by Jack Wallen
*
Jamal had the solar system up and charging a row of car batteries. It’d be a few hours before the batteries hit full charge—at least we all knew what we were in for. Morgan and Josh had us all prepped and ready with barrel fires to keep us lit and warm. The idea of open flame in a church had my heart and brain at war with one another. Morgan assured me the fires were built in such a way as to be easily controlled. Having two fully charged fire extinguishers at the ready certainly helped her case.
It was time. We grabbed the keys to the Hummer and made our way to the wall.
“Do you remember that night, back in grad school, when we had the zombie film marathon?” Jamal’s voice had a melancholy undertone. “Just a bunch of nerds, caffeinated beverages, pizza, and Romero.”
“How could I forget? That was the night we held hands under a blanket. What were we, twelve?”
“It was the code, Bethany.”
Laughter escaped my lips. The feeling had become so foreign to me.
“What code?”
Jamal stopped and stared, slack-jawed, at me. “Don’t tell me you knew nothing about the code. You had to. We created the damn thing because of you.”
My curiosity was well beyond piqued. “What do you mean?”
Jamal’s face turned a lovely shade of “busted.”
“Okay, I must preface this by saying it wasn’t my idea. When we started school you were probably the first hot girl to ever grace the hallowed halls of the Littinger School of Engineering. All of the guys from our class got together and decided that, to avoid a minefield of angsty battle wounds, we agreed that none of us would try to get with you.”
“Get with me?”
“You know, hook up…with you.”
It was my turn to pale toward embarrassed.
“I see now. You held my hand under the blanket so the other guys wouldn’t know you broke the code. Oh my God! All this time I thought you did it because you were embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed? Are you kidding me? You were like our Mount Everest. Every nerd on campus had it bad for you, but we all assumed you were way out of our league.”
“Wow…that’s…wow. I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. Crazy, right? Here in the middle of the end of times and I’m girl-giddy over a moment that happened more than a decade ago.”
We continued on toward the wall…in silence. It was one of those silences that actually meant something; not the uncomfortable moment when two people have no idea what to talk about. We both reveled in what was and rejoiced in what is—at least the immediate isolated-from-the-apocalypse what is. Nothing mattered but us. So when Jamal grabbed my hand, even with the post-apocalyptic landscape surrounding us, everything felt exactly as it should.
We reached the wall; our eyes followed skyward.
“B, how in the hell did we climb that monstrosity so easily?”
“I think we were chasing our children, Jamal.”
“Remind me of this moment, should I ever mention wanting children. If I do, slap me hard and say ‘Wall, Jamal. Wall.’”
“Anything for you, babe.”
Fortunately, the wall had enough pieces of various scrap attached that made it easy to climb. Easy for the living, that is.
By the time we reached the top, my arms were burning so badly I expected them to catch fire. But we made it and allowed ourselves a moment to rest. The barren landscape tried desperately to suck the life from us.
“On a clear day, you can see forever,” Jamal spoke softly.
“Larner and Lane,” I replied.
“Your intelligence knows no bounds, Bethany Nitshimi.”
“Unless you put a blanket on it.” I gave a knowing grin before continuing. “I’ll never get used to seeing everything in ruins. This wasn’t supposed to happen in our lifetime, Jamal.”
Jamal chuckled as he threw a leg over the wall and began the descent. “I never thought I’d see the day when the great Bethany Nitshimi became a dreamer.”
I had no response. Before I followed suit, I did a quick scan of the area for the various iterations of the undead. Nothing. Small miracles.
“Wow,” Jamal whispered, “it’s quiet.”
“Dead quiet, even.”
“You’re a comedian now, are you, B?”
I hopped into the Hummer. “I’ll be here all night.”
Jamal fired up the truck and we were off to meet one Rip Vanity.
chapter 17 | the language of the mad
“Commander Faddig, I have something you need to hear.”
Faddig was seated at his desk, poring over communications and maps. He waved the young man into his office and nodded. The soldier handed the officer a pair of army-issue headphones. The cups surrounded the commander’s ears, canceling out all external sound. When the broadcast recording played back, Commander Faddig allowed a smile to grace his cheeks.
“This is perfect,” Faddig said, as he removed the headphones and stood. “They think there’s reason to celebrate the spirit of mankind? We’ll show them just how frail and broken that spirit is.”
Faddig grabbed the nearest radio and hit the call button.
“I need full deployment ready by Friday. I want every flavor of undead trash you have loaded up on three planes and ready for takeoff to New Salt Lake City. We have a party to crash.”
The commander hung up the phone and nodded to the other soldier.
“You just made my day, young man.”
The soldier saluted. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Faddig nodded his dismissal. The soldier turned on his heels and marched away. Once the soldier was out of sight, the commander picked up another radio and hit the call button.
“Dr. Otte, I need Subject 002 ready to deploy by Friday.”
Faddig was greeted by silence.
“Otte, do you hear me?”
Again, the commander was met with silence.
“Shit,” Faddig hissed, as he left his office and raced toward the medical wing.
When the commander turned the corner that led directly to Subject 002’s room, the sounds of a struggle quickened his step. He raced to the door and when he yanked it open, Dr. Otte fell backward out of the room. Subject 002 stood in the middle of the room, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the muscles of his chest and arms flexing.
“Secure that…that thing immediately,” Otte shouted.
Faddig raised his hands in a calm gesture of peace.
“There’s no need for violence here. SITREP.”
Subject 002 sucked in a great breath and released it in a low growl.
“He’s confused and violent.”
Faddig turned back to Otte. “I can understand why.” The commander turned his attention back to Subject 002 and raised his hands again. “No one is going to hurt you. Everything is going to be okay.”
Subject 002 turned his attention to Commander Faddig.
“What is my purpose? What am I?”
Faddig glanced back at Otte. “What brought this about?”
Otte finally got back to his feet and stood behind Faddig. His voice was barely audible as he whispered in the commander’s ear. “I was going over the details from Munich and it finally dawned on him that he had no personal memory from that period. It was then that he became violent.”
Commander Faddig quickly weighed his options and decided the truth was the only path to success.
“Your life only recently began. We created you for a very specific purpose. The woman you’ve read about, Bethany Nitshimi, she is your target. We are going to send you to her and you will then bring her back to us. That is all you need to do. Once your mission is complete, we will release you so you can begin to build a life of your own.”
A subtle peace seemed to wash over Subject 002.
“That is all I must do? Bring Bethany back here? Once I’ve done that, I am free to do as I wish?”
Faddig nodded. “Yes, you have my word.”
The man in the room glanced downward
as his mind struggled to process the information.
“Why don’t you lay back down and rest? You have to be ready for your deployment.”
Subject 002 slowly made his way back to the bed. As he shuffled, he whispered nonsense to himself. Faddig leaned in as close as he could in an attempt to make out the words. Dr. Otte glanced Faddig’s way.
“He’s been repeating it for a while now. It’s no language any of us have heard before. We’ve yet to make any sense of it.”
Faddig grabbed the doctor by the shoulder and spun him around so they met eye to eye.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean exactly what I said, he’s speaking in a language none of us have ever heard before. The first time I heard it I thought it was nothing more than gibberish, but then I started hearing words repeated.”
“So?” Faddig demanded.
“So, gibberish doesn’t repeat itself—it can’t because it’s improvised. Unless you had an eidetic memory, there’d be no way to instantly recall what you’d said in context. He is clearly repeating patterns associated with objects, moods, incidents, etcetera. What’s coming out of his mouth is a language and we don’t know it.”
Faddig bristled and grabbed Otte by the lapels. “I don’t give a shit about his made-up language. What I care about is that this thing is ready for transport for the Friday drop. I need it for a very specific purpose and I need to know you can implant that purpose onto its memory before then. If you cannot, I will find someone who can.”
Otte knew full well what that meant. Getting replaced in the Zero Day Collective meant getting decommissioned. At this stage in the game, decommissioning was akin to Soylent Green. Otte was faced with two choices—get Subject 002 ready for action or be processed into a meat pie to feed the underlings.
Or worse.
With the Zero Day Collective, there was always an or worse.
Otte nodded; flop sweat dripped from his nose to the floor.
“He’ll be ready.”
Without another word, Faddig turned and left the medical wing. Dr. Otte slid down the wall and sat on the floor. The sound of the strange language floated in the background.
chapter 18 | the answer
How quickly we forget. We had spent a few hours within the security of the wall and already I felt like I was visiting a rage-infested, ravaged landscape for the first time. As we drove the Hummer into the nightmare, the sounds of horror surrounded us.
“The Devil’s Symphony,” Jamal said softly.
“What was that?”
Jamal gave me a quick glance and then turned his concentration back to the road.
“You don’t remember? Seriously? Back in grad school? One night we did a ‘Worst horror films of all time with the best musical score’ marathon. The top of the list was The Devil’s Symphony.”
I nodded in recognition.
Jamal smiled in relief. “Now, doesn’t that noise out there sound familiar?”
With this new intel, I gave another listen.
“You’re right—it’s the same. Wow, it’s frightening that anyone could have possibly predicted what the real thing would be like on any level. Romero…sure; but anyone else?” I paused for a moment. “Could you have predicted what the apocalypse would be like?”
“I don’t know. I guess. There are always universal truths to be had within nearly every post-apocalyptic film. The ruined landscape, the devolution of order, starvation, disease; how can you have an apocalypse and not have those basic tenets of entropy?”
Jamal slammed on the brakes.
“Holy shit.”
Before I could interject, Jamal pointed ahead of us.
Poised in the middle of the street was a crowd of the undead.
“What are they doing, Bethany?”
I didn’t want to say what I had to say. “They’re sitting…”
“…in rows.” Jamal completed my thought.
“This can’t be. Those things don’t have the capacity for order.”
One of the zombies slowly stood and turned to face the truck, his face frozen in near-shock.
“Jamal, something isn’t right here.”
The monster took one step toward us and shot a hand backward as if to stay his followers.
“Oh, my good goddamn, Bethany; did that Moaner just instruct the others…”
“…to stay.” I couldn’t help but finish Jamal’s thought.
The zombie stepped in close to the Hummer and slammed a hand onto the hood. The force of the blow should have shattered the bone in his wrist.
“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” I chanted.
“I hate to tell you this, Bethany, but you’re not asleep.”
Finally, Jamal punched the accelerator. The Hummer lurched forward, rammed the awkward-walking Moaner, and plowed into and over the remaining monsters. The pop of meat and crunch of bone under the wheels threatened to undo the remainder of my sanity.
“Double tap, Jamal, double tap.”
Jamal slammed the Hummer into reverse and looked over his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” An inappropriate smile crept across his mouth. “Did you catch that turn of phrase?”
“I did. You’re a genius. Now, if you don’t mind…double tap.”
Jamal slammed his foot down once again. The Hummer was launched backward and, once again, over the collection of Moaners. After another pass over the now-pulped meat, Jamal put the vehicle in park and turned to me.
“This is never going away, Bethany. You were right; it’s just a vicious circle, turning over and over so we can keep reliving the most horrific days of our lives.”
I couldn’t take any more. I flung open my door and hopped out of the truck. Ahead of us lay the pile of gore. Before the urge to retch caught up with my brain, one of the bodies that lay off to the side twitched. The sudden movement shocked the breath from my lungs. Not a moment after the body jerked itself into motion, a sound seeped from its lungs.
“Help.”
The cry was muffled, barely audible, but was loud enough for me to realize what had just occurred. When the realization washed over me, the contents of my stomach caught up with the burst of tears and spattered the concrete at my feet. And then I saw something that begged me to fire a bullet through the back of my skull.
Chains.
These people had been chained down as some sort of picnic for the dead.
“Jamal,” I cried out.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I pointed to the pile of corpses.
“Is one of them still alive?”
It took every ounce of resolve I had, but I stood upright and faced Jamal.
“They weren’t zombies. They were alive. We killed them.”
Gravity finally did its job and pulled me to my knees. The flood of tears threatened to wash away the sour vomit that soaked the knees of my pants. I didn’t care. It was all too much.
“Fuck!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.
Jamal knelt at my side and wrapped his arms around me.
“I’m so sorry, Bethany. I didn’t know.”
He joined me in weeping, for what seemed like hours—it was the only thing I cared to do. Every tear that dripped and dropped to the ground was shed for a life lost at my hand. For some inexplicable reason, I reached back into the hollowed-out recesses of my mind and began counting the lives I’d taken.
It all started with Jacob. Everything began and ended with him. No matter how I tried, there was no way to get beyond the great numero uno.
The tears finally ran out. They didn’t help; the corpses were still corpses and I was still a murderer. But then…this was the apocalypse and the very definition of murder almost begged to be redefined.
“Come on, B.” Jamal spoke softly, sweetly. “Let’s get back in the truck and finish what we started.”
The knees of my pants stuck to my flesh as I stood. I brushed my hand across my pant legs and felt a few chunks flick away. What did it matter at
this point?
Once back in the truck, Jamal put it in reverse and gave the mound of smashed flesh a wide berth. We had a concert to try and stop—there was no more time for mourning the murdered.
“Next time, we find out for sure.” Jamal spoke through choked-back tears. “I can’t handle that level of guilt and grief much more.”
Nothing else needed to be said. No matter how much the rules had changed, one thing was still intact—our humanity. Without that, we were no better than the monsters under mankind’s bed.
As we rode along, Jamal reached out and grabbed my hand and gave it a hard squeeze.
“I couldn’t do this without you, Jamal.”
Jamal tossed a quick glance my way. “You’ll never have to, B.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Jamal nodded his head forward. “I believe we have arrived at our destination.”
One hundred yards away it stood—a salute to the excesses of rock and roll. In the midst of absolute chaos and death rose a tribute to the only music genre with the balls to kick the apocalypse in the teeth.
“Wow,” was all I could think of saying.
Jamal brought the truck to a silent standstill and looked ahead, spellbound. “They’re serious about this. Post-apocalapalooza. Try saying that five times fast.” Jamal’s voice was distant, as if he were lost in some deeper or darker thought. “Come on, B. Let’s find this Rip Vanity dude and stop this circus before the clowns slap on their giant shoes and hop into their tiny cars.”
When we arrived, the entire area was electric with energy. Workers were hanging and focusing lights, setting and testing pyrotechnics, running cables, and setting up soundboards.
“I don’t get it. Where are they getting the electricity to run this?” Jamal spun on his heels. “I don’t hear generators and I don’t see solar panels.”
A young female, clad in knee-high army boots and a skirt that barely kissed the bottom of her ass walked by, dragging a power cable behind her. Jamal sauntered up to her and, much to my surprise, didn’t check out the goods on display. Instead he fell in step with her and grilled her.
“Where’s the power source?”
The young girl stopped and turned to face him. She tilted her head and lifted a pencil-thin pierced eyebrow. “Huh?”