by Michael Bray
"Why, though? What is he trying to prove?"
"That I don’t know. Whatever it is, it seems he's planned for it and is executing it perfectly. I think whatever happens from here on, things will never be the same again."
They moved on, each happy with their own thoughts for a while. Sometimes, it was just better that way.
CHAPTER THREE
Presidential office
The Pentagon,
USA
Paul Carter paced, hands clasped behind his back after just being sworn in as President. He had waited for such a moment for as long as he could remember and yet felt somehow cheated. He didn’t want to take over the country in the middle of a global crisis. He had always hoped for a quiet, trouble free presidency much like that of his predecessor, however, it seemed he was going to get nothing even remotely like it. The devastation of the nuclear attacks was still sinking in, as were the repercussions which would be felt for years to come. Worse, and more disturbing than the lootings, the fires, the riots, the destruction and the overall crumbling of society were the reports coming in of the dead coming back to life. When he had first been told, he had actually laughed, remembering back to when he was a young boy watching George Romero's Dawn of the Dead. The genre of movies spawned a cult following, one which had seen a resurgence of late. Books, television programmes and movies covered the possibility of the dead coming back to life, and yet it was never something anyone believed possible.
Zombie.
He hated the word. It was one that every report he had received about them, both written and oral, had failed to use. He supposed it was for the same reason he had trouble with it. Zombie implied something born from fiction, something made up by fiction writers which couldn’t exist in the real world.
"Zombie."
He whispered it to himself in his office, the word sounding flat and lifeless as it left his lips.
No.
He couldn’t use that word. He couldn’t imagine the reaction from the public if people started to scream it on his say so, not that it mattered. He knew he was in an impossible situation. No matter what name the government gave to the phenomenon, people would still call them zombies. It was the go-to word, and to be fair, it was the best description for what they were, even if it wasn’t one the government was prepared to use. Fortunately, the public wasn't aware of the problem yet. The nuclear bombs and the death of the president had caused enough confusion and distraction to keep people’s focus away from it, which, however awful, was a small mercy. It was only a matter of time until somebody realised what was happening, and so he would approach it head on and let the public know what they were facing rather than waiting until people started to die.
A knock on the door broke his train of thought, as his assistant, a jittery barrel of a man called Bill Watson, strode into the room.
"What is it, Bill?"
"Mr. President, we just received word that both the Russian president and Italian prime minister have been assassinated. Attempts were made on the British and Dutch leaders but they survived."
"Our friends in the White House?" Carter said as he perched on the edge of his desk and rubbed his temples.
"Yes, Sir.”
“Is someone out looking for them?”
“No sir. We don’t have the resources right now.”
“Jesus Christ this is a nightmare. What else?”
Watson cleared this throat and wrung his hands. “Sir, we have widespread reports of civilians becoming infected and changing in major cities across the country. This is getting out of control."
"Jesus Christ. This is Fitzgerald’s fault. He should have acted when this first became a problem. Now he's left me to clean up his damn mess."
Watson said nothing, knowing it wasn’t his place to remind the new president that his former namesake had paid for his error with his life. Carter stood and walked to the painting on the wall of a Spanish vineyard, wishing he was there soaking up the expertly painted sun without a care in the world. "Do we have the death toll from the nuclear attacks yet?" he asked without turning away from the painting
"Estimates only, sir. It's chaos out there."
"So give me the numbers."
"Well, conservative estimates at the blast zones are anything around-"
"No, I don’t want conservative. Worst case scenario." He snapped, turning to face his Chief of Staff.
Watson cleared his throat. "Well, sir, taking into account fallout and density of population in the impact zones, we could be looking at up to twenty million dead."
"Twenty million? Jesus, this is worse than I thought. Twenty million…."
"That's not all, sir."
"Go on."
"The situation with the, uh, dead sir. It’s getting out of control. We have reports of this happening all over the country. We don’t have the resources to contain it."
"Reports are no good for me Watson, I need confirmation. Get a team out there and bring one of these... reanimates in. Test it. Find out what the hell makes it tick so we can stop it."
"Is that the term we're using sir, uh….Reanimates?" Watson asked.
"It's better than damn zombie. I need CDC in on this too, give them everything they need to figure this out. I want to know how infectious they are, how they work, how we can kill them. I also want the army mobilised and out on the streets. They're authorised to use lethal force if necessary to keep the peace. That goes for hostiles and civilians. People are rioting and looting out there and we need to keep control. This country will not fall apart on my watch."
"Yes, Sir."
Carter was shaking, partly from rage, a little through fear. “Get me a video conference with the world leaders. Make sure it's a secure line. I think it's clear that borders and politics don’t mean anything now. This is a fight we’re in together. I hope they see it the same way"
"I'll see who we can get, sir. As you can imagine, the rest of the world is as bogged down in this as we are."
"I understand that. Just do your best,"
"What about the White House sir? Are there plans to recapture it?" Watson asked.
"Have we made any headway on recapturing control of our nuclear weapons?" Carter asked.
"No sir. Whoever they used to hack into our systems have locked us out. The physical launch sites have also been compromised as have the destroyers in the Gulf of Mexico. We've lost control of our arsenal."
"Then the White House isn’t a priority. The last thing I want is to give these pricks an excuse to drop more nukes. Just please tell me we have something in the works that might give us a chance against these bastards."
"Actually, we do, or at least, we might. We have an agent inbound with a civilian who is supposed to be the next best expert on this after Genaro. He was the one who first discovered the species of monkey which were the basis of the Apex project research."
"Alright, I want to see him when he gets here. We need to get a grip on this, Bill. I refuse to go down in history as the president who oversaw the end of the world. Get the army down there doing their job. If people get out of line, they are authorised to use force to maintain order."
“Sir, President Fitzgerald thought-"
"President Fitzgerald is dead," Carter spat. "I'm in charge now and I’m not about to make the same mistake as he did by sitting on my hands and watching the world burn around me. Now call it a zombie, the undead, a reanimate or whatever you want. Just get one of them off the streets, cut it up and find a way to stop it."
"Yes sir," Watson said, making his leave.
Carter sat at his desk, inhaling as the soft leather took him into its embrace. His hands were shaking. He was clinging on to control by his fingertips and knew if he was to keep the faith of the people and his staff, he would need to make a series of tough decisions which might well prove unpopular, but necessary all the same. It was no longer a game of political posturing and gaining public popularity to ensure another term in office. He was up to his neck in a battle for the
survival of the human race, and it was one he had no intention of losing.
II
As President Carter paced his office and the world fell into chaos, the next phase of Joshua’s plan was put into action.
In the Atlantic Ocean, the U.S.S Bombardier was already under the control of the small team of Joshua’s men who had stowed away on board. Systematically, the ten-strong team had worked through the boat, maiming all within its network of narrow corridors bow to stern, top to bottom. With smoke lingering thick and heavy in its corridors and the bodies of its dead crew lying where they fell, the new team in charge of the vessel fired a missile into the air. On deck, the crew watched as the trail of smoke grew less and less visible as the projectile climbed ever higher.
Just outside the atmosphere of the earth, a vast floating junkyard orbited the planet, a sad and disturbing testament to mankind’s lack of care for their environment. Space shuttle debris from various missions floated in perpetual orbits, destined to live as evidence of the uncaring legacy of man long after the species had become extinct. Amid this floating mass of debris, were the various satellites required for the world to communicate. Everything from governments to telecommunications companies had launched them into space, where they sent and relayed information to their respective countries the world over. The first of the missiles struck home on one of the many American governed satellites, obliterating it and severing the communication abilities of the Americans. For the next five hours, the battleship fired missile after missile, bringing down satellites owned by the Chinese, Russians and British. Even the telecommunication satellites weren’t spared, their destruction blacking out mobile phone coverage followed by television satellites responsible for broadcasting television pictures to homes all over the world.
In one act, Joshua sent a world which was reliant on technology back to the Stone Age.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Apex virus had a different effect on women. Whereas the virus increased the testosterone levels of men, in women it increased their fertility. As part of his plan to repopulate the earth with his own superior species, Joshua had given orders for camps to be set up within hours of their assault on the White House, places where human prisoners could be placed to work for their superior evolutionary masters. Much like the Nazi concentration camps of the Second World War, people were captured on the streets by Joshua’s men and herded in like sheep, forced to work in barely humane conditions until they were physically and mentally broken as they sourced materials to construct the camps in the locations chosen prior to Joshua’s assault on humanity. The brief for Joshua’s men was simple. Destroy the sick, disabled and old, capture the young and strong. Some camps would be built from scratch using new materials, others would be set up in existing facilities, repurposed for the grand scheme Joshua had set into play. Joshua’s men had been efficient in their orders, killing without mercy and rounding up terrified citizens as the authorities fought in vain to stop them. Smouldering piles of bodies littered the streets as Joshua’s men rampaged murdered and raped with abandon, easily pushing back police and army resistance, each victory resulting in them changing more to their own kind, and commandeering weaponry and vehicles with which to continue spreading their plague. Local authorities, unable to communicate on anything but short wave radio, were thrown into disarray. Many had lost the will to fight, returning to families in the hope of ensuring their own safety. The ones who remained were outnumbered and outgunned.
The first camp went up in northern Canada against the bitter cold backdrop of barren snow-covered wastelands. Unlike their genetically enhanced captors who didn't feel the cold, for those who were transported to the bleak open plains, the chill bit hard enough to almost make them forget how afraid they were. Adults and children alike huddled together in fear of what was to come. Lumber was transported in flatbed trucks to the camp locations, which were, in turn, circled by the infected, who had commandeered weapons and vehicles to oversee construction and ensure nobody could escape. Men and children were put to work on constructing cabins in which to sleep when the day’s backbreaking work was done. Others set to digging great pits into the earth, deep holes where unbeknownst to them, the dead and those deemed useless would be tossed in their hundreds of thousands in the coming days before they could come back. Although Dr. Genaro knew how they returned to life, they were uncontrollable, mindless beasts driven on by its parasite to bite the nearest living thing it could in order to pass its seed onto a new host. The ones which didn't manage to find a host wandered perpetually, the virus keeping the vital functions of the brain alive just enough to operate the extremities and allow the host to shamble in search of a victim. Even though the virus could keep the body alive, it could not stop the process of decay. Some of the dead had already started to putrefy as organs settled, the gasses causing the stomach to bloat. Skin started to discolour and crack at the joints. Eyes became milky, unsighted globes staring ahead as the virus drove its decomposing vessel in search of a new host.
Other camps were set up around factories and steel mills which were heavily fortified by the ever growing armies and filled with terrified prisoners who had been snatched from the streets. Under Joshua’s orders, the women were separated from the men and placed into bespoke facilities for the sole purpose of breeding. All captured women of birthing age were to be infected with the virus, then have their heads shaved and placed into shackles. Under Joshua's orders, their old identities were to be forgotten. All of them from the day they were taken would be named simply as Eve, and would have to endure the horror of repeated and violent rape by Joshua’s men until pregnancy occurred. This horrific practice was Joshua’s plan to introduce the first natural births of their new race. Within the first days, thousands of women scattered across the globe would endure such violent and degrading brutality as Joshua enforced his plan with the ruthless determination he was becoming notorious for. Those who had been captured prayed for help, for someone to come and save them from the nightmare they were being forced to live.
In the wider world, however, the assembly of the camps went unnoticed amid the chaos of the nuclear explosions and the crumbling of society as Joshua’s men rampaged and bit and changed those they deemed worthy, and savaged and murdered those they did not. In their desperation, people turned on each other, reverting to the primal savagery which humanity had learned to forget since they became a civilised species. Smoke hung heavy in the air, a blanket of haze which smelled of burning flesh.
In the bullet-ridden shell of the White House, Joshua looked out over his domain.
CHAPTER FIVE
Draven, Kate & Herman
Arlington, Virginia
USA
Kate led them through the woods towards the Pentagon, which was just at the opposite end of the cemetery.
"Internet's down," Herman grunted as he shoved his phone in his jacket pocket and moved alongside Draven, matching his pace.
"Could be the reception under the tree cover," Draven replied. He had long since given up on trying to get through to his family by phone and was relying on Kate getting him some help at the Pentagon.
"Probably been shut down,” Herman grunted. “Did you know you shouldn’t access the internet by phone? The governments monitor it. They activate the handset speaker remotely and listen in to everything you say. They can even use the camera to take pictures. Big Brother is always watching, man. A buddy of mine told me."
Kate glared at Herman but said nothing. Draven couldn’t help but smile. "Well, maybe you can ask them about it yourself when we reach the Pentagon. Just be careful they don’t lock you up for spreading government secrets."
"Hey that’s not funny, man, that’s not funny at all."
"Sorry, I was just messing with you."
"I thought you believed in this stuff I-"
"Shh."
Draven and Herman both stopped speaking and looked ahead. Beyond Kate was a blue domed tent. Outside were boxes and supplies and a portable camping
stove. Beside the tent stood a brute of a man, all shoulders and beard. He was dressed in a khaki jacket and had a black beanie hat pulled down to the top of his eyebrows. Behind him, peering out from behind his legs like frightened deer, were a small boy and a girl, and beyond them, half in and half out of the tent was a woman who Draven presumed was the man's wife. The man was pointing a hunting rifle at them.
"I don’t want no trouble," he said as his wife climbed out of the tent and threw a protective arm around her children.
"Hey, take it easy, we don’t either," Draven said, noticing the man’s jacket and face was splattered with blood.
"This is our spot. You can’t be here." He grunted, adjusting his grip on the gun.
"Sir, I work for the United States government. You are impeding us. Lower your weapon and step aside." Kate cut in.
"You back off!" he shrieked.
"Kate, take it easy," Draven said, keeping a close eye on the rifle, then looking the man in the eye. "Hey, what's your name?"
"None of your fuckin' business," The man snapped. Draven could see he was frightened, which meant he was only a scare away from pulling the trigger.
"Please, I’m just trying to show you we're good people. My name's Richard. This is Kate and our friend Herman. As we said, we're just passing through."
"That’s what the guy on the road said."
"What guy?" Draven said, keeping his tone neutral.
"The guy who took our car. He looked like a nice guy, like you, but he put a gun in my wife’s face and stole our van. Now we're stuck here."
"Alan please, maybe we should listen to them," the man's wife said from his shoulder.
"Alan? Is that your name?" Draven asked.
The man nodded.
"Okay. Look, I understand what you're going through, I do. Whatever that other person did, I promise you, we won’t do that."
"I shot him," Alan blurted, his lip quivering before he took in a great gulp of air and clenched his teeth. "I had no choice. All our stuff was in the back. We would have died. I tried to warn him, I tried to tell him, but I had no choice. I... I killed him."