He could not wipe the gore off fast enough.
The zombie’s torso bolted forward on account of the impact of the blast from Painter’s Glock then just as quickly reversed direction and slammed its back against the ground, dead for good this time, Halverson hoped.
“I must’ve missed its tiny brain the first time,” said Painter.
He holstered his pistol.
Painter’s remark sounded like a joke to Halverson, but nobody laughed.
“I wish I could figure out what’s going on,” said Rogers.
Lemans ran his hand down his face. “Not you, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind.”
“Is that some kind of snide comment?”
“Let’s figure out what kind of gambling system we’ll use with the zombies. I suggest a pari-mutuel type system similar to that used at horse races.”
Rogers ignored him. “I don’t feel like I’m part of anything.”
“Here we go,” said Lemans wearily.
“I never did, really. I feel like Major Tom in that David Bowie song. I float around in a tin can going back and forth across the country, but I don’t belong anywhere. I feel sealed off from everyone. I might as well be some alien. I have no life. I hardly ever see my wife. We have no kids.”
Lemans yawned. “Why do you think we want to listen to your life story?”
“We’re all at the end of our ropes with exhaustion,” said Halverson.
“How does that song go?” said Rogers. He began singing, “Air traffic control to—”
“I don’t know anything about a tin can, but you definitely have a tin ear,” said Lemans.
“That settles it,” said Painter. “You’re staying here with us. None of you are in any shape to go on.”
“I don’t know about Rogers,” Tom said sotto voce to Halverson. “Is he losing it?”
“Like all the rest of us,” said Halverson.
“Yeah. I know what you mean. Still . . .”
Halverson looked up at the wooden crucifixes with zombies writhing on them surrounding the stadium. The zombies’ wrists were nailed to the ends of the crossbeams. Their ankles were crossed and nailed to the posts sunken in the earth.
The world was going mad, Halverson decided.
“What happened to Ray and Foster and the passengers in the van?” asked Tom. “I don’t see any of them in this compound.” He scanned the school buildings and the schoolyard. “Did they escape Painter and his crew?”
Halverson saw no reason to beat around the bush. “Zombies got them.”
“No. Say it ain’t so.” Tom gazed at Halverson’s earnest face. Tom’s spirits sank. He could tell from Halverson’s expression it was true.
“The things surrounded the van and tipped it over. Ray and the others never had a chance.”
“Were you there?”
“We saw it from a distance. We tried to help them. By the time we got there, it was over. The van was overturned and the things were swarming all over it.”
“Hell.”
“We’ll be holding our first annual Zombie Games tonight,” announced Painter. “We’ll have pari-mutuel gambling available.”
“How can you set up everything so fast?” asked Tom.
“We have computer nerds here. I’m sure they can figure out how to set up computer terminals in no time.”
“How? There’s no electricity.”
“Who told you that?”
“There wasn’t any at LAX. Do you mean to say you have power here?” Tom looked eager at the thought.
“We have our own gasoline-powered generators. We’re totally self-sufficient here. That’s why we’re the envy of everybody else.”
“So you’ll have lights for the stadium tonight, too.”
“Of course. Your worries are over when you’re with us.”
Halverson tended to doubt that. He got the distinct feeling Zone Zero wasn’t exactly a democracy. In any case, maybe it would make more sense to implement their escape from this place tonight during the darkness rather than now in broad daylight, smoggy though it was, he decided. The fact was the smog was nowhere near as dense as it had been at LAX.
“Maybe we should just stay here,” Rosie told Halverson.
“How can you say that?” he said. “We were brought here at gunpoint.”
“This Painter guy rubs me the wrong way,” Tom told Halverson under his breath.
Painter strutted up to them. “Now’s as good a time as any to tell you guys we believe the government is behind this plague.”
“What makes you say that?” asked Tom.
“That’s why all the bureaucrats and politicians bugged out. They knew this plague was coming. They knew there was no way to fight it. They knew their ass was grass if they didn’t go to ground.”
“What evidence do you have?” asked Halverson. “You’re making a sweeping conclusion based solely on speculation.”
“Like I said, they all vanished before anyone else had a chance to figure out which way was up. Our leaders knew what was coming and didn’t even bother to tell us about it.”
“Why wouldn’t they tell us?” asked Tom. “That makes no sense.”
“Because they didn’t want to admit culpability for the plague. Probably one of their germ warfare experiments went hideously wrong. That’s not something you can admit to the public if you’re a government bureaucrat.”
“You’re making this up out of thin air,” said Halverson. “You have no evidence to back up a word you’re saying.”
“It’s all supposition,” said Tom.
Painter harrumphed. “Those who have eyes let him see. This ain’t a court of law. I don’t have to prove anything to you.”
“You’re welcome to your opinion,” said Halverson, “even if it’s misguided.”
Painter gave him a look. “You don’t think our government’s involved in this plague?”
“I don’t know what to think. I don’t have anything to go on.”
“The very fact that they all disappeared is all the evidence I need. They knew some catastrophe was coming, so they all cut and ran into bolt-holes.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re responsible for the catastrophe.”
“How else would they know about it before anyone else?”
Halverson shook his head. “We’re going around in circles. We can argue this back and forth forever without coming to any conclusion.”
“I already came to a conclusion. I don’t need to argue about anything. You’re the one who’s doing all the arguing.”
The tension in the air between the two of them was thick enough to cut, realized Halverson. To continue to argue would serve no purpose other than to stoke animosity between them.
“Why do you think so highly of the government, anyway?” Painter asked.
“I just think you’re jumping to conclusions.”
“Maybe it’s because you work for the government.” Painter arched an eyebrow at Halverson suspiciously.
“There you go jumping to conclusions again.”
Halverson’s palms broke into a sweat. All he needed now was for Painter to find out he worked for the Agency. If Painter tumbled to that tidbit of intel, it would mean Halverson’s death warrant.
“He sure knows a lot about guns,” said Lemans.
Painter continued to bore his eyes into Halverson’s. “Why is that?”
Halverson wanted to plant his fist in Lemans’s face. “I do a lot of research in my line of work.”
“Just what is your work?”
“Says he’s a reporter,” butted in Lemans skeptically.
“That right?” Painter asked Halverson.
“Yeah,” said Halverson.
“I didn’t know reporters were into guns.”
“If guns are involved in a story I’m writing, I am.”
Nerves on end, Halverson all but jumped when he heard a loud thump to his right. He whirled in the direction of the sound.
Somehow, one of the zombies that had been crucified had managed to writhe itself free from the nails that affixed it to the cross and thud onto the ground. Halverson watched the creature struggle drunkenly to its feet.
Nails still embedded in its wrists, it shambled and lurched toward them.
“I don’t know how much more of this I can stomach,” said Tom. “What next?”
Rosie screamed at the hellish vision.
“Just when I thought things were starting to look up,” said Lemans.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Painter wheeled when he heard Rosie scream. He shot the creature in the head with his 9 mm Glock.
“I have a killer headache,” said Tom. “Can’t we sit down and rest somewhere?”
“You can sit down at my dinner table,” said Painter. “All of you will be my guests of honor tonight.”
“I don’t really feel like dinner right now, thank you.”
Halverson could not help but wonder if breaking bread with Painter was a good thing. However, it was true they did need food. Halverson wasn’t about to turn down Painter’s offer.
Painter plugged the zombie on the ground in the head again after the creature showed signs of movement.
“Nothing better than a big meal after killing zombies,” he said. He massaged his stomach to emphasize his words. “Let’s head for the refectory. I can smell a T-bone cooking even now.”
“Different strokes for different folks,” said Tom. “Killing zombies doesn’t whet my appetite.”
Painter grinned. “You’ll change your tune when you see and smell that hot T-bone on your plate in front of you.”
Halverson watched the sun set like a ball of orange marmalade surrounded by purple wisps of smoke on the horizon.
The spectators poured out of the stadium and milled toward the cafeteria.
It looked like the zombie games were over for the moment, decided Halverson. Time out to eat.
One of Painter’s soldiers escorted Tanya to a doctor to treat her wrist.
“Maybe this Painter isn’t such a bad guy after all,” Tom told Halverson.
“I hope you’re right,” said Rosie.
Halverson surveyed the smoldering dead zombies scattered around the playing field. “These zombie circuses leave a bad taste in my mouth.”
Tom shrugged. “It’s one way to kill the things. The fact is the things have to be killed. We can’t coexist with these creatures in peace. That’s for sure.”
“But why do we have to make a spectacle out of their deaths?”
“To keep the people entertained, according to Painter.”
Halverson searched Tom’s face. “You buy that?”
“I’m tired of thinking about it. What difference does it make? It’s making my head ache.” Tom winced. He pressed his fingers to his temple and massaged it.
They made their way to the cafeteria, melding in with the flow of people emerging eagerly from the stadium.
“I guess they’re like Painter,” said Tom. “Watching zombies go up in flames fans their appetites.”
“It must be an acquired taste,” said Rosie.
Painter escorted Halverson and his group of jet passengers to his table at the front of the school cafeteria. They took their seats at the long dinner table.
Waiters promptly served them salads.
The rest of the Zone Zero residents had to retrieve their own food at the buffet without the aid of waiters.
“You see you get special treatment as my guests of honor,” said Painter. He opened his arms to indicate the table he was sitting at with Halverson and his group.
“We’ll be leaving after dinner,” said Rogers.
Famished, he tucked into his salad.
“Why would you want to leave?” said Painter. “You have everything you need right here—and safety from the zombies, too.”
“I need to go to the UCLA medical center to see if my brother is OK,” said Halverson. “He was injured in a car accident.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Maybe we should stay here,” said Tom, enjoying his salad. He poured more balsamic vinaigrette dressing on it. “This food ain’t half bad.”
“We need to leave,” said Rogers. “I want to find out what’s really happening in this country.”
“I already told you what’s happening,” said Painter.
“We need to leave so I can see for myself.”
“That won’t be possible.”
Rogers gave Painter a look. “Why not?”
“You might talk to people you meet on the outside. We don’t want you telling anyone about Zone Zero. If too many people find out about it, they’ll all want to live here. We can’t let everyone live here. We don’t have enough room.”
“We won’t tell anyone anything about you.”
Painter drank from a longneck bottle of Corona beer. “But how can I trust you? We have too much at stake here for me to trust you.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“If others come here, they might try to take Zone Zero away from us. We can’t risk that.”
“We need to leave.”
“At least stay for the zombie games tonight.” Painter eyed Rogers intently.
Rogers met Painter’s gaze.
Halverson could see that Rogers was trying to read Painter’s stare and how to react to it.
“I insist,” said Painter.
Rogers paused a beat. Then he acquiesced.
Halverson could see that Rogers didn’t look comfortable with his decision to stay after dinner. Maybe Rogers was trying to postpone a confrontation with Painter, Halverson speculated. Halverson knew he himself had no intention of staying the night here, no matter what Rogers or the others chose to do. Halverson had to find out about his brother. Nobody was going to prevent him from doing that.
The waiters cleared away the empty salad dishes and replaced them with plates of piping hot T-bone steaks.
Tom sniffed the aroma of the cooked steak sitting before him. He smiled. “If you insist we eat, I guess we better eat.”
“Good idea,” said Painter.
Tom sliced the steak into mouth-sized pieces and gobbled them down.
“What’s it all mean?” he asked in between bites.
Halverson wolfed down his steak in no time. He hadn’t eaten a hot meal for a week, it seemed, even though he knew he had just had one yesterday. But yesterday seemed like an eternity away from now. The world had been turned on its head in a matter of hours. Like Tom, he still could not make sense of it, no matter how hard he tried.
He didn’t think about it. He ate his steak.
“You’re in for a treat,” said Painter. “We’ll be gambling for the first time tonight on the zombie circuses. The crowd should go wild for it.” He leaned back in his chair. “At night, the flaming tires show up better around the zombies’ necks. It’s a sight you’ll never forget.”
“I could do without the zombie circuses,” muttered Rosie. She stopped eating for a moment. She held up a morsel of steak impaled on her fork tines in midair.
Halverson eyed Rogers. Rogers had a strange glint in his eyes, Halverson decided. Halverson could not make head or tail of it.
As for Painter, he was just as much a puzzle to Halverson as was Rogers. Painter appeared to ooze confidence, yet at the same time a streak of paranoia seemed to run through him. Painter was worried about outsiders horning in on Zone Zero. And then that remark Painter made about the government being somehow behind the plague. Did he really believe that? Halverson wondered. Or was Painter trying to instill paranoia in everyone else in order to keep them subservient to his will?
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
After dinner, the Zone Zero residents headed for the stadium to watch the zombie circuses in the dark.
Banks of bright lights towering above the stadium lit the football field for the night games.
As he was walking toward the stadium among the crowd, Halverson noticed flies swarming
all over the place.
Rosie swiped at the flies over her head in disgust. “Where did all of these flies come from?”
“The zombies,” said Painter. “The flies follow the zombies as soon as they get the zombies’ scent.”
“There seems to be a helluva lot of them,” said Tom, grimacing.
He spat out flies that entered his mouth as he talked. Then he gagged.
The flies were so thick they seemed to be flying into Halverson’s ears, Halverson realized. He was all but inhaling them through his nostrils.
“If you talk, they’ll enter your mouth,” said Tom, coughing on flies, his face red.
“Even the burning tires don’t keep them away,” said Painter. “We haven’t figured a way to deal with the flies yet.” He swatted at a cluster of flies that circled around his head.
“Another reason to get out of here,” said Rosie.
She started hacking on flies that entered her mouth as she spoke.
“I second that,” said Mildred and instantly regretted having opened her mouth.
Soldiers were herding zombies with burning tires around their necks onto the football field.
“The flies will thin out when we get into the stands,” said Painter. He swiped at flies circling his head. “They’re all over here because we’re so close to the zombies used in the games.”
Except that wasn’t the cause, as Halverson soon found out.
Screaming erupted among the eager crowd that was making for the stadium.
Halverson watched Painter crane his neck around. Painter wanted to see what was causing the commotion.
Out of the corner of his eye, Halverson saw Rogers make his move.
Rogers took advantage of the disturbance to disarm Painter.
Not only did Rogers disarm him, Rogers trained the pistol on Painter’s head and, to Halverson’s shock and astonishment, blew Painter away. It all happened so quickly, Halverson had barely any time to register what was transpiring. The ensuing events reeled off as a blur before his eyes.
Rogers spun around and commenced shooting all of the nearby soldiers in their heads.
“It’s as easy as killing zombies!” he screamed.
Zombie Apocalypse: The Chad Halverson Series Page 21