general replied.

  “Then I better call up the Pennsylvania guard because your men don’t stand a chance.”

  “You’re out of line,” Collins snapped. “My men are some of the most highly trained warriors in the world…”

  “But you just said they won’t be fighting. By the time the zombies are on you, it’s too late. Hold on, General. I’m going to put you through to some of my troopers. If they don’t convince you, then God help your men.”

  “Stop with the melodramatics!” Collins growled. “The rules of engagement are not up to me. They’re up to the governor and maybe even the president. You need to convince them that killing their own citizens is the best course of action.”

  Courtney sat back in her chair listening to the steady hum of the other operators. Two more had been called in. They were under strict orders to ignore all calls from within Poughkeepsie—the general consensus was that the little city was doomed. They were to concentrate on anything suspicious outside the city limits; they had to know how far this thing was spreading.

  The callboard in front of her was blinking like mad, almost all the lights were representing people in dire trouble. Ninety-nine percent were coming from within the city. The board made Courtney sick. “There’s only one way to convince the governor and that’s to convince you, General. I’m going to send you to Poughkeepsie so you can see for yourself.”

  Collins resented the idea that this nobody was going to “send” him anywhere, but she was right. He had to see for himself.

  The helicopter touched down in a field outside the city where the remnants of the state troopers and the emergency personnel who had fled Walton had congregated. He began barking orders the second he stepped away from the rotors and such was his presence that very quickly he was outfitted with a bio-suit and a handgun. Volunteers were asked for to escort him into the city. They were a dispirited and beaten lot and only one man held up a hand.

  Trooper Gavin Jones had killed four zombies that night, two at point blank range and he was starting to get a thumping bad headache and being surrounded by pussies annoyed him.

  He donned a bio-suit as well, and then they were off. Jones tore down the two-lane road without his emergency lights flashing. He noted the general holding onto the oh shit bar with both hands and smirked. “You’ll be fine, General, there are very few drunks out on a Monday night. ‘Sides, it might be a blessing if we roll this bitch.”

  They didn’t crash. The trooper drove right into the heart of Poughkeepsie and killed the engine. From all around them came sporadic gunshots and every once in a while a scream or two.

  One was particularly close. The trooper slid out of the cruiser, dropped his hood over his face, and drew his weapon. Collins hesitated until the trooper ducked back in. “You wanted to see what’s going on, now's your fucking chance.”

  Collins started to make an angry reply, but Jones was already walking off down a side street. General Collins hurried to catch up and again was about to snap at the trooper, but just then they passed two bodies: one completely inert, the other crawling. “That’s going to be one of them,” the trooper said in a low voice. “See its neck? See all the bite marks? That used to be some guy but now it’s a zombie.”

  The zombie started crawling toward them and Collins took a few mincing steps back, completely disgusted by the thing. “How’s it even alive?”

  “I thought you were with the government,” the trooper said. “You should be telling me not the other way around. Oh, wait…here we go.” An actual walking zombie had just come out of someone’s garage and was crossing the street, coming toward the two men. Its face dripped red with fresh blood. “That’s a real walking zombie. It can’t be killed, I don’t think. I saw one with four bullet holes right through it, walking around like it was nothing. I’d love to know why you government boys started all this shit.”

  “The government didn’t start this,” Collins shot back. “And you had better start speaking to me with a little respect if you want to keep your job.”

  “Ha!” the trooper laughed derisively. “That’s a joke. After tonight I’m pretty sure you can take this job and shove it up your ass.”

  He was being extremely loud and the general grew even more nervous. “If that’s your attitude, why did you volunteer to come out here with me?”

  “Because…because I’m in the mood to kill.” The trooper raised his gun, turned his head so that he could see better through the mask and then squeezed off a round.

  “Did you miss?” Collins asked. The zombie hadn’t even twitched.

  “Of course I didn’t fucking miss, look at his fucking shirt.” There was a hole in the thing almost dead center. The trooper shot twice more, hitting dead center both times. The last shot definitely slowed the beast. It staggered and began to walk off at a little diagonal as if he were a sailboat
fighting an unfavorable breeze.

  “See? You can’t kill them.” Forgetting the zombie, the trooper began to walk back to his cruiser.

  Collins took aim with his own weapon. It wasn’t easy with the hood threatening to drop down over his eyes and his hands encased in rubber. He waited until the zombie was practically right on top of him before he shot it through the forehead.

  It flopped right over. “Not impossible to kill, but very, very difficult,” he whispered to himself.

  When he got back into the cruiser he dialed Courtney Shaw. “You were right. These things have to be destroyed, especially if they’re as contagious as you say.”

  “It may be worse,” Courtney replied. “Do you want me to schedule you to see the governor?”

  He agreed that it had to be done and a meeting was set up. After giving a few instructions to the state police and the fire fighters gathered at the edge of town he left to convince a governor of the necessity of mass scale murder of his own constituents.

  While he was gone a command post was supposed to have been set up by the troopers, but it was left half done because, after about an hour, some of them took it upon themselves to kill the rest.

  Just like that, the disease had spread outside the city limits.

  4

  Anna ran for the front door, afraid that the explosion would drop the whole building on her head, however once she hit the rainy night air, a new fear struck her as far more urgent: a zombie battle was going on just outside the gates, and there were others of the undead going here and there, crisscrossing the lawn right in front of her.

  She knew she couldn't stand right there in the open so she scurried beneath one of the cherry trees. Under its new blossoms she paused to put her shoes on and that was when Von Braun materialized like a ghost out of the dark. He looked like a cross between a zombie and a psycho-killer. Clearly, he was out of control. His splintered teeth were like fangs in his dank mouth and his hunger was obvious.

  In a fury, he came right at her. “Where the fuck have you been, you little whore-bitch-cun…”

  The explosion on the third floor saved her. It started with a pulse of air that first went in toward the building and then blew out a millisecond later striking them like a wall of solid wind. Anna was thrown to the ground where she hid from the violence tearing up the sky behind her up-thrust arms.

  Von Braun went from being on the verge of murdering Anna to lying flat on his back, staring up as the night went from a dull black to a painful, brilliant white. “Holy fuck!” he cried as the light seared his eyes and then he too was squinting and cringing as a rain of glass and steel came down from the angry heavens. Anna had the tree to protect her, but he was exposed and bled from a thousand holes.

  Half a minute later she had recovered from the explosion and tried to make a run for it, thinking that pain or injury would have slowed Von Braun down, but he was on his feet even faster than she. “Where the fuck are you going?” he raged.

  In her fear of him she backed away, tripping on a root and plopping down. “To…to find you. I came out here to find you. The way’s clear. Look.” She pointed up where the building was blazing away, casting the night in an aura of yellow. In all its destruction, the building was such a captivating sight that she stared opened mouth until he cursed at her.

  “What did you do?" he cried, pointing up at the building. "You fuck-bitch. Shit! Shit! Fuck! You destroyed it. You killed the cure, didn’t you?”

  “No, I swear. It’s…it’s still there. They…the cure is in paper cups right upstairs. On the fourth floor remember? Remember the stairs?”

  His mouth came open as his mind struggled to understand. “Upstairs?” He looked up and the fire was reflected in the wet blackness of his eyes—it looked as though his brain was alight and burning him up from the inside out.

  “Yes, right up there is the cure," she said in a whisper. "You can be normal again. How do you like the sound of that?” She was so close to escaping, so close to being done with this whole hated night that her desire must have been heard in her voice.

  Von Braun looked at her with contempt. “What about the doors? They’re still locked aren’t they? And what about the fire? It’ll burn me, I fucking know it.”

  "Not if you use the elevator," she said, quickly. "It'll shoot you right past the fire."

  "Yeah...it could. Ok, let's go." He reached for her hand and she pulled back. "You're coming with me," he growled, advancing on her. She couldn't run, not barefoot and not with the ground covered in glass.

  "Yes, but let me get my shoes..."

  "You'll just run away, won't you? That's right, isn't it whore-bitch-shit."

  "No, I won't, I promise. See? I'm with you." Stuck, she began to pick her way back to the hospital. With every other step she winced as something stabbed or sliced at her feet.

  Von Braun smirked, enjoying her pain and the smell of her blood. It put him in a good mood. He even kicked glass at her bare legs just to watch her squirm. It was intoxicating to him and a boner started to form in his pants. Will I fuck her corpse? he wondered. It was a given that he would kill her, but what would he do after he ate his fill? The thought was enticing. He followed her to the building, drooling out a line of black phlegm from his grinning mouth.

  The sudden appearance of a stranger with a gun in his hand killed his mood.

  "Eng," Anna said, amazed. She saw the gun. It didn't make sense. Eng was the epitome of a nerd and nerds didn't carry guns. Though just then she didn't need it to make sense. "You have to help me. Kill it, please. Use the gun on him."

  Von Braun was slow to realize she was meaning himself. "What the fuck?" he demanded. "You can't do that, we're a fucking team." He knew what a gun was for. He couldn't tell you what a tea cozy was or who the Vice President was, or even the names of any of his nieces or nephews, but guns were deeply entrenched in his memory.

  "Don't listen to him, Eng," Anna pleaded. "He's a zombie. You can't trust him."

  A snort escaped Eng. "I can't trust him? You were the one who set the fire. I'm pretty sure I can't trust you either."

  Anna's brows shot up. "Your accent! Where did your accent...it was you! You sabotaged the experiment." Eng's gun shifted from Von Braun to point square into her face. The black hole in the front of the barrel was so small yet so deadly. It was captivating; she couldn't stop staring at it. “Don’t...don't waste the bullet on me,” she whispered. “Think about it, Eng, there’s too many of them. If you shoot me, they'll hear and you’ll never get away. I'm not worth that, ok? I'm not worth a bullet.”

  His eyes flicked to the battle between the state troopers and the zombie horde. It was winding down with more screams than gunshots. He still had time. "But you're the only one left alive who knows my secret. I can't leave loose ends." He smirked suddenly. "I know I've been in America for too long when I start to sound like one of your movies."

  "Please don't," Anna begged. "I'll do anything." The gun wavered as his eyes swept up and down her. She began to nod. "Anything. Anything you want."

  Despite her disheveled appearance, Anna was still strikingly beautiful and many of Eng's fantasies concerning her popped into his mind. The gun wavered. He smiled and Anna tried not to blanch at it. "Ok. I like that. But it will be anything or else."

  "Yeah, sure...anything you want," she said, feeling relieved and sickened at the same time. "Just one thing, kill him." She jerked her thumb at Von Braun.

  With the blackness eating away at his mind, Von Braun couldn't understand any motivation beyond his own. He had watched the two scientists talking and couldn't follow a word of it until Anna said, kill him. That he understood all too well.

  "No! Shit-fuck, no!" he yelled. "You promised me the cure and I want it." He pushed Anna aside and advanced on Eng who leveled the gun but didn't pull the trigger.

  "Shoot him!" Anna demanded.

  "Why?" Eng wondered. "If he wants to go inside that's fine with me."

  "I do," Von Braun said. He hated
the gun and he hated the chink, but damn it, he needed the fucking cure. "Get out of my way, you uppity chink. The cure is in there."

  Eng stepped aside and Von Braun rushed inside. He ignored the potted plant Eng had stuck in the elevator doorway and began jabbing the number four. When the door repeatedly bashed up against the plant he flew into a rage, kicking the plant over and over again even after it had rolled out into the lobby. Behind him the door finally closed.

  "Fuck!" he screamed, before attacking the door with his fists. He was still hammering on it two minutes later when it opened and an amazing number of people spilled out. The first thing Von Braun saw was a mop smacking him in the face. It was wet and stank of the worst aspects of a men's room.

  Before he could grab it and pull it away, something sharp bit into his right shoulder; then something else jabbed him in the abdomen. He was thrust backwards until his feet tripped over each other, where upon he was practically trampled as the elevator emptied.

  All he could do was curse until the mop was removed. He leapt up spitting mad, intent upon revenge only he was now confronted with a real choice. He could either attack the shit-fuck with the mop and make him pay in blood, or he could stop the elevator door from closing. The zombie in him wanted to kill and rip and gorge himself. The man wanted to live and think and reason once again. It didn't matter that his reasoning before getting the disease wasn't all that much different from the way it was now: filled with hate and rage, he wanted his mind back.

  He went for the elevator.

  Eng saw none of this. He had grabbed hold of Anna's arm and had marched off into the parking lot, glad for another reason about keeping her. He was fully prepared to throw her at the first zombie to come his way. The .38 in his hand seemed pathetic against the ferocity of the beasts.

  Fortune was with them. The night's darkness and the pelting rain hid the two of them, making them look like little more than passing shadows. They made it to Eng's Nissan Sentra; he thrust her into the passenger seat and walked around to his side with the gun pointed at her through the windows. He needn't have bothered; she wasn't going to risk running away when there were a couple of hundred zombies somewhere out in the dark, not barefoot and with her feet bleeding all over the place.