Zombie Apocalypse: The Chad Halverson Series

by Bryan Cassiday

  Mellors nodded. “Everything he does is to protect his image.”

  “He’s gonna have a hard time selling the nuclear annihilation of the country to the public, though. How do you make yourself look good to the public, when you’re bombarding them with A-bombs?”

  “I am urging every American to evacuate your homes or wherever you’re hiding and find a bomb shelter,” said Cole. “You must do this immediately to escape the nuclear blasts of the WMD that I am ordering dropped all across the nation.

  “My fellow Americans, this is our last best hope for survival. If we don’t take decisive action immediately, our beloved country will be totaled by the plague. The only means we have of purging the nation of the plague is to annihilate every last one of the infected.”

  “And anyone else who’s above ground,” Mellors said under his breath to Slocum.

  “This is a sad day for all of us Americans,” said Cole. He paused for effect, eying the camera lens with morose eyes. “And yet as sad as it is today, it will be joyful in the future for us after we have eradicated the disease. We are on the verge of overcoming the worst plague in the history of our planet and returning America to Americans. Our future really is bright!” said Cole, his voice rising. “We shall rise in triumph like the phoenix from the ashes and once again become the strongest nation in the world!”

  The director cued the music. “The Star-spangled Banner” started playing in the background.

  When Cole glimpsed the red light on the camera wink out, he rose from his seat behind the studio desk, stepped off the stage, and angled for the exit.

  “Now let’s go vaporize everybody,” said Mellors between his teeth out of Cole’s earshot.

  CHAPTER 67

  Nevada

  Chogan was watching the flock of blackbirds filling the polished blue sky like a corolla of living petals. It was just like his mother had told him the way it had been when he was born. He had never seen so many blackbirds in all his life.

  It was a sign, his mother had told him, that he would accomplish great things. It was his destiny that he would amount to something.

  It was like all of the blackbirds in the state of California had congregated over Chogan to celebrate his birth, according to what his mother had told him.

  It was the same thing now. Their wings beating overhead raising a racket, the myriad of blackbirds zigzagged through the sky, wheeling this way and that, but always returning over Chogan as he lay supine on the ground, his face turned toward the sky.

  So many blackbirds . . .

  He heard them calling to him, trying to rouse him out of his reverie. They wanted him to join them and fly with them in the sky and soar toward the sun and over the land. And he wanted to be with them. One of them. Soaring free over the mountains, lakes, rivers, and oceans. Over the hills and the dales.

  That was his destiny. He was sure of it. That was why he had always wanted to pilot planes for a living.

  It was so real he could feel himself flying over the desert, the land blurring underneath him as he kited across it with his friends the blackbirds at his sides gliding and banking through the sky.

  CHAPTER 68

  The Mustang’s steering wheel in hand, McLellan was squinting with monomaniacal purpose into the desert sunlight at the tire tracks left by the bus, his focus so intense he didn’t even realize why Halverson, who was seated beside him, let out a gasp of dismay.

  “Jesus,” said Halverson, gazing through the windshield.

  “What?” said Victoria from the backseat. She leaned forward in her seat. Then she saw it too. “Oh my God!”

  McLellan jerked his head up from focusing on the tire tracks. His eyes widened at the sight.

  In the distance, thousands of ghouls were massing in a tight formation and kicking up clouds of dust as they crammed together.

  Halverson could have sworn some of the moiling dust looked pink.

  “What the hell are they doing?” said McLellan.

  “It looks like a feeding frenzy,” said Halverson. “You never see them that agitated unless they’re around food.”

  “I can’t see any food.”

  “Whatever it is, they’ve got it surrounded.”

  “Do you think it’s the bus?” said Victoria.

  “If it was the bus, we could see it in the middle of them.” Halverson scanned the area. “I don’t see the bus anywhere.”

  “Maybe the dust is obscuring our view.”

  Other than the walking dead, all Halverson could see was a swarm of crows swooping and gyring above the skittering creatures.

  McLellan slowed the Mustang, which was making a beeline for the center of the commotion.

  “What do we do?” said Victoria.

  “I wish I knew what those things had surrounded,” said McLellan.

  “Nobody knows anything!” screamed Victoria. “The world’s going insane! Nothing makes any sense!”

  “Take it easy,” said McLellan, craning his head around to check up on her.

  “How can you take it easy when nothing makes any sense?”

  Halverson wondered if Victoria was losing it. She was a tough cookie, he knew from having spent a long time with her during the outbreak, but she had been through a lot, as had they all. Maybe too much. Maybe she had reached her breaking point. Was the insanity finally getting to her? He shifted in his seat and looked back at her.

  Her face appeared pallid, her blonde hair matted. At the moment she seemed composed, though.

  She had just flipped out for a few moments, he figured.

  She eyed him. “What does it all mean?” she said, her voice subdued now.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “That’s the problem.”

  “It’s just the way it is. We have to take it as it comes, even if we can’t explain it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  His answer seemed to mollify her, though he had no idea why. It wasn’t much of an answer, he realized. He turned back to the front of the car.

  “Do you see what I see?” said McLellan.

  “The bus tracks head straight into them,” said Halverson, watching the frenzied mob of creatures.

  “Not a good sign,” said Victoria.

  “Then where’s the bus?” said McLellan. “I don’t get it.”

  “The only way we’re gonna find out what they’re eating is by going down there,” said Halverson.

  McLellan glanced at his FN 5.7 in his shoulder rig. “With only two pistols? That’s like committing hara-kiri.”

  “What if Chogan and Arnold are down there?” said Victoria. “We have to save them.”

  “We wouldn’t even be able to save ourselves with just two guns against a couple thousand of those things.”

  “We could use the car to run them over.”

  “But we’d get stuck in the middle of them if dead bodies got wedged under our wheels. We’re better off waiting till they leave.”

  “If we wait too long, Chogan and Arnold will be already dead by the time we get there.”

  McLellan turned back toward Victoria. “I hate to tell you this, but if they’re stuck in the middle of that riot, they’re beyond help.”

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  Halverson thought about it. “What about a diversion?”

  “Like what?” said McLellan.

  “The ghouls are attracted to noise. We could fire one of our guns.”

  “What good’ll that do? Then they’ll come after us.”

  “Exactly. And then we can drive around behind them and find out what they were eating. We’ve got the advantage of speed. They can’t catch us if we keep moving.”

  MeLellan sighed. “I don’t know. It might work. It’s gonna be dangerous, though. Some of those things are sure to stay in their feeding ground when we drive over there.”

  “Let’s do it,” said Victoria. “We have to find Chogan and Arnold.”

  Victoria hadn’
t cracked, not by a long shot, decided Halverson. She was still the same Victoria he had grown to know during the plague—a headstrong woman full of determination. She was back on track. And he felt better for it, he realized. He was good to go.

  He powered open his window, extended his hand outside, and fired a shot toward the creatures with his Sig.

  A slew of the walking dead in the throng turned around to check out the source of the gunshot’s crack. A host of dead milky eyes glared in the Mustang’s direction, giving Halverson the creeps with their thousand-yard stares.

  Halverson fired another shot at the ghouls.

  A mob of twitching jerking dead flesh, the creatures started lumbering toward the Mustang.

  “I don’t want to use up all my ammo,” said Halverson, putting away his gun.

  “Let’s get out and scream at them,” said Victoria.

  “Good idea.”

  Halverson, McLellan, and Victoria clambered out of the car.

  Waving their arms, jumping up and down, they screamed at the approaching ghouls.

  Most of the creatures had abandoned the feeding ground, Halverson could see, while a couple dozen lingered on the bloodstained ground, polishing off the arms and legs and sundry internal organs of their victims.

  Halverson could only speculate as to how many persons the creatures had ripped apart and devoured.

  He cut his eyes toward his wristwatch. “Let’s give ’em ten minutes to clear away from there. Then we can drive there and take a look.”

  “What’s the point?” said McLellan. “I can’t see any survivors from here. Can you?”

  “Maybe there are some bodies on the ground that we can’t see from here,” said Victoria. “They could still be alive.”

  “I don’t see anybody over there trying to flag us down. They must’ve heard our gunshots. Why aren’t they signaling us?”

  “Maybe they’re too hurt to move. We need to take a closer look to make sure.”

  The zombies crept toward them like an army of death marching under the torrid sun, devouring the earth with their steady but jerky tread.

  “Let’s go check it out now,” said Halverson.

  “This is as close as I ever want to get to one of those things,” said McLellan, his eyes locked on the creatures like he was in a trance.

  Halverson nudged McLellan in the arm. “Let’s go.”

  It was enough to break the spell.

  Halverson, McLellan, and Victoria careered to the Mustang.

  CHAPTER 69

  McLellan claimed the Mustang’s driver’s seat. Victoria hunched through the front door into the backseat. Halverson climbed in last and rode shotgun.

  McLellan fired the engine, put the car into first gear, and did a doughnut, kicking up billowing clouds of dust as the car spun around.

  “Showing off?” said Halverson.

  “I wanted to see if I could do a doughnut,” said McLellan. “I never had a car with this much horse.”

  “The dust’s acting like a smokescreen too,” said Halverson, nodding.

  McLellan snickered. “Yeah. The deadheads can’t see us now.”

  He drove wide of the approaching hordes of ghouls.

  The pluming dust concealed the car’s whereabouts from the flesh eaters.

  He accelerated, knowing he wouldn’t have much time to inspect the site of the slaughter. The sooner he got there the better. For sure, the ghouls would follow the Mustang and make short work of him, Halverson, and Victoria if the trio dawdled in their search for survivors.

  Once the dust cleared, the ghouls would catch sight of the fiery red Mustang in no time. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the desert’s barrenness.

  It took the better part of five minutes for the Mustang to reach the scene of the massacre.

  McLellan brought the car to a halt and remained seated.

  Halverson and Victoria got out of the car to scope out the area. A clutch of the creatures that had dallied at the feeding ground to continue eating caught sight of them and shambled toward them.

  Bodies sprawled on the ground minus their limbs, their stomachs ripped open with bloody intestines spilling out of them. Its fur matted with blood, a rat clawed its way out of one belly.

  Victoria eyed the rat with equal parts disgust and fear as the creature scampered away.

  “Any sign of Chogan or Meers?” said Halverson.

  “Not yet,” said Victoria.

  McLellan kept the Mustang’s motor running.

  “Hurry it up, you guys!” he called through the open window.

  “I don’t understand what happened here,” Victoria told Halverson as they examined the mutilated bodies strewn among half-eaten body parts that included decapitated heads.

  Zombies milled around the blood-soaked scene, grunting, munching on flesh, and spitting out bone fragments.

  Halverson grimaced at the mangled bodies that lay in the dirt. “We’ll never be able to ID these bodies. All of their faces are eaten off. Any of these could be Chogan or Meers.”

  “Let’s look a little longer,” said Victoria, loath to give up her quest. “Emma might be here, too.”

  The walking dead were scrabbling uncomfortably close to Halverson. He whipped out his Sig and blasted a male one in its fifties that was baring its rotting teeth in a grimace and reaching its decrepit, clawing fingers toward him. The round slammed into the ghoul’s forehead. The ghoul jerked its head back and crumpled to the ground.

  A second ghoul was closing in on Halverson.

  Halverson trained his weapon on the creature’s head.

  Halverson gasped.

  “What is it?” said Victoria, who had been inspecting a female body that lay supine near her feet with its partially consumed brain surrounded by circling flies.

  She looked up at Halverson.

  Halverson was staring with unblinking eyes at the male creature that was sidling toward him with its mouth gaping.

  Though putrescent, what was left of the face looked familiar to Victoria.

  She screamed.

  Chogan was staring back at her with milky eyes.

  Halverson had recognized Chogan, too. In fact, Halverson was having trouble pulling the trigger as he aimed his automatic at Chogan’s face. Halverson was hoping beyond hope that Chogan hadn’t turned yet, that Chogan was simply injured, that the vaccine had saved Chogan’s life—

  Yes, the vaccine. The vaccine would save Chogan, decided Halverson.

  Even though it didn’t look that way, Halverson had to admit. Blood was streaming from Chogan’s mouth, and Halverson doubted it was Chogan’s blood. Chogan had been feasting on flesh, it looked like. And Chogan was all but a foot away from Halverson and was opening his mouth and preparing to take a bite out of Halverson’s face.

  Halverson reared back his foot and kicked Chogan in the chest. Halverson couldn’t believe Chogan had become infected. Why hadn’t the vaccine protected Chogan? It made no sense.

  Propelled by Halverson’s kick, Chogan stumbled backward, arms flailing. Then he plodded forward toward Halverson again.

  Halverson realized Chogan was missing one of his arms. Blood-drenched duct tape hung from Chogan’s remaining arm’s wrist.

  “What happened here?” Halverson asked Chogan.

  Chogan answered by opening his blood-streaked mouth in preparation to bite Halverson’s face. Halverson saw for the first time that what he had taken at first blush to be a strip of bloody flesh hanging from Chogan’s mouth was in fact bloody duct tape.

  “Why don’t you shoot him?” said Victoria.

  Watching Halverson she bit her lower lip, which turned white from the compression.

  “Maybe the vaccine prevented him from becoming infected,” said Halverson.

  “That’s not Chogan anymore,” said Victoria in exasperation.

  Halverson had to remind himself Victoria was right. That wasn’t Chogan standing in front of him. That was a walking corpse. It looked human, but it wasn’t.

  Halv
erson was sick of all the killing. He had killed so many flesh eaters, he couldn’t remember the number. He could easily kill the ones he didn’t know, but it was a different matter altogether when he knew the creature that had once been human.

  In Santa Monica he had been confronted with blowing away his own brother. Making the decision to do it had torn him apart inside. Now he had to kill Chogan, a man he had befriended. When was all the killing going to stop? It was wreaking havoc on his nerves.

  Distraught, he brought his Sig to bear on Chogan’s face. It’s not Chogan, it’s not Chogan, he kept repeating to himself.

  His remaining arm thrashing, Chogan trudged toward Halverson.

  “What are you waiting for?” said Victoria, concerned for Halverson’s safety under Chogan’s onslaught.

  Halverson gritted his teeth and fired. The hollow-point round bored through one of Chogan’s eyes and out the back of his skull along with a saucer-sized fragment of parietal bone with blobs of brains adhered to it that sailed ten feet away and skittered into the dirt.

  Chogan reeled and dropped in a heap at Halverson’s feet.

  Halverson dropped his gun. He ran his hand down his face, overcome with feelings of regret mingled with anger and frustration.

  Gazing down at the corpse, out of the corner of his eye, Halverson picked up on frayed lengths of rope scattered around the area.

  “You had to do it,” said Victoria. Shaking her head she screwed up her face. “I don’t understand why the vaccine didn’t protect him.”

  “Why are these lengths of rope here?” asked Halverson, coming out of his funk and fixating on the ropes.

  Victoria scoped out the ropes that littered the ground. “I don’t know.”

  Halverson recalled the intersection beyond the Las Vegas Strip where he had seen an assemblage of zombies milling among human bones and lengths of rope. And then there was that duct tape hanging from Chogan’s wrist and mouth.

  “They were left here bound and gagged,” said Halverson, making the connection. “This is a feeding ground. Quantrill dumped all the passengers here to feed them to the zombies.”

  “This is what the winners of the lottery get?” said Victoria, her voice suffused with outrage.