by Jack Wallen
“That’s our next move. The ZRT in New Salt Lake City.”
Morgan grabbed Rizzo and turned her so they were almost nose-to-nose.
“You’re coming with us. I’ve spent too much time without you by my side.”
I stepped into the secretive tête-à-tête to add my own commandment. “And absolute radio silence. No one is to know what we are doing or where we are going. The Zero Day Collective is listening. We cannot give them any information that would tip them off.”
“Hold that thought.” Rizzo zipped away before I could continue. No sooner had I turned to Morgan to get a bit more information on our newly acquired teammate, Rizzo returned with an army-grade walkie-talkie.
“If you need me, use this. It runs on an encrypted channel. No civilian unit can pick up on this signal.”
I glared at the proffered walkie.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. The Zero Day Collective are surprisingly brilliant at breaking the rules of nature, technology, and physics. If they can fuck us, they will. No foreplay, no lube. Fortunately, we have me on our side.” I offered my hand out to Rizzo. “Let me see that walkie for a moment.”
As soon as the piece of tech was in my hand, I instructed Rizzo to grab its mate and take it to Jamal. The second she was out of sight, I turned to the Hummer and grabbed Jamal’s attention.
“Remember that radio mod we created in school?”
Jamal grinned like a boy who’d seen his first naked woman. “I do. It was a thing of beauty.”
“How long would it take us to reverse engineer this radio and its mate with the same level of encryption?”
Before I could ask another question, he had the radio in his hands. After a single tilt of the head, his big brown eyes looked up at me and he smiled again. “Give me twenty minutes and a kiss.”
The second the word came out of Jamal’s mouth, his cheeks flushed brilliant red.
“Did I actually voice that? Please tell me you didn’t hear—”
Instead of enjoying Jamal wriggle and writhe his way out of this one, I pressed my lips against his. The moment wasn’t perfect, but it was one filled with certainty and a level of secure familiarity I hadn’t felt in a long time. Even without “perfect,” I wanted to dwell in the moment and forget the shit-storm that drained the planet of the will to live.
“Okay, you can have them in ten,” Jamal winked, and turned to focus on the task at hand. With his head out of the way, I caught a glimpse of Echo; the look on her face was beyond precious. When she nodded, I knew things were headed down the right path.
For that one second, I felt alive again, like there was something to pull me out of the downward spiral. Yes, my heart was still broken by the loss of baby Jacob. Yes, I knew nearly every ounce of energy I had was focused on his return. But fuck, my heart still needed to beat a steady rhythm before it forgot how. That kiss was the jump-start I needed.
A single, simple kiss and I am once again a woman, a human…alive.
I wanted to cry. My hormones were waging a war I wasn’t sure I could win. I was suffering the first ever case of post-apocalyptic-partum depression. Before I dropped to my knees and let loose a Medea-level wail of sorrow, I rushed away from the Hummer.
“Morgan,” I called out, the second I spotted her. “I’ve got Jamal modifying the walkies. We’ll be able to safely use them as we travel. Oh, and I don’t think Rizzo should go alone.”
“Agreed. I’ll send Joshua with her. It’s going to be a long trip. We’ll stop, fuel up, locate some supplies, and make our way to New Salt Lake City. Once we’re there…?” Morgan’s eyebrow shot up.
“We start planning for world domination.”
Morgan nodded and sped off toward Rizzo and Josh.
*
We finally managed to get on the road. Morgan looked perfectly at home behind the wheel of the Hummer. Out of curiosity, I switched on the radio. The last time I checked, the FM frequencies were a wasteland of static. There were a few pirate radio stations scattered along the AM dial, but most of them filled the airwaves with conspiracy theories born of hatred and ignorance. You never knew what flavor of stupidity you would land on.
I stuck with FM and pressed the Seek button. Before I could hope for a little eighties or nineties throwback, a familiar voice bounced from the speakers.
“You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio. Your personal soundtrack to the end of the world. That was Die So Fluid and their anthem for the new world order, ‘The World Is Too Big For One Lifetime.’ As for me, well, as far as you know, I’m a cat and I’ve only run through one of my lifetimes. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the rumors of my demise were just like a teenage boy’s first date…premature. I’m here. I’ve always been here. I will always be here. Veni, vidi, vici. That’s not to say I am to be compared to Caesar; but you get the idea. Caveat fuck you, Zero Day Collective. Now that might be more apropos. If any of you are curious—and don’t deny that curiosity because I will call shenanigans on your ass if you do—I faked my death. That’s right: here on the radio I made it seem like I grew weak in the knees and deep-throated a pistol to end the swelling misery. But like Jesus and Robert Downey Jr.’s career, I resurrected myself to be bigger, badder, and bolder than ever before. I am Iron Man Christ and you, zombie radio nation, are stuck with me—whether you like it nor not. So, with that, I’m going to drop a little metal on your ass that is as fitting as Hailey Williams’s jeans. Hubba hubba, that image makes me smile. How’s about a little Halford and ‘Resurrection’?”
“B?” Morgan glanced my way. “That’s one wicked grin lighting up your face. What’s it mean?”
“Just reconnecting with an old friend.”
The sound of Rob Halford’s voice assaulted the inside of the truck. I closed my eyes and relished the moment.
chapter 4 | the death and life of richard gerand
The camera’s autofocus racked in and racked out until his head was perfectly framed and visible. He hit record and took in a deep breath before he began what would hopefully be his last recording.
“My name is Dr. Richard Gerand. I can’t remember which entry this is; honestly, it doesn’t matter. What matters is this.” The doctor held up a large syringe to the camera. “Within this hypodermic is the culmination of over a year’s work. This…is “fry”.”
Gerand’s head drooped; his gaze fell to the floor.
“I should explain.” The doctor looked back up to meet the camera’s gaze, his eyes bloodshot and his pupils dilated. “I was brought in by John Burgess to help the Zero Day Collective create the Mengele Virus.” Gerand held up his hands to the camera. “It was these hands that designed and gave birth to the plague. This was all under the guise of filming a movie Burgess called T-Minus Zero. A lot of people died that night in the tiny city of Templeton. I should have been one of them.
“Ever since that night I have been doing everything I could to make amends. I believe I have just that in my hand.”
Gerand held the syringe against the lens of the camera.
“This is my gift to you, mankind. What you see in this vial is both a cure and a weapon. Thing is, it hasn’t been fully tested. But fear not—what better breeding ground to test this serum than on the man who created its target? You see, I’ve already infected myself with the latest strain of MV—that’s what I’m calling it now, the Mengele Virus. You’re probably asking yourself why any self-respecting scientist would go to such lengths to test a cure that probably won’t work. Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is precisely what I deserve. Should the cure not work, my death will serve as a proper punishment for my crimes against humanity.”
The biologist pulled the cap off the syringe and pointed the gleaming needle at the camera. A drop of liquid slowly formed at the tip and succumbed to gravity.
“I read Jacob Plummer’s manifesto. He was right—the sound comes first. It’s not painful in the beginning; it’s more an annoyance, like a mosquito forever buzzing in your ear. As the virus
progresses, the sound slowly consumes your every waking moment. The pain has yet to become unbearable, but it’s close. There is no scientific method of discerning the ideal moment for the cure, so I figured it would be best to inject the serum before the pain incapacitates me. Besides, I’ll need my faculties to be able to record what is happening to me.
“And so, without further ado…”
Dr. Gerand plunged the needle deep into his arm.
“If this works, I’ll be a hero. If this doesn’t work…I’ll be dead, so it won’t matter.”
As the needle was slowly removed, the skin on Gerand’s face grew noticeably pale.
“My pulse is erratic. I can feel—”
A scream tore from Gerand’s lungs and he slammed his arm onto the table, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He stared into the camera, his eyes twitching and watering.
“The pain is incredible,” the doctor’s voice wavered. “I don’t think I can—”
Without warning, Gerand repeatedly slammed his head onto the table.
“It’s too much.”
Another scream.
“I can’t…”
Scream.
Gerand looked up, his face frozen in mid-scream. Not a sound slipped from his lips. There was only the tiniest of movements—a quivering lower lip. Rivers of sweat ran down the man’s cheeks and neck. For the slightest of moments, it looked as if his eyes would bulge from their sockets. The doctor’s right hand lowered and moved out of frame. When the hand returned, it held a gun.
“I can’t take this level of pain. It has to stop.”
Gerand pulled the hammer back on the pistol.
“I am so sorry I did this to you. No one deserves to live like this. All I can do is hope my death will give some creature comfort to those in need.” Another pain-wracked shout from his lips. “If not, well, then I do apologize from the bottom of my heart. Had John Burgess not known about my darker repasts, this would not be an issue.”
Gerand slammed his fist down on the table and then brought his forehead crashing down. Over and over the flesh and bone of the man’s forehead met the table. His eyes darted to the left and right and finally focused back on the camera. The look on Gerand’s face went well beyond fear and into some darker realm of absolute understanding. A shock of enlightenment seemed to wash over him before his head crashed to the table for the last time.
The camera continued to roll. Gerand’s hand twitched and then all collapsed into a perfect, motionless silence.
chapter 5 | no more cat food
We finally pulled into the gas station. Thankfully it was a full-service station that advertised the best fried chicken and stadium hot dogs in the area. How could every Quickie Mart in the nation offer the “best” of anything? Morgan pulled the Hummer up close to one of the pumps.
Echo released a heavy sigh.
“B, I don’t know if I can eat another piece of cat food.”
A groan slipped from my lips. Instead of laying on more grief, I looked back at Echo and meowed. The moment brought the slightest murmur of laughter from the group.
“She’s not serious, is she? Are we going to be eating cat food?” Jamal’s face was lined with concern and horror.
“Actually, Jamal—” I started.
“Meow.” Echo stopped me before I could get too far. We all had another good laugh.
“She’s quite serious,” I continued. “Before we found you in the Seattle underground, we were pretty much living off kibble.”
Jamal groaned.
“Hey, don’t knock it. Yes, it tastes like corn-fed ass, but it beats the alternative.”
I didn’t have to continue to explain what the alternative was; everyone knew. That fear was always nestled in the back of our minds, waiting to jump out from a corner and bash our skulls on the closest solid surface. Instead, we all exited the truck. Echo shot off to look for sustenance (and a restroom), while I chatted with Morgan and Josh about the best means of getting gas to the vehicles. I recounted the method of siphoning I’d used in the past. Both Morgan and Josh agreed it was, without a doubt, the best path to success. Not only was it simple, it was completely human powered; so the lack of electricity wouldn’t hamper the deed in the slightest.
Thankfully, Josh agreed to do the siphoning. I gave him the specifics on the task and he went off in search of a garden hose long enough to reach the bottom of the station’s holding tanks. Rizzo pulled her Hummer up and had its lights beaming artificial sunshine over the area. The shadows danced away like tiny Nosferatus.
As I took in the scene, I was overcome by a strange sense of pride. This ragtag collection of survivors seemed to know what they were doing. For a brief second I felt the apocalypse could be beaten back enough to give humanity a puncher’s chance. These moments were not only few and far between, but bittersweet. The pride was misplaced. Without the constant threat of the Mengele Virus, we would just be average schmucks doing average things. Enter the apocalypse and the mere act of survival seemed superhuman. We had each, in our own ways, beaten the most impossible odds.
Before the moment dove too deep into melodramatic waters, a chorus of moans rained down on our parade. Because of the surrounding darkness, it was impossible to tell from which direction the sounds came. At first, the hateful noise consisted of a few random moans. Eventually, each moan seemed to join together to become a single soulless song.
Like seasoned professionals, not one of my crew made a peep. Everyone carefully and quietly left their positions and returned to the trucks. Those with weapons had them drawn; those without made sure to ease in behind the nearest gun, sword, or club.
“Can you get a location on those things?” Morgan whispered to Josh.
“No.”
I glanced over at Jamal. Judging by the look on his face, he was deep in the throes of calculation. It took him less than a minute to finally chime in.
“Over there,” he pointed. “Approximately twenty-five yards. The zombies will be coming from over there.”
Josh tossed a look toward Jamal. “How do you know that?”
I placed my hand on Josh’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “Trust me, he knows. It’s one of his things.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” Josh offered me a nod and turned his rifle in the direction Jamal had pointed. “Morgan, you and Rizzo take flank. Let’s get these sumbitches.”
“I love it when you speak redneck,” Rizzo giggled.
“Pull it together, Riz,” Morgan admonished her with a whisper. “We have civilians to protect.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was strange hearing the military-esque dialogue again. Without my consent, my brain recalled a memory of Sellers, Dirt Bag, and Commander Leamy—heroes in the truest sense of the word. They gave their lives so that Jacob and I could continue on. In that moment it dawned on me how I’d let them down. Their blood was spilled and I did little more than piss on it by letting the Zero Day Collective get their hands on Jacob. That was a wrong to be righted. In the meantime, it seemed I had to stave off a flood of tears once again.
“You okay, B-dizz?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as we get out of this mess, Jamal.”
“Fair enough.”
The three Zombie Response Team superheroes stepped out into the glaring beams of the Hummer’s lights. The sound of the undead rose and filled the area with spine-chilling terror.
Like cats, Morgan and Rizzo slipped into the shadows, leaving Josh by himself.
“Come on out, undead chum buckets. It might not read too high on the intelligence scale, but the brain in this skull is as juicy and meaty as you’ll find. Come and get it.” Josh teased the zombies.
It worked.
From out of nowhere, one of the zombies appeared in a spill of light. The effect was actually quite stunning—albeit in a post-apocalyptic theatrical kind of way. My usual bad sense of humor bubbled up and imagined the zombie riffing a few Bob Fosse-esque dance moves and being joined by a chorus of zombies read
y to break into a Michael Jackson or Leonard Bernstein number.
When you’re a Jet…
Instead, Josh raised his weapon, locked his position, and called out.
“Hey, fuckstick, over here. I told you I have a smörgåsbord of delicious meat ripe for the pickin’. Look at me. There’s enough here to feed you and your friends for a week.”
The zombie finally zoned in on Josh and began to amble his way. Before the rotting pus bag reached its target, a Screamer released a war cry howl and bull-rushed Josh to the ground. Before anyone could react, the Screamer had Josh’s head in his hands and was about to give his skull the final countdown to zero.
From out of nowhere, a knife sliced through the air and impaled the Screamer’s skull. The monster went down with a dull, wet thud. Like a ninja, Josh leaped to his feet with his gun trained on a slow-motion Moaner.
“Riz, you want this one, too? Thanks, by the way,” Josh shouted.
“Nah, it’s all yours, bro. And you’re welcome.”
Josh stepped into the zombie and, with the butt of his rifle, cracked the beast’s skull hard enough to split it open. The Moaner continued forward and reached limp arms toward its attacker.
“You want some more?” Josh called out, as he dropped the blunt end of his weapon down for a second blow. This time, however, he missed. The zombie’s arms fumbled through the air and managed to catch hold of Josh’s neck. The dead weight of the undead male was too much for Josh and the two went down in an awkward heap.
Rizzo had another knife cocked in her hand and ready to release.
“Josh, give me a good shot,” she called out.
The zombie released a harrowing moan.
Morgan rushed to jump into the melee. Before she could get her hands into the mix, Josh flipped over and rolled his way out of the zombie’s grip. With the speed and grace of a ninja, Josh was on his feet waiting for the Moaner. As the beast attempted to stand, Josh landed another crushing blow to its brainpan. The zombie’s head exploded like a rotten watermelon. Viscera flew in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree arc. Josh attempted to duck and cover but was too slow. The slop from the Moaner’s skull splashed down on his head and shoulders. As Josh turned, I could see his eyes and mouth closed tight—he knew the danger the undead sludge presented.