I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  We passed glances between ourselves, the intent of the look clear—do we, or do we not, allow the survivors into our sanctuary.

  “Oh my God.” Echo stepped in between Morgan and me. “These people are obviously alive and need our help. We can’t turn our backs on them.”

  “You’re right,” I agreed. I felt momentarily sick, like I wanted to punch myself in the gut until I vomited up the malignant tumor of thought that had made me hesitate to save a fellow soul. Instead, I opened the door and stepped out onto the concrete and marble stairs.

  Nerves struck me dumb until the tall man nodded at me.

  “My name is Franklin Emonz. We are what’s left of this town. I don’t suppose you could spare a bite to eat and a safe spot to sleep?” Franklin’s words ended with a violent, ragged cough. When he spoke, the man’s voice cracked and stuttered. In the center of his sunken eyes was absolute defeat. The longer I stared, the more pieces broke off from my heart. I couldn’t muster up a reply, so instead I stepped aside and gestured toward the door. I nodded and every dry, brittle smile in the crowd lit up as if I’d just handed them the keys to a magical kingdom. As they slowly walked by, I counted seven—young, old, and everything in between. The added toll the extra mouths would take on our food stores was manageable. My mind’s calculator went to work and roughed an estimate of twenty days worth of sustenance (not including cat food). Since the grocery store had plenty of stock left, this wasn’t an issue to be pressed.

  Something tugged at the back of my mind. In response, I tugged at Jamal’s sleeve and nodded him to follow me. I led him through the chapel and into what had to have been the minister’s office.

  “What is it, Bethany?”

  My eyes darted back and forth, scrambling to figure out how best to express my concern. I finally decided on the direct approach.

  “Why didn’t they break into the grocery? They were minutes away from a full-blown food supply, yet they clearly decided to starve themselves. Why is that, Jamal?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they had some form of PTSD, or maybe they were afraid to come out of hiding until they heard us rummaging around. Why don’t we ask them instead of postulating theories based on zero data?”

  I had nothing to reply.

  “Bethany, what’s going on? Why are you so paranoid?”

  Again, nothing. All I could do was stare at the floor as tears welled up.

  “Jamal, I don’t know what’s happening to me. I took one look at them and my first thought was to bash their damned skulls in. No matter where I look now, all I see is death—even in life. We are so close to getting Jacob back that I don’t want to risk anything. If it means I have to—”

  Jamal pulled me into an embrace that promised and meant everything.

  “It’s going to be okay, Bethany. We’ll get Jacob back, but we don’t have to harden ourselves to do it. The second you start turning your back on your humanity, they win. You’re better than that and I refuse to allow you to succumb to this dark path.”

  He pulled away and cupped my chin in his soft hand.

  “Look at me, Bethany.”

  I did without hesitation. Diving into the warmth of his soul was the very thing I needed.

  “These people need us and we will not refuse them a break from the dread and hatred out there. In the end, they may not be of any help to our cause, but turning them away will do more harm to our hearts than allowing them to remain will do to our stash of supplies.”

  I leaned in and gave Jamal a light kiss on the lips. “Thank you.”

  “That’s what I’m here for, takin’ care of my girl. Now, let’s get back out there and get the scoop on their story.”

  *

  “We all lived here before they put up the wall,” Franklin said, through gulps of soup and bites of bread.

  “Who put up the wall?” I was certain I knew the answer before I even asked.

  “Them,” one of the younger girls replied. Her words were fueled with venom.

  “The Zero Day Collective,” one of the older girls added.

  Franklin set down his spoon and picked up the explanation. “We were told this was going to be one of them reality TV shows and we’d all be rich and famous. So they pitched the wall, brought in a film crew, and released the monsters. At first it wasn’t so bad; there were only a few of them. Things got ugly real quick. It wasn’t until the suits had to bug out all of a sudden that we realized we’d been scammed. There was to be no movie, no money, and no stardom. Instead, we wound up stuffed in the basement of our home until it all blew over. When we come out, everyone was dead. We scraped and survived for a while; but then Missy grew sick and started acting crazy. At first it was just a few noises here and there. One day, the girl trapped her sister in a corner and made to slam her head against the wall. I stopped her just before she had the girl out cold. It took us a while, but we realized she’d been somehow infected. We locked her in her room, figuring we’d come up with a solution. That never happened. With each passing day, the sound coming from behind her door grew more and more monstrous. Her mother started swearing Missy was of the devil and that something had to be done. Well, between the noise and my wife’s weeping and wailing, I couldn’t take it any longer. One night, I sneaked into Missy’s room with a shovel and brought that damn piece of metal and wood to her head and put her out of her misery. Ever since then, we’ve been laying low, hoping someone would come along and rescue us. We had no other choice.”

  “And here you are.” The youngest chimed in.

  “That’s right…here we are.”

  The look of hope registered on their faces for the first time.

  “So…you’re going to get us out of here, right? We tried climbing the wall, but every time we did, the sound of the monsters drove us back down. There was no way we could defend ourselves against those beasts…we were all too weak and had no weapons to speak of. Our phones stopped working during the filming, so there was no calling for help.”

  Every eye was locked on me. I turned to Jamal to witness him pale nearly to white. I was officially on my own with this one.

  “Yeah, about that…”

  I gave them the Cliff’s Notes version of the apocalypse, the gist of the almighty calamity we collectively faced. As I spoke, their mouths went slack and their gaze succumbed to gravity. More than anything, I was shocked that someone remained on the planet that had no idea what was going on. Sure, I assumed somewhere in the bush of Australia, there would be a tribe or two that had no idea the end of days was upon us, but here? In America? We were all way too informed for that.

  “What do we do?”

  The innocent question popped out of the mouth of the youngest. Thankfully, Morgan bailed me out.

  “We survive.” Morgan stood up and addressed a captive audience. “My name is Morgan Barnhart. I am one of the founding members of the Zombie Response Team.”

  Josh jumped to attention and responded. “To protect and sever.”

  Morgan smiled. “That would be Joshua Garcia, who helped form the ZRT. We’ve spent years training people to survive, even before the apocalypse hit.”

  “Apocalypse?” Franklin stood, his voice shaking.

  It wasn’t sinking in. I wasn’t sure if it was shell shock.

  I stepped back in. “The Zero Day Collective released a virus that turned eighty percent of the world into zombies. Those that remained have struggled and fought to fend off the undead as best as they could. My goal is to find a cure and stop this plague from finishing off mankind.”

  I finally had their undivided attention.

  “You step outside the surrounding wall and you risk your lives. Either the Moaners and Screamers will get you, or the Zero Day Collective will have you locked away in one of their experimentation wards. In here, you’re safe…for now.”

  All went silent. Not the kind of silence you hear from a room full of living, breathing humans, but the kind of silence you only hear as a response to complete and utter fear. The s
icklies each had the same expression on their face—confusion and loss.

  “Why did this all happen?” the eldest of the women asked.

  Morgan, Josh, Echo, Rizzo, and Jamal all looked my way. I got the hint.

  “John Burgess,” I started.

  A man interrupted. “That was the man what promised us fame and fortune.”

  I picked up the man’s thread of thought.

  “He lied. Burgess’s only concern was moving his own agenda along. His goal was to reclaim some neo-Nazi ideal and reinvent mankind in his own image. John Burgess, however, is now dead. The Zero Day Collective has a new leader with the same twisted ideology.”

  I stood up and took in the faces of the newbies. “That’s all you need to know at this point. We’re all here for one thing…to survive. You are welcome to stay with us, but we ask that you do your part to help. None of you are in any condition to be fighting, so you’ll remain within the wall and help establish a base camp. Can we trust you to handle that?”

  One by one, Franklin looked to his group. When he finally returned his gaze to me, he nodded.

  “You can count on us.”

  chapter 24 | the haunting

  “Sir.” The lead comm officer spoke with a snapped up salute. “I have Ground Zero on the sat phone.”

  Faddig reached his hand out, on which the boxy, black device was placed.

  “This is Commander Faddig. What is your SITREP?”

  The voice came through the handset interrupted by static.

  “…fusion generator…on line…command.”

  Faddig pulled the phone from his head and checked the quality of the satellite connection. The connection on his end was strong.

  “Please repeat. What is your SITREP?”

  “We have the fus…ator on line. We…wait your…and.”

  He was able to piece the response together.

  We have the fusion generator online. We await your command.

  “Perfect. You will be hearing from me shortly. Faddig out.”

  The commander silenced the call and turned to the comm officer.

  “Have them on speed dial.”

  Another salute. “Yes, sir.”

  Faddig disappeared from the comm station and returned to his office. He eased himself into the leather desk chair, closed his eyes, and took in the moment.

  “This is it,” he whispered.

  He had been waiting for this moment since he took command of the ZDC—his time to reduce the remaining race of man to tears, have them genuflect at the shrine of Faddig and swear their fealty.

  From a desk drawer he pulled a bottle of cognac and poured himself a swallow. He swirled the dark amber liquid under his nose and took in the bouquet.

  “I am God,” he whispered, before pouring the liquor down his throat. The warmth spread quickly and brought Faddig back to happier days—a wife, children, bank accounts fat with investments and stocks. Even then he’d held power and sway over a coalition of human underlings. The difference between then and now was fear. When he was beholden to a board of directors and controlled a staff of thousands, his rule was simple—you produced or you were released. Now? Things had become quite deadlier for those who couldn’t cope with the workload.

  Faddig picked up a two-way radio and pressed the talk button.

  “I need a status on the drop-ships. Those damn things better be ready.”

  From the other end of the connection, a fuzzy voice was heard.

  “Drop-ships are on target for Friday’s delivery. Confirmed three full payloads armed and ready for flight.”

  Faddig poured another small sip of cognac, drank, and replied. “Perfect. Faddig out.”

  He sat back in his chair and let his imagination take control. Inside the drop-ships he could practically hear the symphony of screams from the live bait used to draw the undead into the cargo holds. The system was crude but never failed. By the time the ships arrived, they’d have bellies full of zombies raging for more gray matter. A laugh escaped his lips, inspired by a faded memory of Jonathan Burgess standing tall over a newly anointed member of the Collective. The memory stung at first.

  “Faddig, you’ll never amount to half the shit I flush down the toilet. You’re small, you think small, you dream small. That’s why you wipe the ass of the man that will soon own the world. Wipe well, and you might find favor from my hand. Wipe poorly and I promise you will be buried in a grave of waste.”

  The chime of the sat phone ripped Faddig from his angry flashback. With a sigh and a graceful swoop of his hand, he scooped up the phone and pressed the accept button. The British dialect on the other end was soft, somewhat effeminate, with impeccable diction.

  “Is the Cradle ready?”

  Faddig sat up straight and smiled. He pulled in a tight breath and spoke.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  “Once the generator is unleashed, there will be no going back. Every reanimated corpse will be—”

  “At my command,” Faddig interrupted, savoring the idea. “This is what we’ve been working toward. Any resistance the Zero Day Collective meets will be crushed. As soon as the army is released upon the crowd they will be given a moment to spread the virus. Once I give the order the gas will be released and the generator ignited. The effects of the Cradle should be seen immediately.”

  “And the world will be yours.”

  “Under the rule of the ZDC.”

  Faddig ended the call and slipped out of his office. There was one last piece of the puzzle to put into place.

  *

  Subject 002 was seated at a table, reading. In his hands was the original manuscript of Jacob Plummer—I Zombie I. When Faddig entered the room, Subject 002 set the book down and looked up.

  “Fascinating reading, actually.”

  “Dear God,” Faddig said. “Your voice, it’s perfect. I’ve listened to the Plummer tapes over and over; I know his voice as if it were my own. You’ve nailed it. You are a dead-on match for Jacob Plummer.”

  “I am a quick study.”

  Faddig sat at the table, across from Subject 002.

  “There is something you must do when you arrive on site, something only you can do.”

  Subject 002 tilted his head like a curious lap dog. “And what is that?”

  From his jacket pocket, Faddig pulled out a photograph and handed it over to the reanimated corpse. Subject 002 turned the picture to face him and gave it a long, hard look.

  “Bethany,” the creature whispered. “You want me to kill her?”

  Faddig shook his head. “No. I want you to haunt her.”

  chapter 25 | war pigs

  “Arise.” The banner was lifted over the entryway. The name was chosen to offer the audience hope that mankind would arise from the ashes of the grave and begin anew. There was no reason to remind the world they were fighting back the tide of death, so any name associated with “apocalypse” or “Armageddon” was simply out of the question. It went against the grain of the Doubletap Suicide shtick, but it was important to Vanity that the festival remain positive.

  No sooner had the corners of the apocalyptic freak flag been tied off than the first wave of audience members poured forth from the desert landscape. Droves of every possible flavor of human being stepped between the makeshift pillars that stood sentinel astride the entryway. No tickets were taken, no fee collected. The only requirement for entry was a pulse and a love of life and music. As survivors walked under the banner, they waved devil horns, peace signs, flags of their homeland, anti-ZDC dogma. It wasn’t until a small group of neo-Nazi skinhead groupies walked through with a flag bearing the words “The Great Cleansing, Fuck Yeah!” that action was taken. From out of nowhere a small militia appeared, with vests reading SECURITY on their backs and enough weaponry to stop an army in their hands. The skinheads pulled out their own weapons. Before a single shot was fired, a weighted net exploded from a cannon and surrounde
d the offending group. The net pulled the skinheads to the ground and the militia moved in to disarm them. Those around the incident applauded and shouted their approval, and more than anything, those who witnessed the melee were made aware that the enemy was not in any way welcome.

  *

  Removed from the stage, some of the musicians had banded together to discuss setlists, metal gods, and their own lives.

  Aya interrupted her own gentle vocal warm-up. “I have to admit, I am afraid. How do we know that we will be safe on the stage?”

  “We don’t,” answered Pea, the Trendemic+ drummer. “That’s the fucking beauty of this whole mess. How goddamn metal is it to be crushing it on stage, unsure if you’re surrounded by zombies or not? That, my friends, is the heart and soul of what we do.”

  “Bullshit,” spat Digger, the singer from Apoplectica. “We do what we do because we can’t imagine doing anything else, because none of us ever wanted to be cogs in the machine.”

  Aya stood and stepped in to be closer to the discussion. “I am a musician. This is my life; it’s not some cliché or façade. I do what I do because I have to. Without music, I wouldn’t exist. But that doesn’t mean we should all go out on stage not knowing if we’ll make it through our sets alive. Has anyone bothered to ask about security? Are we going to be protected?”

  It was Mauser’s turn to stand and speak. “Aya, you will be protected by me.”

  Every head turned to the tall, intimidating man. No one said a word; they just nodded.

  “Hey!” Kaizen Sharx jumped up. “Why haven’t we discussed performing a curtain call together? You know, a sort of ‘We Are the World’ for the new world order.”