Zombie Apocalypse: The Chad Halverson Series

by Bryan Cassiday

  His first shot caught her in the chest, which did not even slow her down. Swiggum cursed under his breath.

  “Don’t talk while you’re shooting,” said Halverson. “It throws off your aim.”

  “OK, Mr. Special Forces.”

  Swiggum controlled his breathing and plugged the redhead in its left eye. A fragment of the eye popped out of its socket like a cork out of a wine bottle but without either the accompanying sound or bouquet and skittered across the floor. The redhead dropped to its knees then fell facedown on the floor.

  “We could do with some more ammo,” said Halverson as he continued down the hall toward the two corpses.

  “How about a tank, too?”

  CHAPTER 76

  Guzman was strutting around the missile control launch room, inspecting the CCTV screen images of his four ICBMs nestled in separate silos. This was what he lived for as master of the world—power, the power to kill, to be more precise. Nothing was more heady and invigorating than taking human lives. It was the ultimate thrill. And to take out the president of the United States, the most powerful man on the planet, was icing on the already-intoxicating rum cake.

  Guzman had four LGM-30G Minuteman IIIs ready to launch from their independent silos. Each Minuteman was a MIRV, meaning the missile contained multiple warheads. In this case, each ICBM contained three nuclear warheads. Each warhead had a yield of about three hundred kilotons, which was nineteen times the destructive power of the A-bomb that obliterated Hiroshima at the end of World War II.

  Guzman knew Mount Weather was supposed to be nuclear-proof, but he doubted it could withstand twelve direct hits from nuclear warheads with yields of over three hundred kilotons apiece. The Minuteman missiles would pulverize the entire mountain as well as the massive bunker complex that contained the president and the remnants of his administration inside it. It was true that Socrates, aka General Byrd, would die, too, but that could not be helped. He had made the mistake of thinking he was in charge of Orchid, whereas in fact it was Guzman who was in charge, and Guzman had decided it was time to take out President Cole. Cole was the only man who stood in Guzman’s way on the path to world domination mapped out by Guzman. The road to world conquest led through the Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center.

  It was not a case of overkill, decided Guzman. There was no such word as overkill in his vocabulary. When you killed somebody, it was important that they suffered as much as possible before dying. With Guzman it wasn’t just about killing. It was about seeing both the fear in his victims’ eyes and the pain in their faces as they suffered in their death throes. It was about inflicting as much misery as possible on his victims before they perished and became harmless.

  Too, his victims’ excruciating deaths served as messages to anyone who might try to defy him in the future. The fact of the matter was, he delighted in cowing his enemies and watching them cringe in fear before him. And then to watch them burn alive in fifty-five-gallon oil drums or fry under a barrage of nuclear missiles—what could be better than that?

  After all, he was a transhumanist, the next phase in man’s evolution. He had transcended the run-of-the-mill hoi polloi and learned that the power to incite fear in other people was the nearest any mortal could come to true ecstasy.

  The little people, the Joe Six-Packs in the street, knew nothing about power except being on the other end of it, cowering in fear in front of their boss whenever he issued orders to them. They would never experience the joy of domination and control in their entire meager lives. They weren’t living life to the full, decided Guzman. They were living half lives and, as a result, lived in unhappiness till they died.

  He wished he could watch Cole’s face fry and melt in nuclear flames on TV, but that was physically impossible, as he had no TV cameras situated in Mount Weather. Maybe he could get Socrates to give him a blow-by-blow description of the Mount Weather Area B bunker being devastated by nuclear explosions, cave-ins, and flames, but he doubted it. Socrates wasn’t going to do Guzman any favors when he learned Guzman was nuking him. Not that Guzman could blame him.

  Guzman sighed. He hated to miss out on all the fun.

  That reminded him. He wanted to kill Halverson in a particularly grisly, painful fashion. It had given him mouth-watering pleasure to watch the flesh eaters tear apart and scarf down Halverson’s comrades in the decontamination room. Watching the flesh eaters lay into the screaming hottie Simone and disembowel her had sent a frisson of pleasure through him that had no equal.

  Guzman would have to tend to Halverson and crew later, after he had dealt with the more pressing need of taking out Cole. Trapped in Guzman’s office, surrounded by armed-to-the-teeth guards, Halverson was going nowhere fast anyway, Guzman knew.

  Now was the time for Guzman to strike Cole. Now that Cole was putting Byrd under the microscope on account of Mellors’s murder, it would be only a matter of time before Byrd spilled the beans about the Orchid cadre and their conspiracy to assume world power.

  Guzman sat down at one of the missile consoles and determined the coordinates of Mount Weather so that he could lock the Minuteman MIRVs onto their target. He was in the midst of programming the missiles when the door burst open with a loud thwack.

  He whirled around in his chair in time to catch sight of Wolfman barreling into the missile control room. Face flushed, Wolfman looked agitated.

  “What is it?” demanded Guzman. “I’m in the middle of something.”

  Guzman could see three of Wolfman’s armed guards standing out in the corridor behind Wolfman, who was framed in the doorway.

  “Zombies,” gasped Wolfman, breathing heavily from having run full bore all the way from the garage entrance to the missile control room.

  “What zombies? What are you talking about?”

  “They’re swarming into the bunker. They’re all over the place.”

  Guzman bolted to his feet. “How did they get in here?”

  “The garage door’s open.”

  “Well, close it. Don’t be an idiot.” Guzman could not tolerate morons.

  “There’s an SUV stuck under it.”

  “Move the SUV!”

  “The garage is crawling with the infected. We can’t get to the SUV. And more of the things keep pouring through the door.”

  “Fuck!” said Guzman in an access of rage.

  “Boss,” said Klecko, shuffling over to Guzman.

  “What!”

  Klecko flinched at Guzman’s hollering. “What are we gonna do?”

  Guzman shook his head in disgust. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

  He jerked his head up at the fitful popping of automatic weapons’ fire in the corridor.

  The three guards behind Wolfman were falling in their tracks, Guzman noticed.

  Eyes wide, Wolfman noticed the same thing and ducked into the control room.

  CHAPTER 77

  Halverson had fired a three-round burst into each of the three soldiers that stood behind Wolfman, dropping them before they had a chance to return fire, as he charged toward the room’s door. Halverson figured Guzman must be inside the room, even though Halverson could not know that this was the missile launch room. All he knew was that it was in the western area of the bunker and Wolfman was standing in front of it. He decided it was a good bet that Guzman was inside.

  Even if Guzman wasn’t, Halverson needed more ammo if he was going to fend off the flesh eaters. He killed Guzman’s soldiers for their magazines and their MP7s.

  When he reached their corpses he snagged two MP7s and slung their straps over his shoulders. He latched onto a fresh magazine that was secured in a dead guard’s belt. He stuffed the magazine inside his waistband.

  Swiggum came up behind him and grabbed ahold of an MP7 and looped its strap around his neck. Victoria was right behind him. She plucked a Glock 17 from a cadaver’s leather holster.

  Halverson heard scuffling down the hall. He whipped his head around to determine the source of the sound. He didn’t
like what he saw.

  A pack of flesh eaters, all jerking arms and legs, was shambling in his direction.

  “Inside,” he told Swiggum and Victoria.

  They sprang into the control room. Halverson charged into the room, gun first, scything it to and fro, keeping Wolfman, Klecko, and Guzman in his sights.

  Swiggum shut the door behind them.

  Stunned, Guzman gazed at Halverson. “You couldn’t get past my men outside my office. How did you get out?”

  “The same way you did,” said Halverson. “And your men left, by the way, to fight the flesh eaters.”

  “I guess you’re not so smart with your giant transhumanist brain,” said Swiggum and chortled.

  “Why are you pointing your guns at me?” said Klecko. “I’m with you guys.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Don’t you remember me? We planned our escape together,” said Klecko, breaking into a sweat.

  “And then you ratted us out to your boss,” said Swiggum between his teeth. He shot Klecko in the chest. “I hate snitches.”

  Grimacing, Klecko clutched his chest and fell to the floor. Swiggum drilled a bullet through Klecko’s head for good measure.

  “You’re not gonna shoot me,” said Wolfman, dropping his MP7 as he looked at Halverson.

  “No, but I am,” said Swiggum and put a round into Wolfman’s chest.

  Wolfman groaned, crumpled to his knees, then lay on the floor.

  “For sure you’re not gonna shoot me,” said Guzman.

  “Why not?” said Halverson, as Swiggum was in the act of swinging his MP7 toward Guzman.

  “You broke in here when I was programming these missiles to fire at Mount Weather.”

  “So?” said Swiggum.

  “So I completed programming one of them. Unless I cancel the launch, it will go off as scheduled in fifteen minutes.”

  “I’ll cancel it myself,” said Halverson, stepping toward the control panel under the TV images of the missiles in their silos.

  “You can’t cancel it without the secret code. I’m the only one who knows it.”

  “I honestly don’t care if you blow up this Mount Weather place, whatever it is,” said Swiggum and brought his gun to bear on Guzman.

  “Don’t,” said Halverson. “We need to stop the launch.”

  “Why?”

  “The president’s in Mount Weather.”

  “What did the president ever do for me?”

  “It’s the only government we’ve got left. Without him, anarchy rules.”

  “I didn’t vote for the guy. How could I? I was in jail.”

  “Let’s shoot up the control panel,” said Victoria. “That should short-circuit the launch.”

  Guzman smiled, beaming with self-confidence. “Actually, it won’t. You’ll only succeed in preventing anyone from being able to abort the launch, myself included.”

  “Let’s just waste the guy and beat it,” said Swiggum. “I hate to tell you, the flesh eaters are closing in on us.”

  “I’m willing to cut a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?” said Halverson.

  “I’ll cancel the launch if you take me with you.”

  “I say we shoot him and be done with it,” said Swiggum, keeping his MP7’s muzzle trained on Guzman.

  “Let’s take him with us,” said Victoria. “Why do we have to kill him anyway? He can help us fight the flesh eaters when we try to get out of here.”

  “I’m not giving that guy a gun without a full suit of body armor on.”

  Victoria heaved a long sigh. “OK. So we don’t give him a gun. He can use his hands to fight the creatures. Let’s just get a move on it.”

  At that moment, the door swung open.

  Gun in hand, Halverson wheeled around at the sound.

  CHAPTER 78

  Trailing blood on the floor, Wolfman was slipping through the doorway and out into the hall, toting his MP7.

  “What are we gonna do now?” said Swiggum, whipping his gun toward Wolfman, but too late.

  Wolfman had already disappeared into the hall.

  “Forget him,” said Halverson. “He’s not gonna get very far in his condition. We need to stop the launch.” He turned back to Guzman.

  “Is it a deal?” said Guzman.

  “I don’t have time to argue about it.”

  “Does that mean we have a deal?” said Guzman, brimming with self-confidence.

  Halverson turned it over in his mind. He didn’t have many options. He had to stop that missile. He could not do it without Guzman’s help. But he also wanted to take out Guzman for ordering the torture and dismemberment of his companions at the hands of the flesh eaters during Guzman’s twisted experiments. The man was a sick psychopath that cried out for elimination.

  “OK,” said Halverson, his heart not in it.

  “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

  “If you don’t shut down the missile launch, I’ll kill you.”

  “That’s not the guarantee I want to hear.”

  Halverson said nothing.

  Guzman mulled it over and reached a decision. He angled toward the control console. Once there, he punched in an alphanumeric code on the keyboard.

  “There,” he said.

  “There what?”

  “It’s done. I aborted the launch.”

  Halverson scrutinized the CCTV images of the missiles sitting in their silos. “Everything looks the same.”

  “That’s because none of them is gonna launch. If they were about to launch, you would see smoke.”

  “Can we go now?” Swiggum said impatiently, fixing to bolt toward the door.

  “We ought to blow this place up first,” said Halverson, taking in the room.

  “With what?”

  “Then let’s go.”

  “I really ought to whack this guy,” said Swiggum, holding his MP7 on Guzman and gnashing his teeth. “I can’t even bear to think of what his flesh-eating pets did to Simone and Probst and Nordstrom.”

  “We made a deal,” said Guzman. “And besides, I know the way out of here.”

  “He’s got a point,” Halverson told Swiggum.

  “But how do we know he’ll lead us to the exit?” said Swiggum. “He might take us somewhere else, like straight to his troops.”

  “I aborted the launch of the missile, didn’t I?” said Guzman.

  Halverson didn’t trust Guzman, but he figured Guzman wanted out of the zombie-infested blast shelter as much as he did.

  “We’ll use him for our guide,” said Halverson.

  MP7 in hand, he made a beeline for the hallway with Guzman in front of him and came to a dead halt as he entered the hall.

  A pack of flesh eaters was tearing Wolfman apart and gobbling down his body parts. Wolfman was screaming in pain as two of the creatures bit mouthfuls of flesh from Wolfman’s shoulders. Arterial blood spurted up to the ceiling in a scarlet arc as the creatures tore hunks of flesh from Wolfman’s shoulders with their crooked teeth.

  Halverson wondered how long Wolfman could remain conscious before he passed out from loss of blood. It would not take long. The mutilated body of Wolfman would bleed out soon.

  “Is that the direction we’re headed in?” asked Halverson.

  “Unfortunately,” answered Guzman, eying the shambling mass of creatures that were eating Wolfman alive.

  Halverson sucked in his breath. “We’ll have to blast our way through them.”

  He ejected his MP7’s clip and saw it was a forty-round version of 4.6 X 30 mm cartridges. He also saw it was half-empty. He reinserted the clip and racked the slide. He emptied the clip into the nearest heads of the creatures.

  Watching the creatures crumple with their heads exploding when hit, he swapped the spent magazine for a fresh clip.

  “How many of them are there, you think?” said Swiggum.

  “I’d say a dozen. Every shot has to hit home. We don’t know what we’re gonna run into after this pack.”
<
br />   Swiggum swung a glance at his MP7. “We should have enough ammo.”

  “This time, anyway,” said Victoria.

  “You take point,” Halverson told Guzman.

  “I don’t even have a gun,” said Guzman.

  “We’ll cover you.”

  “How am I supposed to defend myself from the flesh eaters?”

  “I told you, we’re covering you. I want you in my sight at all times.”

  Guzman was in no hurry to proceed. “At least give me a weapon.”

  It was Swiggum who said, “No way. How do we know you won’t turn on us?”

  Now that they had polished off Wolfman the knot of flesh eaters trudged through his picked-clean bones that they had discarded on the floor and made their way toward Halverson and crew, their mouths dripping with fresh blood, their glazed eyes intent on consumption of more flesh.

  “Get going,” Halverson told Guzman.

  “How do I know you won’t shoot me in the back?” said Guzman.

  “Because you’re the one who knows the way out of here,” said Halverson and prodded Guzman in the spine with his MP7’s muzzle.

  “You might shoot me by mistake,” said Guzman, taking a few short steps forward and balking.

  “Stay over to the right side of the hall, out of the way of our line of fire.”

  “Why don’t we wait for them to come here? That way you won’t shoot me.”

  “That’s not the problem. The problem is, we’re running out of time. The longer we take to get out of here, the more flesh eaters swarm into this shelter.”

  Seeing no way out of his dilemma, Guzman commenced to edge toward the gaggle of creatures that grimaced with their disintegrating pus green teeth, hissing and clawing the air as they slogged toward him.

  CHAPTER 79

  Halverson plugged the lead five-four auburn-haired female ghoul in her round face. The teen ghoul’s decrepit head snapped back then her occipital bone blew out of the back of her skull, splattering necrotic brain matter on the creatures behind her as the jagged wedge of bone sailed into them. Never realizing she was dead, she slumped to the floor.