Zombie Apocalypse: The Chad Halverson Series

by Bryan Cassiday

  He craned his neck around, checking to make sure no creatures were sneaking up on him from behind.

  An amazon staggered out of the bathroom and groped for Mannering just as he entered the corridor outside Shawna’s bedroom.

  The creature had spiky grey hair that stuck out of its head like it had stuck its finger in an electric socket. Its face looked like it had gone through a meat grinder. Maggots were now writhing out of the suppurating flesh.

  Mannering dodged the creature’s hand. Wincing in disgust at the sight of the creature, Mannering squeezed off a round into one of the creature’s white-coated eyes. The 9 mm slug made short shrift of the creature’s brain.

  Mannering, Halverson, and Victoria stormed out of the front door of the bungalow.

  They piled into their motor carts.

  Since Victoria was in no condition to drive, Halverson climbed into the driver’s seat of their cart.

  Mannering sat beside Reba in her cart.

  Another ghoul lumbered out of the bungalow’s front door and stumbled toward Halverson.

  Halverson blew the creature’s head off.

  Becker backed out of the driveway first, followed by Reba, and then, lastly, Halverson.

  They headed back toward Wilshire.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Victoria was slow to recover from her ordeal at the bungalow. She sat in her seat sobbing as Halverson drove their motor cart down the sidewalk.

  “What happened back there?” Reba asked Halverson.

  “Never mind,” he answered.

  “What do you mean, never mind? You all look like you went through the wringer.”

  “Victoria’s daughter is dead,” said Mannering beside Reba.

  “Oh.” Reba’s face drained of color. “Sorry to hear that.”

  “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve had it up to here with these things whatever they are,” announced Becker.

  “You’re preaching to the choir,” said Mannering.

  Halverson picked up on a gaggle of creatures milling on the other side of the street. “Bogies at nine o’clock.”

  “Let’s do something,” said Becker.

  “Like what?” said Mannering.

  “We must be able to do something.”

  “We’re listening.”

  “You have our attention,” said Reba.

  “Let’s do something,” repeated Becker.

  “We’ll head for the shore once we get back to Wilshire,” said Halverson.

  “What good will that do?”

  “Maybe it’s safer there.”

  “Why should it be?”

  “These things can’t swim, as far as I know. At least, when we’re on the beach they won’t be able to attack us out of the west.”

  “What kind of a reason is that? They’ll still be able to attack us from every other direction.”

  “Maybe we can find a boat and put to sea.”

  “Maybe. Is that the best you can do—maybe?”

  Becker’s jacking him was taxing Halverson’s nerves.

  “Do you have a better idea?” snapped Halverson.

  “We need to do something.”

  “We’re waiting,” said Mannering.

  “We need to do something.”

  “You’re a big help, Senator,” Reba said wearily.

  Halverson heard a buzzing from his leg. It was his satphone.

  Mellors? he wondered. The man that had had Greg Coogan wasted or had wasted him himself.

  Should he answer it?

  He decided yes. What harm could it do? He might even learn something. He had plenty of questions for Mellors. That was for sure.

  One hand on the steering wheel, Halverson fished his satphone out of his trouser pocket with the other. He took the call.

  “Hello,” he said.

  He listened.

  A moment of silence.

  Then click.

  What was that all about? he wondered.

  Victoria was coming out of her daze. “Who was that?”

  “Wrong number,” he said, not believing it.

  He put away the satphone.

  They reached Wilshire.

  Halverson turned left on it.

  A couple of fleecy clouds scudded by overhead.

  “It would be nice if we knew what we were doing,” said Becker.

  Reba whooped.

  Everybody turned to face her to see what the excitement was all about.

  “That plane’s coming back,” she said, looking westerly in the sky as she drove.

  “Maybe they saw us the last time,” gushed Becker.

  He waved at the drone.

  “We have to make sure they see us this time,” said Mannering.

  “Waving isn’t enough,” said Reba.

  “Maybe if we set a fire,” said Becker.

  “There are too many little fires burning already,” said Mannering. “We need to do something that will stand out.”

  “How about firing your gun?” said Reba.

  Mannering shrugged. “Might work.”

  “We’d be in business if we had a flare gun,” said Becker. “The drone’s camera would pick up on a flare.”

  “Is there an Army & Navy store around here somewhere?”

  “We’re not gonna have time to find one of those before the drone passes over us.”

  Mannering scoped out the neighborhood. He didn’t see anything remotely resembling an Army & Navy store. Not even a Sears Roebuck.

  He withdrew his Glock from his waistband, aimed straight up into the sky, and squeezed off a round.

  Whether or not the drone detected the gun’s report he didn’t know. All he knew was that a knot of zombies about a block away heard the crack and started shuffling toward the motor carts.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” said Halverson. “That drone doesn’t have a pilot. How’s it gonna detect a loud noise?”

  “Drones have sensors on them,” said Becker. “You know that.”

  “They don’t key on noises the last I heard.”

  “The ghouls heard the gunshot,” said Victoria, glancing at the creatures stumbling toward them.

  “Drones have infrared sensors,” said Mannering, putting away his Glock. “They should be able to key on our body heat.”

  “But the fires burning around us are emitting heat, too,” said Halverson. “Too many sources of heat may be confusing the sensors.”

  “If we only had a flag we could wave,” said Becker. “Or something like a flag.”

  Halverson noticed a tiny red dot appear on his chest.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  On the spot, adrenaline surging through his system, Halverson took stock of the neighboring buildings, searching for the most durable one. Eyes wild, he slammed on his brakes, throwing Victoria forward in her seat.

  Flabbergasted, she sat up straight. She stared at him like he had lost his mind.

  “Everybody into the bank!” he screamed and bolted out of his cart.

  He scrammed for the bank on his right.

  “What the hell’s going on!” yelled Becker.

  “Run for cover!”

  Baffled, the others decided to run after Halverson into the bank. They piled into the bank in a mass of confusion.

  “What’s this all about?” said Mannering.

  “The plane’s not gonna see us if we’re in here,” said Reba, put out.

  Halverson’s eyes flicked around the bank’s interior. “We need to get behind the safe! It’s our only chance!”

  “Why are you having a cow?” demanded Becker. “Are you losing it? Pull yourself together, man!”

  “The vault’s behind the tellers’ windows,” said Mannering.

  “And those windows are bulletproof,” said Halverson. “That’ll help.”

  “But we can’t get into the tellers office without a key card.”

  Halverson dashed toward the back door. “Let’s get outside the building so we’re behind the vault.”


  Becker shook his head in confusion. “First you want us inside the building. Now you want us outside it. You’ve got to be nuts!”

  They heard a shrieking whistle in the sky above.

  “Everybody out!” hollered Halverson.

  “What’s that sound?” said Becker, his eyes popping out of his head.

  They scrambled through the back door.

  A split second later, the bank exploded. A screaming missile tore into the bank from the side of the building that faced the street.

  Halverson hit the asphalt of the parking lot behind the bank. Discombobulated, the others followed suit.

  The asphalt rocked and trembled beneath them. Debris from the bank’s roof hurtled through the air onto cars parked in the lot.

  Dark smoke mushroomed from the collapsing bank.

  Halverson’s ears were ringing from the blast. He was having trouble hearing. He saw a hectic-faced Becker lying prostrate on the asphalt, gazing at him and working his mouth. Halverson thought he could make out Becker’s words.

  “What the hell was that?” Becker was asking.

  “An AGM-114 Hellfire missile,” answered Halverson. At least that was what he thought he had said. He didn’t know for sure. He couldn’t hear his own voice.

  He heard his ears pop. Then he heard Mannering speaking.

  “Are you telling me they returned fire at us because I shot into the sky?” said Mannering incredulously.

  Halverson wiped dust and dirt from his face, his eyes smarting from the smoke. He knew Mannering was wrong in his assessment. Halverson knew the drone had fired at him. It had targeted him in its red laser sights. He decided it wasn’t a good idea for him to let the others know the truth. They might turn on him.

  “They must have thought you were shooting at them,” said Reba, facedown on the asphalt.

  “Like I could do any damage with a pistol from this distance,” said Mannering.

  What Halverson couldn’t dope out was how the drone had located him. How could it know exactly where he was? He tried to recall the sequence of events that led to the assault. When did the drone appear over them? What was he doing when it appeared?

  Something clicked in his mind as he remembered . . . He was driving the motor cart and he had heard his satphone ring. He had answered it. That was why the Agency had called him! They had wanted to make sure he still had the phone. Once they had heard his voice, they knew the phone was on his person. The satphone had GPS, he recalled. They were tracking him with his phone.

  He had to get rid of it. They would try to kill him again if they thought he was still alive. If they tracked his phone moving again after their missile attack, they would figure he was still alive and attack again.

  He struggled to his feet. His knees were sore. He had barked them when he had dived onto the asphalt.

  He looked around. He spotted a pack of zombies shambling on the other side of the street. He removed his satphone from his pocket and hurled the device at them.

  The satphone landed at their feet and skidded to a halt on the cement sidewalk. The creatures paid no attention to it. Only living things interested them.

  “What did you do that for?” asked Victoria, standing up beside him.

  She brushed dirt off her blouse and arms.

  “It’s broken,” he lied.

  “Not much of a weapon, is it?” she said, watching the creatures ignore it at their feet.

  “I’m totally confused,” said Reba, standing up. “Did the drone just try to kill us, or what?”

  Becker was lucky to be alive. He had barely squeezed through the bank’s back door when the missile had slammed into the bank. The force of the blast had blown him the rest of the way through the door and sent him somersaulting into the parking lot.

  “I ache all over,” he groaned, sitting on the asphalt beside a black BMW sedan.

  Mannering sat on the hood of a silver Mustang GT, his hands gripping the front of the hood. “I can’t get my head around it. Why did that plane try to kill us?”

  “It wasn’t the plane,” said Halverson. “It was the people operating it.”

  “Same question. Why?”

  “I’d say the government is operating that drone,” said Becker, adjusting his disheveled jacket as he sat. “Who else would have access to a drone, especially a Predator armed with a missile?”

  “Sounds right to me. The question remains, though. Why?”

  “Maybe they thought we were zombies,” said Victoria.

  “How could they mistake us for zombies?” said Becker.

  “I don’t know. None of it makes any sense to me.”

  “Why is the government trying to kill their own people?”

  “Don’t look at me,” said Reba. “I stupidly thought they were gonna rescue us.”

  Becker managed to stand up, levering himself off the ground with the help of the BMW’s front bumper. He smoothed his jacket. Then he faced Halverson.

  “Something’s bothering me about this whole affair,” said Becker.

  “Only one thing?” said Mannering.

  “How did you know before the fact that that drone was going to attack us?” Becker asked Halverson.

  “If it wasn’t for him, we’d all be dead,” said Mannering. “I wouldn’t complain about it if I was you.”

  “I’m trying to find out what’s what.” Becker returned his attention to Halverson. “How did you know?”

  Halverson figured he should level with them on that score. “I saw a red laser dot on my chest. I figured the laser was coming from the drone.”

  “Maybe it was simply sensing you. How did you know it was targeting you?”

  “A red laser dot aimed at your chest is not a good sign.”

  “I wouldn’t want one on mine,” agreed Mannering.

  “Can we stop with the Twenty Questions?” said Reba. “We need to regroup and take stock of our situation.”

  “Not until somebody answers my question,” said Becker. “Why does our own government want us dead?”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Nobody answered right away.

  “Beats me,” said Mannering. “I’m not sure of anything anymore. I’m not even sure if we have any government left.”

  “Somebody’s operating that drone,” said Becker, shooting his cuffs. “My bet is it’s the government.”

  “You won’t get any argument out of me.”

  Becker addressed Halverson again. “Why did the government try to kill us?” Becker paused in thought then added, “Or was the government trying to kill you specifically?”

  Becker was coming uncomfortably close to the truth, decided Halverson. Halverson figured the missile had indeed been meant for him and for him alone. The deaths of the others would have been mere collateral damage as far as Mellors and the Agency were concerned.

  The others didn’t know what Halverson knew—that the plague that had ravaged the human race had been created in an American-sponsored experiment in a lab in Rotterdam.

  Then again maybe the Hellfire missile had been meant for all of them, decided Halverson. Maybe Mellors and the Agency suspected Halverson had told the others about the lab accident in Rotterdam and therefore, as far as Mellors was concerned, Halverson and his entire group had to be terminated with extreme prejudice.

  All Halverson knew for sure was that Mellors wanted him dead. The missile attack was the proof of the pudding.

  “We’re waiting,” said Becker.

  “Why would they want to kill me?” said Halverson.

  “You tell us.”

  “This is getting us nowhere,” said Reba. “We can make up any story we want. The fact is we just don’t know why any of this is happening.”

  “I think Halverson knows more than he’s telling us.”

  They heard the drone flying overhead again. All eyes looked upward apprehensively.

  “Is that drone coming in for a second attempt?” asked Mannering, squinting at the drone.

  As
if in response to his question, another missile flared out from under the Predator’s fuselage.

  Everybody hit the asphalt.

  The Hellfire missile shrieked through the sky and walloped the pack of flesh-eaters maundering around on the sidewalk across the street.

  The sidewalk, the buildings skirting it, and a bunch of ghouls exploded into the air. Arms, legs, torsos, heads, masonry, chunks of cement, steel girders, rebar, and shards of glass rained down on the missile’s crater that now pocked the sidewalk where the ghouls had stood but moments earlier.

  Smoke plumed into the sky and wafted in the gusting offshore Santa Ana winds.

  “Maybe they really did think we were zombies, too, when they blasted us,” said Mannering, taking in the devastation across the street.

  Halverson knew Mannering was mistaken, but kept his own counsel. There was no doubt now in Halverson’s mind that the first missile had been meant for him. The second missile, like the one before it, had zeroed in on his satphone, which had been lying on the sidewalk amidst the creatures when the missile struck.

  Realizing the drone couldn’t track him now, he sighed with relief. At least that was one problem he didn’t have to worry about anymore.

  “We need to get moving,” he said.

  He and the others walked out of the parking lot, down the alley, and out onto the sidewalk in front of what used to be the bank. Debris from the bank was scattered on the sidewalk.

  Halverson inspected the motor carts. Two of them seemed to be in OK condition while the third had sustained damage in the initial missile assault.

  Mannering saw the same thing. “This sucks, you know,” he said evenly, quietly, then burst into laughter.

  “What are you laughing at?” demanded Becker when he clapped eyes on the damaged vehicle. “That’s my vehicle.”

  “I’m just laughing at this mess we’re in. We are so fucked.”

  Mannering continued laughing.

  “You’re cockeyed, that’s what you are,” said Becker.

  “I wish.”

  Another brood of ghouls was assembling at the eastern end of the block.

  “There’s more of those things coming,” said Reba.

  “So what else is new?” said Mannering.

  “And there’s more on the other side of the street headed this way.”