I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  “What is it?” Sally’s eyes were wide, frightened.

  “It’s a screamer and I think it’s in the hospital.” I tried to relay the importance of silence to Sally in my whisper.

  “I thought Gunther checked the entrances? Fuck! What do we do?” Sally caught on to the imperative of silence.

  “Jean.” I had to wake the doctor who was somehow sound asleep through the roaring. Slowly the man came around. “What do we have in this room that would knock out a horse?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  Right before I opened my mouth to give Jean the big why another roar was unleashed. The sound echoed around the hallway and danced its way under the doorjamb of our room. Jean instantly understood the why.

  “I did check the entrances. They were all secure. Someone would have had to let it in. Should we remain quiet and wait for it to go away?” Gunther was fully awake and whispering his two cents.

  I wish it were that simple. In our brief history with these monsters they have shown us, time and again, they do not follow any standard prescription for order. Zombies are not predictable, and their instincts cannot be trusted.

  “That thing knows there are living beings in this building and it will not stop until he’s feeding on our thoughts and memories,” I whispered over another screech from our intruder that seemed to indicate the thing was drawing closer.

  “We have to kill it!” Gunther added definitively.

  A better plan was forming in the back of my head. “Jean, if we could get a dose of tranquilizer into that thing, how long will it take before the monster is out cold?”

  “I don’t really know. If it were only human it would go under fairly quickly. Based on what I have seen and heard, this could take some time. Why do you ask? What are you thinking?”

  “Ahead, Jean, I’m thinking ahead.” What I was contemplating was simple, dose the beast and trap it until it was out. But more than that, I was thinking how we could possibly use one of these things.

  I assumed it safe to say a hospital wouldn’t keep tranquilizer guns lying around. Somehow we would have to get up close and personal enough to inject the screamer. If there were another way…

  “Would a taser take the thing down? Long enough to give it an injection?” Sally’s mind was racing nearly as fast as mine. Her suggestion had serious merit.

  “I believe so. I’ve seen them shocked on electric train tracks and they react just like the living,” Gunther said, offering his own perspective. This, whatever it is, was starting to shape into a plan. Another spine-shrinking screech echoed through the halls.

  “So, one of us could tag it with a taser and another could come up from behind and do the injection.” My statement was punctuated with another roar and loud crash. The thing was much closer. We had to act fast.

  “Why are we even thinking of doing this? We should kill this monster before it kills us!” Jean attempted to inject a bit of reason into a discussion that had no room for such devices.

  That question, however much it halted the upward progress of our planning, did beg to be answered. Strangely enough, I had an answer. Without the means to test the Obliterator, we would be taking a chance against who knows how many of the undead on the streets. We now have an opportunity to capture a single zombie, restrain it, and use it to make sure the weapon works exactly as planned. When Jean heard my logic, he quickly made a 180 and agreed it was the better plan of action. I could still see the fear in his face, but having his support bolstered the faith in the entire group.

  “I’ll volunteer to handle the tasing,” Jean surprised me by further supporting the cause.

  I shot down Jean’s request. Seeing as how he was our only doctor, it made absolutely no sense that he should be put in harm’s way. Once I vetoed Jean, I was summarily vetoed for duty by both Gunther and Sally. I was the only one of us (maybe on the planet) that could hack into the Mengele File, which was far more important, according to both Gunther and Sally, than having another train conductor and news caster alive. And when anther, louder crash was heard, very near our room, it was decided that we must move fast.

  So it was settled. Jean began preparing a couple of hypodermics with whatever it would take to drop a screamer. Gunther assured me he knew how to use a taser and, once Jean had the tranquilizer ready, he instructed Sally how best to efficiently inject the zombie. We decided, against all better judgment it seems, to lead the screamer into our room. It was easier to contain the beast in a smaller room and, should something go wrong, there would be more of us to help out.

  Another roar threatened to peel the cheap paper off the walls.

  “That noise is fucking horrible,” Sally said, looking as if she was going to plunge the hypo into her own ear to save herself the headache of listening to the zombie music any longer.

  Everything was ready. My heart was threatening to rip out of my chest and take off running down the hall. No part of me really wanted to get up close and personal with this thing, but we had no other way. A brief silence blanketed the room. Simultaneously we let out a sigh that wanted to say Nice knowing you. This was dangerous, but now, so is the very act of living.

  “Are you ready?” I looked to Sally.

  “No. Yes. Shit!” Sally was obviously the most frightened of us all. I placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled at her, which seemed to minutely ease her fear.

  “Thank you, B.”

  “Nickname. Good timing.” I winked at her and pulled open the door.

  With the door open, the roaring of the zombie grew to an indescribable, and almost distorted, sound.

  “Hey! Where are you?” I said into the cacophony, hoping to draw the monster into our little trap.

  “Hey you piece of dumb shit!” Jean added, his words almost comical, given his heretofore stoic personality. Add to that his improper use of the American slang phrase and I nearly laughed.

  “Zombie! Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Sally’s voice grew to a high pitch I didn’t think her capable of. That sound did the trick.

  With another bellowing roar, the screamer began stomping our way. From the sounds of it, he was tossing every possible piece of furniture and equipment out of his way in order to reach us. And when he did, I was surprised how everything went down.

  There are times when Murphy’s Law decides every second of your day is going to suck. Nothing goes right; no code compiles, no back doors open, you run your hose, you’re out of fizzy beverages. The ever-piling up, tiny incidents make for a very shitty day. And then there are the grand scale, life changing moments you are sure will go completely wrong and fuck your world…and they don’t. This moment was of the latter type. In fact, this little plan could not have gone off more perfectly.

  The screamer reached the room and issued a ridiculous scream. Gunther replied in kind and the monster lunged his way. Like a primo ballerino, Gunther’s taser toting hand swooped down and zapped the zombie on the neck. The screamer started doing the “wacky pop dance” all the way to the ground. As soon as the zombie hit the ground, Sally was on the thing, jamming the hypos all the way home. The zombie writhed and screamed for few seconds, but quickly fell into the sleep of angels.

  And as quickly as the plan came to a close, we realized we hadn’t thought any further than getting the beast out cold. We still had to tie the motherfucker up, otherwise our brilliantly executed plan was shit.

  Gunther and I quickly started searching for something, anything to tie up the zombie. Jean ran into the hall and grabbed a metal surgical table on wheels. The thing looked sturdy enough to hold The Incredible Hulk.

  We scavenged anything we could find. Bed restraints, knotted up sheets, and enough duct tape to seal out old man winter from a trailer park full of rednecks. The undead creature was, for all intents and purposes, cocooned to the table. There was no way that thing could get loose.

  Or so we hoped.

  For safety’s sake, we wheeled the bed into a separate room and locked the door from the outsid
e. The thing could wait until I had the Obliterator ready for testing. Jean had decided to make sure the beast would be under constant sedation, until the time was right. No one disagreed. He taped two syringes to the door of the room so there would be no desperate search for tranquilizer.

  In all the excitement we had forgotten it was the middle of the night and we were all exhausted. I was actually amazed that, after what we had gone through, any of us would be capable of sleeping. But here we were, about ready to turn the light off again and drift back to some place far away from the nightmare we are living.

  Blog entry 12/7/2015 6:10 a.m.

  I woke just after 6 a.m. to a hideous screaming. My hands fumbled nervously for a flashlight and my eyes worked to gain full access to the blue-tinted beam that cut through the absolute darkness. When I finally realized the sound hadn’t escaped from my dreams into the landscape of reality, Jean caught my attention.

  “It’s okay, I just checked on him. The restraints on the monster are showing no sign of fatigue. I gave it another dose of sedative, so the noise will abate momentarily,” Jean said, awkwardly wiggling his way back into his bunk.

  I was shocked the noise hadn’t awakened everyone in the room, especially when yet another barrage of screams threatened to shatter my eardrums.

  “Are you sure the sedative is going to keep working?” And just as I asked the question, the sound stopped.

  “I’m sure.” Jean smiled and put his head down on his impromptu pillow.

  Blog entry 12/7/2015 7:35 a.m.

  I had another dream. I think this time the dream was trying to tell me something. Although I don’t believe in that kind of hokum, I do believe my sub-conscience was trying to actually communicate a very important thought to me.

  My dream was of the Enigma Machine. This device was Nazi Germany’s nearly indecipherable encryption machine. Based on a system of rotors, the machine was ingenious. I think the cipher to the encrypted file might have something to do with that historical device. This makes perfect sense. I just have to figure out how it could be done.

  “Gunther, what do you know of Josef Mengele?” I hated to toss such a question at our only German citizen this early in the morning, but I had an immediate need to know.

  “I know I would rather you not mention that monster’s name in my company,” Gunther spat through sleep-filled eyes and a dry mouth.

  “I’m sorry, Gunther, but it’s very important. Something about Mengele might be the key to unlocking that encrypted file.” I had to hope Gunther would see how desperate I was to get any bit of help with that file. He had to help. This wasn’t about nationality, citizenship, religion, holocausts, or death camps. This was about saving the world.

  Ever so slowly, Gunther’s reticence dissolved. His face went from a red-tinted anger to the calm of acceptance.

  “What I know is the Angel of Death placed a black spot on the history of my country that was only outdone by Hitler himself. Mengele was a power-hungry madman who played God like it was nothing more than a childhood game.

  Gunther filled me in on as much Mengele fact as he had stowed away. What stuck the most was his nickname – The Angel of Death. I can only imagine being a bringer of death could have been seen as an angelic act in the conditions brought about within the walls of Auschwitz or Dachau. But what could someone like myself say to the matter when I have yet to experience a fraction of the suffering those poor people experienced?

  Angel of Death.

  Josef Mengele.

  Josefmengel.

  Angelofdeath

  Could it be that simple?

  I got out of bed and padded barefoot back to the nurses’ station. A quick Google search brought up all the information I needed about the Enigma Machine. What I really needed, however, was the rotor patterns for the machine. The Enigma Machine used a combination of rotors to very cleverly encrypt a message. It was such an elegant form of early encryption, but its application in today’s modern encryption was a challenge…unless you really simplify everything.

  One particular Enigma was called the Enigma I, which had the standard three rotors. This machine was introduced in 1930. If you take the first rotor from the machine, the code looks like this:

  A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

  E K M F L G D Q V Z N T O W Y H X U S P A I B R C J

  There were two strings of characters, in particular, that made sense:

  mengelevirus

  angelofdeath

  If you compared them to the number 1 rotor of the Enigma I, you get:

  olwdltlivuas

  and

  ewdltygflegq

  I know it sounds crazy, but I had to think one of those strings would be the key to opening the Mengele file. Why? Honestly, I don’t know. I’m not used to going on a ‘hunch’, but this time, with little more to drive me, this tick in the back of my brain insists the 1 rotor is the one. I realize I am placing the hope of mankind on the shoulders of a dream, but it’s better than anything else I’ve come up with so far. Plus, I’ve reached the point where will try just about anything to crack that file. I’ve hit it with every big gun known to my kind, to no avail.

  With the laptop open, I started one of the encryption tools that would allow me to enter a specific encryption key or matrix. I added the first string and the tool went to work. It would use the letters in the cipher in every permutation possible, until it exhausted all combinations. If that failed, the next string will be plugged in and, hopefully, it will work. If neither string work…I don’t even want to go there right now.

  “Bethany,” Gunther ninja’d me as I was entranced by the working cipher text.

  “Yes?” My voice betrayed my calm facade, letting Gunther know he caught me by surprise.

  “We really need to get out and get supplies. How much longer before we can test your weapon?” Gunther was anxious to get out and do something, anything, productive. Plus the junk food wasn’t cutting it at keeping our hunger at bay.

  “It’s not really a weapon. I don’t –” I wanted to explain to Gunther that I didn’t subscribe to violence, but, well, considering the circumstances, anyone with a belief system bereft of violent tendencies is most likely revisiting that position. In light of our present situation, violence might be the only means to remain alive. “It’s nearly done. I just have to secure the housing and make sure it will last out in the field. Once that is done we can test it on our subject the minute he wakes up.”

  “How will we know it works?”

  Gunter’s question was quite a legitimate one, but anyone that has witnessed the effects the Obliterator has on zombies knows how powerful this device can be as a deterrent.

  “Trust me, we’ll know.” I sent Gunther packing back to the holding cell to make sure our specimen hadn’t done anything tragic. I wanted to finish my work in peace.

  And while I work, a little Zombie Radio to help make the time pass a bit more effortlessly.

  “…that was Patsy Cline’s I Fall To Pieces, dedicated to all of those out there who have fallen victim to the shambling hordes. And if you haven’t already fallen to pieces, you will eventually. Decay knows no discrimination. Entropy will take you down just like it does everyone. I have to believe that even the undead have a timeline, an expiration date. Nothing is forever…not even zombies. Let’s take a caller. Zeke, from Sydney, Australia! I can’t help myself when I say ‘G’day mate’!”

  “Yeah…g’day. I wanna go back to something ya were talkin’ about earlier. That book, by that journalist…is it real? Do you think some wacko would be willing to commit genocide for money?”

  “You’re kidding me right, Zeke? Money is the great leveler. People around the globe would commit any atrocity for the right sum of money. Wouldn’t you? If someone offered you, say, one hundred million guilt-free dollars, how far would you be willing to go? Murder? Rape? Incest? The ultra-rich will pay a healthy sum to appease their fantasies. So to answer your question, I will pull one of my favorit
e ‘80’s artists out of the vault and spin for your pleasure a little Cindy Lauper and Money Changes Everything!”

  They were debating Jacob’s journal, openly discussing its validity and truth. Sure, I should be outraged that anyone would doubt those very moments I lived, but there it was, out in the open, dialog flowing over international airwaves. If Jacob were alive he’d probably say something about his Pulitzer dreams coming true.

  It wasn’t success as much as it was a great relief that had overcome me. My decision to share the book was paying off and the world was actually reading the only guide to the apocalypse they needed. My only remaining concern with I Zombie I is that people take it seriously. I only have to monitor Zombie Radio to gauge the public reaction.

  I fought back the urge to open up Skype, call in, and give them reason to believe. But what reason would I give? I have no proof, other than…the recordings! Jacob kept his recorder on for most of the last week of his life, recording every moment.

  That’s it! I could upload every word, every sound. Just put the raw files up on the server and let them hear for themselves. It’s perfect. No one could claim falsehood when the words were coming from Godwin himself. Reflex tossed one hand to the headset and the other to the mouse to connect to Zombie Radio. The screener answered my call and, when he realized it was me, patched me into the DJ immediately. As the connection was being made, I began the process of dumping the sound files onto the server and linking those files from the blog’s main page. I worked as quickly as my fingers could type.

  “Oh dear audience, we have the first post-apocalyptic superstar on the line. Miss Bethany Nitshimi, what might I do for you lovely lady?” The radio personality was laying it on a bit thick.

  “I heard your last caller doubting the validity of Jacob’s journal,” I said.