I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  Jamal picked up the cord and held it between them. “The electricity; where is it coming from?”

  After a curious moment, the question finally registered.

  “Oh, yeah, that…Benny has this device he uses to locate live lines. He found one and we tapped it.”

  The young girl turned to leave, her skirt twirling up high enough so that one and all could see the naked skin of her ass. Whistles flew from every direction. Her middle finger flew up just as quickly.

  “Son of a bitch. Did you hear that, Bethany? There are still live power lines. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  I had to change the subject quickly. Any time Jamal feels bested he spirals into a pseudo-depression faster than I can pull him out.

  “Do you see any sign of Mr. Vanity?”

  Jamal stopped his downward spiral, surveyed the area, and finally shot his index finger up and forward. “Over there. He’s standing against the stage.”

  I tossed Jamal a curious glance. He shrugged and sputtered.

  “What? I like Doubletap Suicide. It’s metal with a sense of humor. What’s not to like?”

  Rip Vanity looked exactly as I expected. He was the bastard love child of Brad Pitt and Iggy Pop—good-looking, but a bit too wasted to actually know it.

  Without so much as a heads-up, Jamal took off toward the stage.

  “Mr. Vanity,” Jamal shouted. “May we speak with you a moment?”

  The too-lean man with the stringy jet-black hair looked our way and smiled.

  “That depends.” His thick dialect was equally and simultaneously repulsive and sexy. I wanted to stab him and have him at the same time.

  “On what?” Jamal beat me to the punch and lobbed the question at Rip.

  “On who’s asking and why.”

  Jamal glanced my way as if searching for a reply. The look on his face told me everything I needed to know. I stepped in and took over.

  “My name is Bethany Nitshimi.”

  Vanity’s eyes grew wide and his mouth gaped.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me. The Bethany Nitshimi? As in Jacob and Bethany the most rock and roll couple since Sid and Nancy? That Bethany Nitshimi?”

  I nodded my head proudly at the recognition.

  “Well, fuck me. We’ve heard all about you from our dear friend Zombie Radio.”

  It was my turn to ask a few questions.

  “Do you know him personally?”

  “You mean the DJ?” Vanity laughed. “Oh fuck, no. We’ve spoken with him over the air so he could promote our event.”

  Jamal saw the opening and stepped in between Rip and me.

  “Yeah…about that…”

  The words started but quickly ran dry. Jamal turned back toward me and shrugged. It was my turn again.

  “You have to pull the plug on this event.”

  Vanity replied with a bolt of laughter.

  “Oh that is fucking rich. Did Aleeshia put you up to this? Girlfriend,” Vanity shouted over the din, “you have lost your crack-addled mind.”

  I stepped deep inside Vanity’s personal space. I expected him to either back off or push me away. He did neither. Instead he flew his creep flag high and stepped in even closer.

  “Well hello, gorgeous. Does the carpet match the—”

  A hard slap across the face was the only answer I gave.

  “Oh, I likes a girl with some fire in her panties. You and I will get along—”

  “Not at all, if you don’t shut the hell up and listen to what we have to say.” It was my turn to puff up and play bad girl. “The second you raise the curtain on this festival you’ll attract every zombie within the state of Utah to this place. Once your crowd is overrun by the undead, it’s over…for everyone. What little progress we’ve made in culling the zombie herd will be undone by the thousands of newly infected Moaners and Screamers. On top of that, you’ll alert the Zero Day Collective to your location and they’ll swoop in and tear you apart.”

  Rip let loose another raucous round of laughter. This time, all his groupies and assistants joined in with the jocularity.

  “Sweetheart, that’s precisely what we hope will happen. You see, I’m on your side of this post-apocalyptic game of dodgeball. This whole event is just a front for getting the Zero Day Collective’s attention so we can slit their throats when they aren’t expecting it.”

  Vanity grabbed my head and pulled me up close and personal. His Mick Jagger-like lips nearly touched mine. His breath smelled of whiskey and cigarettes. As I struggled to pull back, he tightened his grip and his resolve and sealed our lips together with a kiss.

  Another round of laughter poured from Rip’s saliva-slick lips. “You see, girly, rock and roll has never been one to cozy up to the man. Now that the rule of law has slipped through the cracks, our little bit of mischief is made possible. We crank it up to eleven, the ZDC takes notice and drops in for a visit, and we open fire. A crowd full of pissed-off metalheads will certainly do a bit of damage to a bunch of suit-wearing tool bags.”

  I had to give Rip credit—at least for being creative in his tactics. Now, however, was not the time for a patronizing pat on the back. As I started to speak up, Jamal beat me to the punch.

  “Do you really think the Zero Day Collective is going to send their leaders in to fight their war? You’ll be lucky if you’re actually attacked by living organisms.”

  Rip cocked his head. Jamal picked up on the ignorance.

  “The last time the ZDC needed to deploy a large number of troops, they used zombies. A drop-ship filled with the undead was sent in and released upon the unsuspecting victims. The living didn’t stand a chance—and neither will your audience.”

  Vanity lit up a cigarette and took a long draw. After holding in the smoke far too long, he puffed out opaque rings from his mouth. It wasn’t until the last ring faded that Rip spoke.

  “Thanks to you, we have a secret weapon.”

  Rip turned and jumped up on the stage. From his rear pocket, he pulled a two-way radio and flicked it on.

  “Aleeshia, can you track down Aya and Mauser? Find them and bring them onto the stage. Tell Mauser to bring The Answer with him.”

  Rip turned back to us and smiled again. “My lovelies, this is a metal concert and what do all metal concerts have in common?”

  Jamal beamed. “Decibels.”

  “Although every metal concert does have that in common, it is not the answer I am looking for. Keep trying.”

  “Spandex?”

  My answer drew a frown across Rip’s face.

  “Not since the eighties…please. Keep trying.”

  “Clichéd lyrics?”

  Rip shook his head.

  “Drugs?”

  Another shake.

  Before we could continue, a gorgeous woman stepped to the stage with a lanky, goth-cum-steampunk man in tow. The male was carrying a matte black guitar that sported a painted image of a very pale woman’s face. Down the woman’s cheek ran a single red tear. I guessed the man was Mauser. He walked down to center stage, placed a small box down, plugged it in, reached behind him, and flipped a switch. Immediately the stage was filled with feedback.

  “My name is Aya and this is Mauser.”

  Jamal blushed and clapped like a schoolgirl.

  “I read Jacob’s book and your blog.” Mauser’s accent was even thicker than Aya’s. “Very important to saving mankind. The book inspired me. Actually, that’s not true. What inspired me was your Obliterator. I took the specs you listed and re-created the sound. I recorded that sound and then sampled it into a guitar effects pedal. When I start playing with that effect on, it’s as if the Obliterator is being channeled through my guitar. Let me give you a sample.”

  Mauser turned the volume up on his guitar again to fill the area with feedback. This time, however, he incorporated the feedback into the beginnings of a guitar solo. The notes dipped and jumped through octaves and scales quickly and effortlessly. I was never a big fan of the guitar solo, but what
we were hearing was jaw-droppingly amazing.

  And then his foot hit The Answer. Without warning the very notes that sang from the guitar were overlaid with the sound of the Obliterator. Somehow, Mauser managed to get the sound to blend in with the music as if it were part of the tune—all without losing what made the Obliterator deadly to the undead. He continued playing, working his tremolo bar like the world’s greatest stripper on a solid gold barber’s pole.

  I glanced at Jamal who was staring, eyes and jaw open wide in absolute awe.

  Just as the guitarist was about to jump into another riff, he was joined by a drummer and a bass player. The next thing we knew we were being treated to an open mic riff-a-thon the likes of which I’d never heard.

  “Oh my God, B, this is incredible.” Jamal was in total fanboy mode. “We’re getting our own improv concert by one of my favorite metal bands. Could this get any better?”

  It did.

  Aya grabbed a mic, whispered to Mauser, and shimmied down to the edge of the stage.

  “Bethany, we were going to wait and unveil this song at the concert, but I’d rather play it now, up close and personal. I wrote this for you. It’s called ‘Cry Zombie Cry.’”

  Aya turned back to the band and nodded. What came next was an onslaught of power that thumped at my gut and my heart. When Aya turned back around to sing, I was completely and utterly mesmerized. She sang.

  “Undone in a single moment

  Unsaved by relentless torment

  Chaos has become my lover

  Kiss me like you would no other

  Listen to my cry

  Unsprung by our own devices

  Unwound around your lovely vices

  Dance with my undead corruption

  Heal your death with our corrosion

  Swallow down our cry

  I know the reason

  My heart beats your treason

  Die inside and weave your lie

  Cry Zombie Cry

  I see the strange behavior

  My soul has lost its savior

  Die with me and end your lie

  Cry Zombie Cry

  Unsaved are forgotten moments

  Unchained by our passions stolen

  Your moans I’ll forever hear

  Through my anguish and my tears

  Can you hear my cry

  Unsee, take away this nightmare

  Untouch my flesh so I cannot be aware

  The pale, cold hand of death is close

  Please give to me your lethal dose

  Take away my cry

  I know the reason

  My heart beats your treason

  Die inside and weave your lie

  Cry Zombie Cry

  I see the strange behavior

  My soul has lost its savior

  Die with me and end your lie

  Cry Zombie Cry”

  The song ended, the guitar and vocals fading to an astonishing silence. Not a word was spoken, not a hand made a move to clap. Before I realized what was happening, I was on the stage and running toward Aya. When I reached the singer, my arms wrapped around her shoulders and neck and I drew her into an embrace. Tears instantly leaped from my eyes and touched down on my forearms.

  “Thank you so much,” I whispered in her ear.

  “It is I who should be thanking you. Actually, the world owes you its complete gratitude. The things you have done, the sacrifices you have made…you are our hero and that song is my way of raising you up and placing you on the pedestal where you belong.”

  I pulled back and wiped my eyes. Aya’s smile brightened up the stage and warmed my heart.

  “I love the song. It’s transcendent, it’s—”

  “Yours,” was the simple statement that threatened to open the floodgates once again.

  Finally, I turned back to Rip and strode to the edge of the stage. I sat down and gestured for Jamal to stand at my side. He complied.

  It’s good to be the queen.

  “Okay, Vanity, what’s your plan? Obviously you’ve got a massive weapon against the undead. But Mauser’s Answer won’t phase the Zero Day Collective one iota.”

  Rip hesitated and the truth flashed briefly in his eyes.

  “You don’t have a plan, do you?” I drilled for that hidden truth. “It’s okay, really. You at least managed to come up with something that could do some serious damage against an army of the undead. As for the Zero Day Collective…you just leave that to me and my crew. While you’re raining down this special flavor of hatred on the zombie horde, we’ll go after the ZDC.”

  The twinkle reappeared in Vanity’s eyes. Simultaneously, his lips twisted into a smile and his hand reached out for mine. I accepted the offer of partnership.

  “Bethany Nitshimi, we’re going to make beautiful music together.”

  chapter 19 | t-minus zero

  Dr. Gerand woke; his eyes blurred with an unnatural heat, his skin was crawling as if it begged to slough from his meat and bones. The horrific sound, the epicenter resting somewhere in the basal ganglia, was little more than a faint buzz. The arteries trapped within his extremities throbbed as if his heart had grown tenfold in size and strength. Memory was shattered and fragmented. The contrails of pain left behind by his experimentation ripped apart his ability for rational thought.

  “What have I done?” was the only question to surface.

  Gerand reached out and grabbed his laptop. He needed answers and he needed them now. On the laptop was a note, roughly typed in the throes of misery. The note read:

  “I hav e doneee t he impossible. there wasss no chioce. In cas my expermnt fails and I dont mak it out offf this aliv all of my workk iz on this c0mupter. Know th is…it works. My expermntle drugg can cur the Mengelee Viru.”

  His vision twisted in upon itself and the act of reading became too painful. The few words he read brought everything back to the fore. The most crucial of the memories was communicating with Zombie Radio.

  As soon as the name smacked him across the cheek, he turned the focus of the laptop to Zombie Radio and his Twitter account. With each tap of his fingers, his mind grew more and more focused. By the time he had logged into Twitter, Gerand had full control over his faculties. He was shocked to see his account filled to overflowing with direct messages and mentions, the vast majority of which were invites to various flavors of debauchery. Not a word, however, from Bethany Nitshimi.

  Before the disappointment could consume him, he fired up Zombie Radio to take a listen. Gerand knew, at some point, he would have to speak up once again. Although he risked life and limb every time he ventured back onto the WZMB broadcast, there was no other way to get the word out. There was no choice…Bethany had to know. The truth Gerand had to offer could save the human race.

  “I’ve often wondered what exactly is the definition of a zombie. If we look to our friend Merriam-Webster, we read that a zombie is ‘a will-less and speechless human in the West Indies capable only of automatic movement who is held to have died and been supernaturally reanimated.’ What do you think, Zombie Radio Nation, does that even remotely fit the needs of the new world order? Or, are we in line for a redefining of the traditional definition of the word ‘zombie’? Can a zombie only be reanimated by means of voodoo-like magic? Or can we all agree on a more Romero-esque definition? And, ultimately…does it really fucking matter? I’m fairly certain everyone on the planet knows what a zombie is at this point. If there’s anyone out there who doesn’t, you might as well deep-throat that pistol and end your miserable sheltered existence.”

  Gerand focused his attention back to Twitter and sent Zombie Radio a message.

  “What have we here? Well…I’ll be damned. Ladies and gentlemen, we have once again heard from he who makes promises he cannot possibly keep. It’s a Twitter message and it says ’I’m still waiting…Dr. Gerand.’ Well, Dr. Gerand, as are we. You have spoken, from afar, of a mythical cure for what ails this great planet, yet you do so in secrecy. I placed your information ou
t there into the zombieverse and am working on setting up a date with you and the holiest of heroines, one Bethany Nitshimi…”

  Gerand opened up his Skype client, entered the information for Zombie Radio, and requested a conversation.

  “Here’s an interesting development. It seems someone by the name of Richard Gerand is attempting to Skype with me. What say you, Zombie Radio Nation, dare I take this call? I say I dare. Hello, Dr. Gerand. You’re on Zombie Radio…what ya got?”

  Gerand sucked in a deep, nervous breath and froze. What could he say that hadn’t been said? How could he convince her to contact him? Finally, it all came to him.

  “I was there…in the beginning. The real beginning, before Munich. The Zero Day Collective brought me in to create the Mengele Virus for a test on a small town. The whole ordeal was couched under the guise of a horror film they called T-Minus Zero. The goal was to make sure the virus had a specific shelf life so John Burgess could control how much of the population would be taken out. It was the start of the Great Cleansing. It sounds horrible, I know, but Burgess had me chained down with a threat that I couldn’t escape. I had to do what he asked. While I worked on the virus, I also developed both a cure and a weapon.”

  Gerand paused, unsure if he’d already said too much.

  “Bethany Nitshimi, we need to meet. You are the only person on the planet I can trust. If I fail to get to you, I’m afraid all is lost. Please, Bethany, contact me as soon as possible. I’ll give the DJ my information so you can reach me.”

  Before Gerand disconnected the call, he gave the DJ his Skype handle and his mobile number. There was no way to know how much longer the phone systems or the Internet would continue to work. All Gerand could do was hope Bethany reached out sooner rather than later.

  He finally managed to stand and shuffle to the stairwell. Now that he’d made his discovery public, there was little doubt the Zero Day Collective would be coming after him. At this point in his life, he really didn’t care much for being alive. What he did care about was ensuring Bethany had the information he currently protected.