Zombie Apocalypse: The Chad Halverson Series

by Bryan Cassiday

  Cui bono? he wondered. Who stood to benefit from the theft? Either somebody who wanted information contained in Coogan’s laptop or somebody who did not want anybody else to see the info in the laptop. Or perhaps a combination of both.

  Mellors shuddered at his next thought.

  His life hung in the balance. If Molson’s murderer thought Mellors knew as much as Molson, what was to stop the guy from killing Mellors? Mellors decided he had to keep his mouth shut about Coogan’s laptop, or the murderer and the thief would suspect he knew enough about them to imperil them, or him, if they were one in the same.

  Mellors would have to tread warily from now on.

  If he could only find out what the significance of the Orchid Organization and the apocalypse equation was! How did they tie in to the spreading of the plague? What was Orchid’s goal now?

  He had slathers of questions but no answers.

  CHAPTER 39

  Nevada

  Corpses sprawled in the thoroughfare among abandoned cars in a small desert town. Flies buzzed over the corpses’ blood that lay in puddles that were coagulating on the street’s asphalt as well as on the sidewalks’ cement. Severed arms and legs that were gnawed to the bone lay here and there amidst overturned trash and the broken glass from shattered display windows that lined the sidewalks.

  A pack of wild dogs was roaming through the streets sniffing and eating leftover body parts from deceased humans.

  A yellow fire hydrant that had been broken by an out-of-control car spewed water onto the sidewalk. The car ended up half-buried in the side of a cellphone store as gushing water pooled inside the store. One of the mutts took a break from gnawing on human bones, loped into the store, and noisily lapped up water with his slopping tongue.

  Broken telephone poles bowed into the streets, trailing telephone wires which emitted sparks now and then.

  The fetid air reeked of burning tires and rotting garbage combined with moldering corpses.

  Several twentysomething persons had died in a computer store’s display window with laptops in their hands as they were in the act of looting the store when the flesh eaters had descended on them and torn them apart at the seams. In some cases, only the amputated arms with the laptops in them were left of the corpses. In no cases were the mangled bodies left in one piece.

  One victim’s rib cage had been torn out of his body, picked clean, and then discarded by the flesh eaters. It had landed in the middle of the street in front of a desolate sedan’s grille.

  Silence pervaded the street save for the buzzing of flies, the occasional baying of dogs, and the chatter of a TV in the broken picture window of an appliance store. President Cole’s image was speaking on the TV screen as the color image slipped and flickered courtesy of poor reception. Dressed in a dark business suit, he was smiling. His hair was greyer than it had been a year ago, and his middle-aged avuncular face had more lines in it, complemented by spreading crow’s feet.

  “My fellow Americans, we have won the war against the plague. The infected zombies have been wiped out by the concentrated attack of our nuclear arsenal. At last, we are victorious.” His face became somber. “However, our task is not complete until we rebuild America, until we make America the strongest nation in the world once again. This is the dawning of a great new age.” His eyes sparkled at the prospect.

  His face became grave again. “Be advised that you should not leave your blast shelters yet. The air is still contaminated with radioactivity. Keep your radios and TVs on and we will let you know the minute it’s safe to go outside.”

  A flesh eater shambled along, picking its way through the corpses on the street, searching for living flesh to gorge on. The creature glanced at the president’s face on the TV set then continued maundering along the sidewalk in its quest for food.

  CHAPTER 40

  “Were there any flesh eaters in Carson City when you left?” Halverson asked Klecko in their locked room in Guzman’s bomb shelter.

  “Some were there when the atomic blast wave hit,” answered Klecko. “After that, it’s anybody’s guess.” He paused. “I thought the nukes were supposed to wipe the things out.”

  “Supposed to.”

  “You mean, they didn’t?”

  “We met up with a swarm of them outside of Vegas after a nuke atomized the place.”

  “Maybe it takes ’em a while to die,” chipped in Swiggum. “The radiation’ll get ’em in the end.”

  “I don’t know,” said Halverson.

  “Is any place safe out there?” asked Klecko.

  “It doesn’t matter. We need to get out of here, no matter what.”

  “Out of the frying pan into the fire.”

  Halverson signaled to Swiggum and nodded to the bathroom. Swiggum followed him inside it.

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

  Halverson stepped to the sink. He twisted on both of the water cocks. Water gushed full blast out of the tap into the sink. He did the same with the cocks in the shower stall and kept the stall door open. The bathroom sounded like a waterfall, echoing with the sounds of rushing, plashing water.

  “I don’t want Hector to hear us,” said Halverson.

  Frumpy Klecko sidled into the bathroom with them, looking hangdog.

  Halverson spared a glance at him.

  “What’s with the mirror?” asked Klecko, eying the broken mirror over the sink.

  “An accident,” answered Halverson.

  “Seven years bad luck.”

  “What don’t you want Hector to hear?” said Swiggum, ignoring Klecko.

  “We need to get out of here,” said Halverson. “I don’t want him to know we want out. We need to make our escape plans.”

  “Why are you so dead-set against staying here?” Swiggum paused a beat. “Do you know something we don’t?”

  I know Guzman is a cutthroat billionaire drug dealer who would kill anyone as soon as look at them, thought Halverson. He could not tell them that, though. It would raise too many questions about himself and his true profession.

  There was no telling what anyone might do if they found out he worked for the CIA. After all, Swiggum and his buddies were cons. Halverson didn’t think they would hold a high opinion of the CIA. As for Klecko, Halverson wasn’t going to confide in him either about working for the Agency. The fact was, Halverson wasn’t going to tell anyone about his chops as a spy. He had never even told Victoria, though he had been through a lot with her in California when they were fleeing the flesh eaters there.

  “I know we’re locked up,” said Halverson. “What does that tell you?”

  Klecko scratched his naked hairy belly. “This place gives me the creeps,” he wheezed.

  “It could be worse,” said Swiggum. “But I admit I’m not a big fan of Hector’s either.”

  “Then we need to hatch an escape plan,” said Halverson, as the water gushed all around him impinging on the porcelain tub and sink, resonating through the enclosed area of the bathroom, drowning out their voices.

  “What’s your plan?”

  “We need to jump the guards when they open the door.”

  Swiggum cleared his throat. “As I recall, that didn’t work out too well the last time we tried.”

  Halverson massaged his jaw. “I’m trying to forget that. The thing is, our hands were tied that time. Now they aren’t.”

  “True. But how are we gonna know when they’re at the door, so we can get ready to rush them?”

  “Good point.” Halverson thought about it. “We could stage a diversion. The room’s wired for sound, and it’s got a video camera in there, too, somewhere. We can use that to our advantage.”

  Swiggum nodded. “Might work. It’s worth a try.”

  “I’m in,” said Klecko. “I don’t want to be locked in here for the rest of my life.”

  Halverson thought he heard a commotion taking place inside the room, but he could not be sure thanks to the roaring sound of the water sluicing out of the bath
room faucets.

  “Did you hear that?” he said, pricking up his ears.

  “What?” said Swiggum. “All I hear is water pouring all over the place.” Watching the sink filling with water, he screwed up his face.

  Halverson turned off the cocks on the sink.

  He heard somebody talking in the room. It sounded like a guard’s voice.

  CHAPTER 41

  Halverson coaxed open the bathroom door and slipped into the main room.

  Smiling, Probst was sashaying toward two guards that had appeared in hazmat suits at the door to the hallway.

  “What’s up?” said Halverson.

  “They’re starting the decontamination procedure,” said Probst. “They’ve picked me to be the first one to be decontaminated.”

  “Why are they doing it one at a time? Why not do all of us at once?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m fine with it,” said Probst, standing at the side of a guard. “I don’t want to die of radiation poisoning.”

  “What if it’s painful?” said Victoria, standing the better part of five feet from the guards.

  “What?” He gawped. “Nobody said anything about it being painful.” He searched the guards’ inscrutable faces behind their faceplates.

  “Let’s ask Mr. Know-it-all,” said Swiggum. He turned to Halverson. “What about it? Is it painful?”

  “Why do you think I know?”

  “You were the one who told us about it in the first place. You must know what it’s like.”

  “I wrote an article about it once for a science magazine.”

  “There. I knew it,” said Swiggum triumphantly.

  “It shouldn’t be painful. Mostly it’s just a thorough shower.”

  “Then why can’t we do it ourselves?” piped up Nordstrom, who had been listening to the conversation.

  “They have to do a lot of other things,” said Halverson.

  “What kinds of things?” asked Probst, looking worried.

  “They need to clean your body cavities using swabs.”

  “Do we really need to go into this?” chimed in Victoria.

  “I want to know,” said Probst. “I’m the one going through this.”

  “First, you remove all of your clothes,” said Halverson. “They’ll burn those or hold them for inspection purposes. Then you take a shower. They clean your body cavities, like your nose with nasal swabs.”

  “Too much information,” said Nordstrom.

  “I’m sorry I asked,” said Swiggum, throwing up his one arm in surrender. “Enough.”

  “They’ll wash out your eyes with saline solution,” Halverson went on. “You’ll need to shampoo your hair several times to be sure you get out all of the radiation. If they can’t get all of the radiation out of your hair, they’ll cut your hair off.”

  “What!” blurted Probst.

  “If you have foreign bodies embedded in your flesh, the medics will remove them with metal forceps.”

  “Foreign bodies in my flesh? What kind of foreign bodies? What the hell are we talking about here? Atomic ticks or something?”

  “Radioactive bomb shrapnel that might have hit you during the explosion.”

  Probst heaved a deep sigh. “Count me out. I wasn’t anywhere near the bomb when it blew up.”

  “I want to know more about these atomic ticks,”’ said Nordstrom.

  Swiggum waved him off. “That was Probst. There aren’t any.” He turned to Halverson. “Are there?”

  “Not that I know of,” said Halverson.

  “How do you know all this?” asked Nordstrom.

  “I told you,” answered Halverson. “I wrote an article about it.”

  In fact, his employers at the CIA had clued him in on decontamination procedures soon after the pandemic had spread around the world and it had become apparent that they could not forestall its progress.

  Halverson faced Probst. “After decontaminating you, they’ll dress you in white Tyvek coveralls.”

  “Are those anything like the hazmat uniforms these guards are wearing?” asked Swiggum.

  Halverson nodded. “Except they don’t have hoods and booties.”

  “On second thought, do I have to be first?” said Probst, cringing from the guards now.

  “Look at it this way,” said Victoria. “If you go first, you’ll get it over with. Then you won’t have to stand around waiting for your turn, like the rest of us.”

  “I guess,” said Probst, not convinced.

  The two guards grabbed him roughly and ushered him out of the room, making sure to lock the door behind them.

  “Better him than me,” said Swiggum.

  CHAPTER 42

  “Let’s go back to the bathroom,” said Halverson, gesturing for Swiggum to follow him.

  “Do we have to?”

  Grudgingly, Swiggum followed Halverson into the raucous bathroom. Halverson turned on the cocks at the sink again to increase the uproar.

  Uninvited, Klecko sidled along after Swiggum.

  “Do you think we could be anywhere near Area 51?” said Halverson.

  “Whoa!” said Swiggum. “What are you talking about? Are you talking Roswell and space aliens and that stuff?”

  “Not Roswell. That’s in New Mexico. I think we’re still in Nevada. You think we’re in New Mexico?”

  “No. I don’t know much about Roswell. Isn’t there some connection between it and Area 51? Frankly, I don’t know where the hell we are. I would say Nevada.”

  “Area 51’s in southwest Nevada.”

  “All I know about Area 51 is it’s off limits to the public. I know it’s around Vegas somewhere. The military controls it.”

  “Area 51,” said Klecko. “You think we’re in this bunker with a bunch of aliens from outer space?”

  “No,” said Halverson. “I didn’t say anything about aliens.”

  “We got enough problems without aliens.”

  “So what if this is Area 51?” said Swiggum. “So what?”

  “It might explain some stuff,” said Halverson. “Like this bunker being out here in the middle of the desert.”

  “Nevada has scads of bomb shelters because the government used to test A-bombs here. That’s all.”

  “There are rumors the government is conducting experiments in Area 51.”

  “What kind of experiments?” said Swiggum, his head cocked toward Halverson, his expression intense.

  “New aircraft. New weapons. That would also explain why they have a decontamination center here. Not every bomb shelter would be outfitted with one of those. This has to be a state-of-the-art blast shelter.”

  “I can’t argue with that. But I don’t like this idea that they’re conducting experiments here.”

  “Me neither,” said Klecko. “Nobody said anything about experiments.” He scratched the exposed mound of his belly.

  Halverson paced back and forth in the cramped room, lost in thought. “I’m just trying to figure out why they have this massive, cutting-edge bunker in the middle of the Nevada desert.”

  “Whoever these guys are, they’re smart. They were prepared for the nukes that wiped everybody else out.”

  “Too smart, if you ask me.”

  Swiggum quirked an eyebrow. “What are you getting at?”

  “I think they knew in advance somehow that A-bombs were gonna be dropped.”

  “You know what you’re saying?”

  Halverson nodded. “That they might have been involved in having them dropped.”

  Could Hector Guzman somehow be working hand in glove with the government? Halverson wondered. If so, to what inconceivable end? The idea beggared belief. A billionaire drug dealer at the top of the Ten Most Wanted list working in collusion with the government? And yet . . . the government had worked with crooks before under the assumption that the end justifies the means. During World War II the government had suffered no pangs of conscience when they employed the mobster Lucky Luciano.

  Guzman and the
government in bed together. If true, what did it mean? Halverson wondered.

  He was probably jumping to conclusions. He had no evidence. He had to find out more about what Guzman was doing here before he could reach a conclusion. If Halverson didn’t watch out, pretty soon he would be connecting Guzman to the Majestic Twelve or to some other equally as outlandish conspiracy.

  But how had Guzman known the nukes were going to be dropped unless he was in on it? And he would have had to been in on the nuclear option from its very inception, since this massive bunker complex must have taken years to build.

  CHAPTER 43

  The two guards shepherded Probst down the cement corridor to a door with the number 208 on it. Underneath the number was affixed a sticker of a yellow and black biohazard symbol.

  Probst realized the lead guard was Wolfman, now that he got a good look through the helmet’s faceplate at the guy. Wolfman slid a key card into the metal slot below the steel handle. The electronic lock beeped twice, and a tiny green light flashed in the slot. He twisted the handle and opened the door.

  “This doesn’t look like a shower room,” said Probst, gazing into the white-painted room as the door swung open on creaky hinges.

  “Go inside,” said Wolfman through the mike in his helmet.

  Probst refused to budge. “Where’s the shower?”

  “Go inside and take off your clothes. The shower’s in the bathroom.”

  Probst screwed up his face suspiciously and stood his ground. “This doesn’t look like a decontamination room to me.”

  Of course, he had never seen a decontamination room, he realized, but from what Halverson had told him this room did not fit the bill.

  The second guard, who had not spoken and was standing behind Probst, cocked his foot and kicked Probst in the butt. Caught off guard, Probst groaned and stumbled into the room.

  “It’s not like you have a choice,” said Wolfman and shut the door behind Probst.

  Probst was liking this less and less. He had not been looking forward to being decontaminated in the first place, after his chat with Halverson. Now Probst was even less eager to proceed.