I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  Another round. Another breath. Another shot. This time the shot hit home and nailed one of the oncoming screamers in the left eye. The first of the armor plated zombies went down. The second continued onward. The rest of the men were already tucked safely inside the transport.

  “Brinkman! To the transport. Now!” The commander insisted.

  The marksman had better plans. When he was trained by Morgan and Joshua, he was never given the option to retreat. From Brinkman’s perspective, you served until you died. He wanted an honorable death and this would bring just that to him.

  The sound of the second monster reached a deafening, fever pitch. For a brief moment, everything went into slow motion. Brinkman could finally see the movement of the screamer in perfect, three dimensional, stereophonic color. The arms and legs were a frenzy of motion. The description of bone armor was dead on. Covering the entirety of the thing’s body were plates the color of dirty ivory. The thing moved like a manic marionette, arms and legs flailing in a nightmarish, chaotic dance. The roar of the solo monster was different than any other zombie he’d ever heard – some bastardization of metallic scratches with an overtone of Godzilla.

  Brinkman sucked in a deep breath and held it tight within his lungs. His right cheek rested comfortably on the worn spot of his guns’ wooden stock. Since the zombie never stopped moving, the shooter had to find the pattern within the movement. Once the pattern was discerned, he could anticipate the movement and place the shot accordingly.

  The thing was growing dangerously close. The monstrous sound vibrated loose metal and threatened to shatter weaker glass.

  “Brinkman! You have your orders. Get into the transport.”

  The order was summarily ignored. He had to get the shot. The shot was life, was salvation.

  Jerk right, hang forward, snap back, droop left.

  Jerk right, hang forward, snap back, droop left.

  The pattern revealed itself. Brinkman would get his shot.

  Just as the foul creature was about to droop left, it leaped into the expanse of space between where it was and where Brinkman knelt. The bullet shot out of the gun and cut through the empty air, coming to rest six inches into a wooden poll holding up a hand-made sign proclaiming “Jesus is Lord”. The bone-armored zombie came down on the shooter and swung a forearm out at his head. Brinkman’s skull erupted like a rotten watermelon, the pulpy juice sluicing the ground around the killer and killed.

  An unnatural, undead roar of triumph shook the ground. The commander of the ZRT team shouted the orders to move out just before the zombie gave chase. The army-issue Hummer had just enough horses to haul it, and its cargo, safely away from the monster. The beast finally gave up pursuit of the transport and released a screech of frustration.

  The game had changed. The bogeymen had evolved into something far more dangerous. Mother Nature seemed to somehow change sides and give the ghost in the human machine the advantage.

  The Hummer sped off. The team still had a mission to complete, humans to search for and rescue. Koenig sat in the back with his men. For the first mile not a word was spoken. Men exchanged glances, but nothing more. Eventually the silence was broken.

  “What do we do if we run into something like that again?” The speaker went by the name ‘Brimstone’. He fancied himself a comic book artist. His nom de plume came from one of his favorite characters he was developing before the apocalypse robbed him of his chance at fame and fortune.

  “We don’t miss.”

  Koenig’s answer drew a few chuckles from the men.

  “Seriously – don’t miss. You’ve trained for this. Everyone in this transport can shoot the shit out of a swallow at one hundred yards. You guys don’t miss. Ever. I suggest you remember that simple fact.”

  Chapter 22

  November 24, 2016 7:20 PM

  Underground City: Seattle, WA

  Jacob cried until his face was blood red. It broke my heart to see him struggling to breathe from whatever it was that made him weep. That was one of the hardest aspects of new motherhood – not knowing what to do to comfort my baby. I wanted to fold him up into my arms and protect him from the hate and sorrow that seeped into every crack and crevice of the landscape. But I wasn’t going to be that mom, the one that suffocated her child to the point of stunting his emotional and mental growth. I wanted Jacob to have a healthy understanding of what was going on around him. I assumed it would be the only way my child, or any child, stood a chance at survival. Truth. Because of that, my baby would hear my cry for help over the air, would watch me weep for loss, and would get to see me celebrate the destruction of what was once a human being.

  But at the moment, my baby was with me in a make-shift recording studio, where he would experience his mother call out to the crowds and ensure them that this revolution would not, in fact, be televised.

  Good evening Zombie Radio Nation. It’s me, your host, Bethany Nitshimi. I am here with the progeny of one Jacob Plummer to inform you that you are, in fact, still alive. If the words I am speaking are making sense to you, you my dear friend are still very much human. And this is Zombie Radio 2.0. That’s right my gentle nation, your replacement DJ is here to help you rock in the latest evolution of mankind and avoid having the man’s hand down our pants grabbing our junk without consent.

  That sounded disgusting. Just when did I start using words like ‘junk’? Especially in the presence of my baby. What’s going to happen with him? Will his first word be some trashy explicative he heard issued from my very mouth? Has my child been pre-doomed like the rest of humanity? To that I say ‘nay nay’. But how can I be so confident when the living are outnumbered by the dead and damned ten to one?

  I can, because I’m still here. The odds did everything in its power to bend me over and have its mighty way with me, but I refused to give in. I fought and I won. My very existence proves that we can and will survive. The Zero Day Collective has lost and soon their experiment will turn its rotten maw back on the creator and bite the hand that did feed it.

  Did I say The Zero Day Collective lost? What does that mean exactly? Are they dead and gone? No. Unfortunately some of those bastard mad-men lived to fight another day. They might be outside your door, hoping to drag you into the filth and rot of their experimentation. But we have one thing on our side that the bogeyman failed to consider – we are intelligent. I know that might seem a bit contrapuntal to the average state of man, prior to the release of the Mengele Virus. But I like to think of the great amplification as a reboot – a culling of an average herd. I know… I know… that sounds horrible. But seriously – the truth of the matter is that only two types of people will have survived The Zero Day Cleansing: The intelligent and the resilient. Ignorance and stupidity will have no place in the new world order. I guess that’s not entirely true. Just look out your windows. The undead, shambling horde represents the new caste of ignorance. Slack-jawed followers loping around with just enough lower-motor function to seek out sustenance. They’re out there – waiting to dine on the gray matter of the elite thinkers. Don’t fall prey to the wandering souls.

  So… what can you do? Simple. You can wait. There is a group out there, The Zombie Response Team, looking for you. They are our new heroes. Right now there are teams searching the barren wastelands of the country in search of survivors. When you see them, let them know you are alive and they will bring you to safe zones where you can breathe in the air of freedom from the undead tyranny. But do not try to find them, their headquarters have been destroyed. I cannot tell you where they are for fear the Zero Day Collective might hunt them down and decimate our last, best hope. Be patient – they will find you.

  And know this – as the ZRT searches, I will be hard at work developing the cure for this sick-fuck disease. Have faith, Bethany is on your side and I will do everything I can to bring the living back to prominence and Providence. That’s right bitches! Let’s get biblical!

  On second thought, let’s not. I’ve already had my share
of run ins with zealotry. But thinking biblical makes me think of Genesis and that is a perfectly good segue into a song. Here’s Genesis and ‘Land of Confusion’.

  The trusty sound of Phil Colin’s voice guided me into some sort of happy trance. I did it. My first ‘real’ broadcast complete with song. I wasn’t a DJ, that’s for sure. I didn’t have the sexy voice or the constant stream of pop-culture references, but I did have plenty to offer.

  This is good. I could easily turn this into something to help save the world.

  “What do you think Jake? Is Superman right here, standing in front of you making goo goo faces into a bassinet filled with the real savior of man?”

  My little man stared up at me, a gigantic, toothless grin beaming up into my eyes. He had no idea what was going on around him. All that mattered to Jacob was that his belly was full, his diaper was empty, and there were plenty of things to gawk at. Oh, would that life were so simple for everyone involved.

  I queued up a solid hour worth of music. There was no way I was about to ball and chain myself down to a desk and a mic. There was a cure to find, humans to save, and a collective of mass murderers to track down and destroy.

  “Momma’s a busy woman Jacob.” Jacob cooed up at me, his eyes twinkling in the light from above.

  A soft knock came from the other side of the door. When I opened the soundproof entryway, Morgan was standing, framed in the doorway. As soon as she saw me, she started clapping.

  “Brava Bethany Nitshimi! I knew there was a reason why you’re my hero.”

  Morgan’s arms reached out and wrapped around my neck. It had been a long time since a hug was a part of my life. My body melted into the embrace. It felt so good, even coming from a stranger. I didn’t want the connection to break.

  “I was listening. What you said was perfect. In so many ways, the world needs you. If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.” Morgan pulled away, her cheeks as red as mine felt.

  As soon as I heard the proclamation, my brain went into over drive. What did I need help with? The answer popped out of my mouth before it seemed my mind knew what was going on.

  “I need help locating a chemist and a biologist. The cure didn’t work. In fact, Dr. Michaels was lying all along. But I’m convinced one can be synthesized. Problem is, I can’t do it. So if you can find members of those professions among your survivors, we might have a chance at beating this back.”

  Morgan’s face immediately registered deep thought – a good sign. I already liked the girl, even before the soul-restoring hug.

  “I’ll see what I can do. I’m fairly certain we have at least one of those among us. He might not be here in the underground city, but he’s within our reach. I’ll poke around and see what I can find out.”

  Morgan left, a bit lighter on her toes than when she arrived. As she left, the first song faded only to be replaced by another; this time, the screeching guitars of ‘Welcome to the Jungle’ filled every corner of my broadcast room. The sound of Slash’s familiar wailing brought to light an idea.

  The Obliterator.

  I knew my next stop. Jamal had wanted to somehow join his Zombie Recognition Software with the right weaponry to defend the underground city. That solution required laser sighting and some incredibly complex software. I had a much more elegant, but just as effective solution.

  *

  “…but my goal is to lessen the undead population. Your idea would only scare them away. How does that help the greater good?”

  Jamal had a point. But the immediate need was the safety of the people within the confines of these underground tunnels and rooms.

  “Look, I know this idea doesn’t feed your mass destruction needs, but it does fulfill what should be our Prime Directive – survival. With your recognition software already in place, I can have the Obliterator up and running in less than a day. At least it will keep us from succumbing to an attack.”

  Jamal started deeply into my eyes. I could see wheels of genius turning a Turing Test, grinding and pulping the possibilities.

  “Fine. But I don’t want you screwing with my original code. I’ll give you the API and you can write the software to communicate with whatever hardware you create.”

  Before we could continue on with the conversation, a near-deafening alarm sounded.

  “Oh fuck!”

  “What? What’s ‘Oh fuck!’ mean Jamal? Is it what I think it means?”

  “Yes. We’re under attack. Get rid of the baby and meet me in the command room.”

  As I ran with the bassinet in hand, I couldn’t believe I was responding to ‘Get rid of the baby’. I couldn’t just get rid of Jacob. What I could do was hand him over to Echo until this attack was under control.

  When I threw open the door to mine and Echo’s temporary room, I was greeted by Echo and Gabe lying on the bed, hands in a mad frenzy of seek and destroy.

  “Don’t you knock?” Echo shouted and she pulled the covers to her chin.

  “I don’t have time. You need to watch Jacob. This place is under attack. Gabe… you’re a good shot, right? We could probably use you.”

  The young man looked up at me as if I’d just sprouted undead breasts that sprayed rotten milk over the room.

  “Fine. Whatever. I don’t have time to convince you. Just please watch Jacob for me Echo.”

  After I was assured my precious child would be safe, I took off, full-tilt, towards the command room. The alarm was still in full roar. I wanted to cover my ears, but needed my arms to move people out of the way.

  People. Strange how I had yet to really notice the actual people here in the Underground City. I must have been so deeply lost in my own little world, my eyes were blind to the world around me. Too bad there wasn’t time to offer up hugs and handshakes to every survivor.

  When I finally reached the command center, Jamal was busy discussing the strategy with Morgan and Josh. When Jamal caught sight of me, he immediately seemed to relax.

  “Bethany… I need you to listen to something.”

  Jamal went to a small console and moved a slider to the half-way point. The sound that greeted my ears was a mixture of the familiar and unfamiliar. But no matter how much of the sound I knew, the sound I didn’t know carried with it a level of disturbing I had never experienced.

  “What is that?”

  The sound was a random rattling mixed in with a strange, discordant noise of the undead.

  “When I show you the video that goes along with this sound, you’ll wish like hell you could erase it from your mind.” Jamal warned.

  Morgan stepped over to a television monitor. “My men in San Antonio reported similar iterations of the zombie species.” Morgan flipped on a flat screen monitor. Jamal was right. I immediately wanted to poke out my mind’s eye for ever glimpsing what I saw.

  Bone covered zombies. The undead with an exoskeleton. Every inch of the beasts was covered. Hundreds of the hulking monsters were heading directly toward the underground city.

  “How did this happen? The armoring?” Morgan’s voice was a fearful whisper.

  “This isn’t mother nature’s own evolution. My guess is the Zero Day Collective had a hand in this change. I saw worse mutations when I was being held captive by the bastards. You can’t imagine what the ZDC is capable of.”

  But I certainly could. I’d witnessed, far too often, what contemptible acts human beings were capable of. This new modification of the undead? Child’s play.

  It was Josh’s turn to play the hand of concern. “How do they know we’re here?”

  Jamal stood and, in his reply, handed over a bit more information about what he’d accomplished so far. “I’m fairly certain it’s the mass of people collected here in the city. The zombies must be smelling or hearing us.”

  The word mass certainly piqued my interest. “Just how many people are down here Jamal?”

  Jamal looked at me with a tilted, quizzical head. “I figured you would have already made the rounds or hacked a
few accounts by now to have every piece of information you needed. Are you hacker slacking B?” The gentle smiled returned to Jamal’s face. “There’s just over five hundred survivors down here. You need to get out of your shell and look around. It’s a real block party down in this bitch! And now baby – you’s the DJ!”

  Five hundred. I thought my days of living among that many were over.

  “I hate to break up whatever it is you two have going on there, but we have a large amount of bone-covered zombies heading our way. If we don’t stop them before they reach us, this block party might be called on account of death.” Morgan brought Jamal and I back to reality.

  Immediately, everyone at the table went silent. Eyes cast shadows of doubt and fear across the table at one another.

  “What kind of weaponry are we looking at?” Josh was the first to speak.

  “Oh we’re loaded for Armageddon. I planned this city to include a fully stocked bar and armory.”

  “Jamal, we can’t pop out of the streets with guns a blazin’. We make that much noise and there’ll be more than bone-armored zombies to deal with. We’ll wind up with the entire undead population of the state of Washington on our hands.”

  We had two clear choices in this situation – lead or scare the bastards away.

  “There is one noise we can make that will solve our problem.”

  Everyone at the table looked at me as if I were crazy. Before I could voice the answer to the unasked question, a dirty grin spread across Jamal’s face.

  “B, you are brilliant beyond my wildest, sexual fantasy. What all do you need to piece together an Obliterator?”

  I wrote down the list of hardware for Jamal to hunt down. He promised he’d have it all prepped and ready for me to work on within minutes. I should have been surprised by his one eighty on the Obliterator – but the armored zombies served as major game changer. While Jamal went hunting, I remained in command central to explain to the remaining soldiers of the new world freedom just what an Obliterator was.