by Chuck Buda
“So? What do bad guys wear? In Westerns?”
Swede asked, “Black?”
“That’s right. Bad guys wear black. And what color do you always bet on?”
“Black.” Swede sat up straight with more confidence.
“Correct. Which means we are destined to win this time.”
Swede exhaled. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Jack rubbed his palms together. “Well, it was worth a shot.”
He rose and slapped his hand on Swede’s back. “I’m gonna get some rest before our big moment arrives.” Swede’s eyes burned holes in Jack’s back. He knew his friend would spend the rest of the night trying to figure out Jack’s failed pep talk. He didn’t mind. The longer Swede worked out the fuzzy logic, the more rest Jack would get before Swede’s snores disturbed him.
A quiet confidence followed Jack. He always had faith in himself and his abilities to get out of trouble. Jack had lost his confidence for a bit. However, it was back. And Jack felt like he could do anything.
Like defeat Muncie.
Chapter 16
Dr. Shipley fought the urge to gag. The smell of the rotted flesh had been more pungent than he had anticipated. He remembered working with cadavers in medical school but they had all been fresh and “cared for” to ensure the delicate little students could further their educations without tossing their lunches all over the labs.
Some still puked anyway.
The needle plunged through the yellowed flesh like a hole punch through soggy paper. The zombie strained at the leather restraints. Dr. Shipley almost reached out to slap the creature as if it were a child who refused to sit still. He caught himself before acting on his aggravation.
He had to hurry with his tests before Dixie and Samantha awoke. His time alone was very erratic as they threesome worked tirelessly to continue the Warden’s plan. Little did the women know that Shipley had a side project going simultaneously. He worried his findings would be inconclusive because he couldn’t spend enough time studying and documenting the results. Shipley had to steal away moments in between his real job and the persistent presence of his assistants.
So far, Dr. Shipley had been able to slow the dying process down so bitten victims could “live” amongst the uninfected for a period of time before the jig would be up. He found, in his very limited sample, that his special serum would NOT protect the living from the virus. Thus, the doctor could continue to give injections to the guards and prisoners so they would believe they were immune to the virus. The serum provided a surge of adrenaline, fooling the recipients to believe they were still being given the HGH to fend off the germ. It would further work to slow the dying process so they would be fooled into thinking they were still good to go.
Oh, they’d be good to go, alright. Good to go to their graves.
Dr. Shipley squeezed the bridge of his nose. The numbers on his charts began to swirl like a colony of ants walking across the clipboard.
The zombie moaned. It snapped its teeth together as it leaned toward the doctor.
He glanced at his watch. The nurses would be rising from the brief slumber in ten minutes. His time for finishing the tests was evaporating. Dr. Shipley’s stomach sank as he thought about the downside of his magical elixir.
Warden Gorgon.
Shipley could control the serum to ensure nobody survived the outbreak. But he had no clue what kind of effect it would have on the Warden’s silent commands. If the Warden failed to use the creatures as he saw fit, at least until he fell ill himself, then the game would be over. Gorgon would realize the serum had been tampered with and he would see to Shipley’s immediate disposal.
Or would he? Maybe the Warden would understand that Shipley was a necessity for his strategy. He would definitely punish Shipley. Of that he had no doubt. But Gorgon might come to the conclusion that he couldn’t dispatch the doctor without giving up on his dream for success.
Then again, Warden Gorgon might employ Dixie or Samantha to continue the process in Shipley’s absence. Gorgon would have them use his notes, taking the chance they could figure it out and move forward.
Dr. Shipley shook off his fears. It was too late at this juncture. He had started the boulder rolling downhill and there was only time left to hang on and hope for the best.
The zombie thrashed and fought against the cuffs. Shipley stared at the empty pupils, wondering what he would feel like if the virus overtook him. He imagined himself inside the unsightly beast, hungering for human flesh. Shipley thought about the awful taste of raw human innards and organ meat. The slippery texture and horrific smells bottled inside the caverns of the human body. Pumping and twitching as they tried to do their jobs before the final signal is shut down like a light switch.
Dr. Shipley stifled another gag. His hand clasped his lips to ensure the reverse peristalsis wouldn’t evacuate his stomach contents.
He labored to jot some more thoughts into his notes. A star drawn alongside the top margin reminded him to lock away his findings in case the worst came to fruition. Dr. Shipley had no intention of his assistants finding the formulas or information. If he died, all his research would go with him. It was his trump card. The only thing he could use to save his ass from Gorgon or Muncie.
Dr. Shipley couldn’t wait for Muncie to die. If there was one person left in the world who Shipley hated most, Muncie took the cake. He looked forward to revealing his hand in the dying process. Shipley had daydreamed about looking into Muncie’s eyes as the light faded and explaining how he had fooled the large man. Outwitted him. Mind over matter. Seeing the comprehension wash over Muncie’s expression. That would be worth the price of admission.
He hurried to finish scribbling his notes. As he closed his notebook, Dr. Shipley tossed it into the duffel bag hanging on the back of the wheelchair. He pulled another needle from the table and tested the flow of liquid. He injected the zombie in the carotid artery. The rush quickly silenced the zombie. It slumped into the wheelchair, asleep with its undead dreams. Shipley rushed the wheelchair into the holding cell. He turned off the light, closed the door and locked it up.
Dr. Shipley returned to the lab table. He rooted around in a drawer, halfway down the cabinet. Underneath a stack of supply boxes, he fished out what looked like a tube of elongated wooden swabs. Hidden in the center of the tube was a baggy full of syringes. He retrieved one, removed the cap and flicked the plastic with his fingernail. Shipley took a deep breath and then stuck the needle into the bulging vein on his forearm.
The icy hot liquid drained him of his strength. He felt the perspiration dot his forehead as his body worked to assimilate the foreign substance.
His strength quickly returned. Dr. Shipley felt like a new man. Powerful. Alert.
Violent.
Chapter 17
Muncie had to get even. Hell would freeze over before he would allow anyone to get the best of him. Especially, Crawford. Muncie nursed his wounds in the locker room. Then he gathered a few of his loyal men for a new mission.
Seek and destroy.
He had hummed the old Metallica song in his mind as he led the way to Crawford’s men.
They snatched the first guard they found. A tall skinny fucker named Turner. The guy had some gray hair as if he were in his mid-forties. Yet, he sported an acne-riddled complexion.
“You’re as fucking ugly as they are.” Muncie mocked the guard as they dragged him away. Two men held the guard by the shoulders while the other two collected his legs. Muncie’s men carried Turner like he was a battering ram. They hauled him down to the basement, following Muncie’s path.
The final destination was the cage.
Inside the cage, a zombie lumbered around the bars. It slavered and chomped at the sight of the men as they entered the large room.
“Stop. Why are you doing this?” Turner struggled against the men who readied him for the cage.
“Just because.” Muncie shoved Turner inside the door. He slammed it shut and twisted the
key in the lock. “Just because you are Crawford’s.”
Muncie reared his head back and laughed.
His men joined in. They slapped the cage bars with their night sticks, creating a cacophony of chaos. Turner pressed himself as far back into the bars as he could manage. The zombie hissed in his direction. It sauntered at Turner. The frightened guard howled and ran along the outer rim of the cage to avoid the creature which hunted him.
Muncie decided to taunt Turner.
“You have to fight it or it will eat you. Your only chance is to kill it.”
“How the fuck do I kill it?” Turner’s mouth wailed with terror.
Muncie’s men increased their hooting and hollering. They shouted and jammed their clubs in between the bars to keep Turner from melting into the gaps. Muncie enjoyed the spectacle. He’d get his revenge on Crawford soon enough. After the beating he’d endured, Muncie wished to get a little revenge through some fun and games.
He’d save the real prize of killing Crawford with his own bare hands for later. Once he felt more himself. Now, he’d sit back and enjoy the show.
Turner tripped over one of the batons. He’d been paying attention to the whereabouts of the monster as he ran, not seeing the trap Muncie’s men had designed for him. He hurried to his feet but the zombie was upon him. It tried to bite into his neck. As Turner scrambled to his feet, the chomping teeth slid away from his neck. The drooling mouth clamped down on Turner’s back, but it only had a grip on his uniform. Turner shrieked as if he had seen a ghost. He used his arms to swat at the thing which hung from his back. A quick about-face shook the zombie from Turner’s torso. The creature flopped to the cement floor with a hollow thud.
Turner kicked the zombie’s face. It displaced the jaw to one side. The creature continued to snap its teeth together even though the bottom half mismatched the upper teeth. Turner kicked again. The second kick smashed the side of the zombie’s head. It opened a gash along the temple and disappearing beneath its hairline. A dark goo leaked from the wound.
Muncie doubled over with enjoyment.
His men encouraged the zombie to get up, as if it could listen to them and understand their excitement.
The zombie looked in the direction of the men who made all the noise. It growled.
Turner had returned to end his horror. He swung a couple punches at the back of the zombie’s skull. The shots connected without deterring the zombie from circling around toward the annoyance. It lunged at Turner, catching him in its grasp. Turner had gotten too close to throw his punches. He hadn’t thought it through. The zombie dug into Turner’s chest, right beneath his neck. The teeth sunk through the uniform, opening a gaping wound. Blood squirted to the ceiling as Turner screamed.
Muncie laughed. He stared at Turner’s Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down, carrying terrified sirens from his diaphragm to the heavens above.
Turner fell backwards. He landed against the corner of the cage, pinned underneath the monster which fed upon his flesh. As he unsuccessfully fought against the zombie, Muncie’s men jabbed their clubs through the bars of the cage, increasing the damage to their fallen cohort. A few pokes opened fresh wounds on the top of Turner’s skull. He lost consciousness; His eyes rolled back into their sockets. The screaming ceased. The only sound beyond the cheers of Muncie’s men was the slurping of the meat as it was eaten right from the living host.
Muncie clapped his hands. He shouted with the remaining strength he had.
“Fuck yeah. Take that you piece of shit.”
“What the fuck is going on here?”
The sound of the Warden’s voice froze Muncie’s blood in his veins. He stiffened and turned in the direction of his boss.
Warden Gorgon stood in the doorway to the basement. He stood alone.
Muncie slowly regained his confidence. He glared at Gorgon.
“I said, what is going on here?”
Muncie tapped his palm with his night stick. His men quieted, following the new confrontation like spectators at a tennis match. Behind them all, the zombie continued to feed with distasteful noises.
“Nothing really.”
“It doesn’t look or sound like nothing.” Warden Gorgon stepped further into the room. His face reddened with hostility which warmed Muncie’s soul.
“A little entertainment never hurt anybody.”
Warden Gorgon stepped closer. “It seems to have hurt somebody.” He pointed at the bloodied corpse of what used to be Turner.
Muncie turned sideways. He pointed at the soupy mess in the corner of the cage. “You can come take a closer look if you’d like.” He grinned sheepishly at the Warden. Muncie was proud of himself. He had the Warden right where he wanted him.
What a great day. Killed one of Crawford’s men. And now I’m going to kill Warden Gorgon.
Chapter 18
The Warden seethed. In his mind, the cage had been off limits to anyone except him. He had never even considered that Muncie or anyone else would venture into the basement for any reason whatsoever. Let alone to play in the cage.
Where did the zombie come from?
“How did you get one of the infected?”
“I borrowed it from A-Pod.”
Gorgon narrowed his eyes. Muncie had returned to A-Pod behind his back. And helped himself to the monsters contained within. He was beside himself with rage. The time to eliminate Muncie had arrived earlier than the Warden had anticipated.
“Get in the cage. Now!”
Muncie looked at his men and laughed.
Gorgon refused to put up with the insubordination.
“Men, please place Muncie in the cage right now.” Warden Gorgon waited as the men exchanged nervous glances. Muncie glowered at them, daring them to listen to the Warden. Perhaps Muncie had underestimated his men’s loyalty.
“Let me rephrase it. If you don’t put Muncie in the cage then each of you will suffer the same fate as Turner.”
The men shifted, unsure of how to proceed. Muncie glared at the Warden.
“You wouldn’t dare.” Muncie stepped in the Warden’s direction.
“Double rations for the man who obeys my orders. And an opportunity to become my second-in-command.”
Two of the men grabbed Muncie by the arms. He struggled against their hold. The other two guards stared at their feet. They appeared to be afraid of manhandling their boss. But they did nothing to save his hide either.
Muncie screamed at the Warden as his men stuffed him inside the cage. The zombie ignored the addition as it continued to feed on the pile of Turner. Gorgon grinned at Muncie. He figured he would enjoy Muncie’s demise but he had never dreamed it would be this delightful.
Gorgon reached out to the monster in the cage. It lifted its head as if it had picked up a radio signal from a tower on a mountain. The zombie spun its head in Muncie’s direction. It hissed with oozing remnants of meat caught between its teeth.
Muncie’s eyes grew wide.
The Warden used his mind-speak to instruct the zombie to rise and chase Muncie.
With a deafening war cry, Muncie charged forward. He submarined the zombie at the knees. Both bodies slammed to the floor. Muncie slid in the goo that had leaked from what used to be considered Turner. He jumped to his feet and spun to face the zombie.
Gorgon hadn’t been surprised by Muncie’s aggression but he was surprised at how quickly the man had responded to the threat. The Warden concentrated, talking the monster through the next steps of terminating its objective. The zombie crawled along the sticky floor like an enormous spider. It collected a few kicks from Muncie for its attempts to get at him. The monster snatched Muncie’s foot out of the air and brought it to the gaping maw which opened wide. Muncie howled as he tried to yank his foot free. The zombie’s hold was too strong. It used the strength of the Warden’s insistence to slowly bring the foot closer to its gnashing teeth.
Muncie swung his elbow down upon the zombie’s cranium. The swift move halted the progression of his foo
t but it wasn’t enough to loosen the grip. He threw his weight down on top of the zombie, effectively freeing his limb and placing him in an optimal position to control the fight.
Gorgon gritted his teeth. He wanted to climb into the cage himself and rip Muncie’s flesh from his bones. His determination increased with words to get the zombie out of trouble. He told it to bite anything it could get its mouth near. Warden Gorgon new one bite was all it would take to end the tyranny of his top soldier. He’d prefer a unanimous decision, like the creature making a long meal of Muncie’s meat. But he’d settle for a slow, rotting, painful death. As long as Muncie died. Died knowing he lost to Gorgon.
The zombie shifted beneath the weight of Muncie. It worked to grab a hold of any appendage it could get a hold of. Muncie rounded the top of the creature like a high school wrestler. Each move avoided a hold. The motion kept Muncie busy, not allowing him time to go on the offensive.
Gorgon moved closer to the cage. He ignored Muncie’s men who stepped aside to allow the Warden nearer the battle. The Warden hoped to boost his signal by drawing closer. He lowered his head as if he were throwing his frontal lobe into the cage. The commands came fast and loud from his brain.
Muncie found himself in trouble. The zombie had snatched a hold of his elbow and it tugged the arm into an awkward position. Tendons and ligaments strained to the point of snapping. Muncie growled in pain. The Warden grabbed a hold of the bars, thrusting his head between the iron. He felt the victory just inches away. Muncie’s cheeks puffed wide with effort as he fought to keep his arm from snapping in half. The Warden licked his lips, tasting the spoils of war.
In a chaotic motion, Muncie rolled his free arm around the zombie’s face. He dug his fingers into the creature’s eyeballs. The zombie continued to fight, unaware its eyes had become wrecked pools of slime like the broken yoke of a sunny side egg. Muncie screamed, giving himself an extra surge of strength.