I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  “Your orders, Commander Faddig?”

  One of the communications officers stood, his hard gaze fixed on Faddig. The officer’s face paled and his breath grew swift and shallow.

  “You better have a hell of a reason for stopping this momentous occasion.” Faddig’s jaws clenched before he continued. “If not, I’ll send you out there to join my little undead army.”

  The officer nodded. A bead of sweat appeared and raced down his temple. He swallowed hard and spoke with stuttered nerves. “We’ve received intel that─” the officer fell silent.

  “What!” Faddig shouted.

  “Richard Gerrand is alive.”

  “Your orders, Commander Faddig?” Subject 001 repeated.

  Faddig tapped the direct link to his foot soldier. “My orders will be forthcoming.” He turned back to the communications officer. “Repeat.”

  “We have confirmed intel that Doctor Richard Gerrand is alive and has been picked up by the Zombie Response Team outside of Boston. The are en route on Interstate 90 East.”

  Rage bubbled up from a deep well within Faddig. Ribbons of veins ballooned on the side of his head. His hand slowly snaked downward to his pistol. Before a single finger could wrap around the glossy black handle, he changed course and tapped the com link to Subject 001. “Your orders are to intercept Zombie Response Team traveling on I-90 out of Boston. Remain where you are. I’ll deploy a mobile unit for transportation.”

  “Yes, sir,” the eerie chorus of voices replied.

  Faddig scanned around the room until he spotted a dispatcher. “You heard me. Deploy transport to intercept that team. Gerrand must not remain alive.” His voice fell into a faded distance. “This changes everything.”

  “Armored transport deployed, sir,” the dispatcher said as Faddig exited the room.

  “Fuck,” the officer whispered.

  *

  The Grim Reaper’s job was never done─the apocalypse made sure of that. Death’s finger was in a constant state of ready and the Zero Day Collective charged with the cloaked figure’s puppet strings.

  Faddig fell into the plush leather chair behind the arched burlwood desk. Opulence and control amid such rampant poverty and chaos were his drugs. He was a lord on his way to being a God, a God ready to engulf a universe.

  He reached for a crystal bottle and tipped two fingers of cognac into a tumbler. “From the tit of Mother Mary, I drink.” Faddig took a sniff of the liquid, pulled a sip, swished it around, and finally let the warmth flow down his throat.

  “Fuck, I needed that,” he said, and then punched in the command to bring up the video conference monitor. On the seventy-inch screen before him, three men and one woman stared back.

  “Faddig,” the largest of the three men responded at the commander’s appearance.

  Commander Faddig nodded. “Sirs and madam.”

  The female leaned forward; a spotlight glinted off the diamonds in her necklace to temporarily white out the video. When it returned, she was smiling with more grace than the moment deserved. “I trust the operation is underway?”

  Faddig replied with a brief, uncomfortable silence.

  The woman shook her head. “Commander?”

  The silence continued as Faddig retrieved a handkerchief and dabbed at his glistening brow.

  One of the other be-suited men slammed a meaty fist on the conference table. “Goddamn it, Faddig, report.”

  Faddig drew in a quick breath and flared his nostrils. “The report is…” he fell short again. “There has been a development, one that I have under control.”

  The board known only as the Four Horsemen exchanged concerned glances. The eldest of the three men turned back to face the camera. “Report. Now.”

  Faddig glanced to the ceiling─iron I beams and rivets─and sighed. “Dr. Richard Gerrand is alive.”

  The Four Horsemen reacted with obvious disapproval. The youngest of the four, a man with a keen eye for Italian style and panache, leaned in until his nose nearly touched the lens of the camera. “If Gerrand lives, you have failed us.”

  It was Faddig’s turn to unleash his rage on a horizontal surface. The blow was strong enough to send the glass of cognac tilting dangerously close to the edge of the desk. Faddig caught it before losing the liquid gold. He returned his line of sight to the camera and called upon every ounce of control he could muster. “As I said, I have the situation under control.”

  It was the female of the horsemen who challenged him next. “And just how are you controlling such a disastrous…situation? Do you fully understand not only what that man represents, but that he can most likely undo everything we have worked so hard to achieve? The secret he keeps could condemn this group straight to Hell.”

  Anger finally found its way out of Faddig’s mouth. “Goddamn it, don’t you think I know this?! I have rerouted Subject 001 toward the last known location of Gerrand. He and his army will stop at nothing to bring the doctor to me. When I have him at my disposal, I will do everything I can to extract whatever value remains and then extinguish him and his secrets for good.”

  The Four Horsemen conferred in hushed whispers.

  Faddig poured another, taller, drink. As the group spoke among themselves, Faddig switched one of his secondary monitors over to the satellite view of Subject 001’s tracking device. A small blip flashed a few short miles from the train. “At least something is going right,” Faddig whispered.

  When the group returned their attention to Faddig, the large man took the spotlight. “You are not to take Gerrand into custody. Once your team has him, send the doctor directly to us.”

  Faddig angrily shook his head. “No. That’s not going to happen. If you want that man’s secrets to remain buried, he has to come to me.”

  The female cocked a finely tweezed brow. “We’ve decided to take matters into our own hands at this point. You will direct Gerrand to us, or we will send every means out our disposal to take you out of the picture. Is that clear, Commander Faddig?”

  Faddig stared, mouth agape, at the monitor.

  “I asked you a question, Commander.”

  “Understood,” Faddig hissed.

  “You have your orders,” the largest of the four pronounced, and the video stream went blank.

  Faddig grabbed the crystal bottle and hurled it across the room. “Fuck.” He instantly regretted the loss of his last bottle of Pierre Ferrand Reserve. “Four goddamn Horsemen? The last thing this shithole world needs is another fucking cliché.”

  seven | ambush aplenty

  Echo leaned forward between the two front seats of the Jeep. “Are we there yet?” She laughed at her own joke.

  I joined her. It was what we needed…the levity and lightheartedness of a child. We spent so much time taking the world and everything around us so seriously. I was fairly certain I’d aged five years in the last one.

  Jamal placed his free hand on my left knee. “What’s on your mind, B?”

  “Nothing.” I lied.

  “You’re lying, girl.”

  Fuck.

  It never failed. Since our early days of school, I couldn’t hide shit from Jamal. He was the only man in my long history of men that read me dead to rights, every single time.

  Instead of keeping up the pretense of innocence and ignorance, I opted to make him squirm. “Has the apocalypse aged me? I feel like time dilation is playing a part in my aging process. Thoughts?”

  A bead of sweat developed at Jamal’s hairline. I couldn’t help but laugh. From the back of the Jeep, both Echo and Rizzo joined in.

  Jamal nodded. “Laugh it up, fuzzball.”

  “Star Wars,” Echo shouted.

  “Damn straight,” Jamal replied. “One of these days I’m going to locate the movies and we’re going to have a marathon.”

  I leaned in close to Jamal, ready to inform him I had every Star Wars movie available on a torrent server, when Echo squealed from behind.

  “Look out!”

  I snapped my head
forward to see a Screamer drop down from some great unknown above and start punching at the windshield. Jamal slammed on the brakes. The Jeep came to a neck-snapping stop…and failed to fling the undead hitchhiker to the ground.

  Jamal slammed his palm down on the steering wheel. “Son of a bitch! That works every time in the movies.”

  My body tensed as a maze of cracks creaked across the windshield. “This isn’t the movies, Jamal. Do something.”

  The Screamer unleashed a primal roar against the glass. The veins in his neck and face bubbled and stretched under the paper-thin, blue-tinted skin.

  Without hesitation, Jamal punched the gas. “Hold on to your butts!” Jamal quoted one of my favorite Spielberg films and raced the Jeep until it hit terminal velocity. Again, he smashed the brakes to the floor. This time, the Screamer was thrown to the pavement. Jamal slammed the gas pedal and drove the vehicle over the downed monster. The roaring of the engine drowned out the satisfying pop and crack of bone.

  I hated to admit my disappointment at missing death’s symphony…but there it was.

  We sat in the Jeep. I could have been contemplating the fragility and transiency of life…but I wasn’t. The only thought going through my head was, “There’ll be more, Jamal.”

  “I know,” would be his only possible reply.

  Jamal turned the Jeep around to return to our original vector.

  The electronics store stood like a beacon of freedom before us.

  “Is this where we’re supposed to say wow?” Rizzo snarked. “I’m not really feeling it. At least not wow. Meh…maybe. Wow? Nah. Care to take locate an armory? That would make me supremely happy, J-dog.”

  Jamal opened the driver’s side door and hopped out. He spread his arms wide. “This…this is my Mecca. It is within these walls that salvation awaits. For here, we would be kings and queens of our destiny. What lies beyond this door will enable us to build whatever we so desire.”

  Spiel complete, Jamal stepped up to the door and gave it a yank.

  The door didn’t budge.

  Again, Jamal pulled hard on the door.

  Nothing.

  I reached over, assuming Jamal simply too weak, and tugged at the door.

  It remained sealed up tight.

  “What is going on, Jamal?”

  He looked my way, his puppy-brown eyes wide with fear. “Do you think…”

  Before he could finish his thought, a crash sounded from within the store.

  “Oh, fuck no,” I hissed, and trained my weapon on the handle of the door. One shot later, the door swung open and a wave of putrid air wafted out. “How is that even possible? We were just here.”

  Jamal placed a loving hand on my shoulder. “It’s the apocalypse, Bethany, anything is possible. Rot is commerce and entropy its pimp.” He stepped over the threshold of the door and vanished inside.

  There was no loud kaboom. So much buildup for so little payoff. There was, however, a completely unfiltered tirade from Jamal. The words littered the air like the steady windfall of gray ash when the apocalypse had first struck down the world. The litany of profanity ran together to create a fresh new language…until Jamal fell silent. He peeked his head out of the door, his face tight with rage. “It’s gone, Bethany.”

  “What’s gone?”

  “Everything. The store has been fucking cleaned out. Everything is gone.”

  I shoved past Jamal and was shocked to see his truth made real.

  “No. No, no, no, no,” I cried out. “We weren’t away long enough for this to happen.”

  Echo and Rizzo entered, holding hands. “What happened?” Echo asked softly.

  It was Jamal who answered. “Someone followed us, that’s what.”

  An icy finger caressed my spine. “You don’t think…”

  Jamal nodded. “I do.”

  “What?” Echo and Rizzo said in a frightening unison.

  I did my best to shoo the girls out of the building. Echo stopped short of the door and turned to face me. “Don’t sugar coat this, Bethany. How are we supposed to survive if you hide reality from us?”

  Damn it, she was right. When I glanced at Jamal, it was clear he had drawn the same conclusion. I turned back to Echo and spoke cautiously. “We think…there’s a good chance…”

  The words refused to come to me. I gestured to Jamal to tag in. He complied immediately.

  “We think there’s a group of people in this area who…live and die by the thrill. We call them Thelemites.”

  Rizzo tossed devil horns into the air. “Aleister Crowley…bad-ass.”

  Jamal continued. “I wouldn’t go that far. If we run into these people, chances are they’ll do to us whatever their fancy dictates.”

  Before Jamal could explain further, a thunderous boom rang outside and echoed on long enough to indicate unnatural shenanigans. Echo rushed to my side and wrapped her arms around me.

  “Where’s your bow?” I whispered.

  “In the Jeep,” Echo answered.

  I turned to Rizzo and asked softly, “You packing a weapon?”

  She pointed toward the Jeep.

  Jamal reached around to his lower back and patted the pistol he’d tucked away.

  One gun…against an unknown. We’d danced this dance before, we could do it again.

  The second I stepped outside the door, I rescinded my last thought.

  Jamal rushed to my side. The second he spotted the burning Jeep, his hands shot up to his head as he shouted, “Son of a motherfucker!”

  Echo took off for the burning vehicle. I shouted after her…too late. She grabbed at the handle as a tongue of flames licked through the shattered window on the door. Echo stumbled backwards. Like an adrenaline-fueled mother, I raced to her, scooped her up, and sped back to the store to watch our primary form of transportation go up in smoke.

  Jamal pulled Echo into a tight embrace and glanced up at me. “At least no one was hurt.”

  “Did the Thelemites do this?” Rizzo asked.

  I took in a deep breath and released a heavy sigh. “Either that, or the Zero Day Collective knows where we are and have decided to forgo bombs and zombies and hit us with dragons.”

  The second the word “dragons” left my mouth, a small explosion bounced the rear end of the Jeep from the ground.

  “And that would be the gas tank.” Jamal said to himself. He looked my way and shrugged. “We should probably head back to HQ. I have no idea how long it’ll take us, now that we’re hoofing it.”

  Jamal’s subtext was clear from every angle. Navigating a darkened landscape with malice on our tails was not a nightmare I cared to endure.

  “We have one weapon between us, Bethany,” Jamal whispered.

  I shook my head, not wanting to pile ugly on top of ugly. “If there was one thing I learned from Jacob Plummer, it was to make do with what I have.” As I spoke, I took an inventory of the block. “There.” I pointed toward a dumpster. “How much do you want to bet we’ll find plenty of weapons inside that can?”

  Jamal grabbed me by the arm. “B, we don’t have time for dumpster diving. I have a gun…we should be okay.”

  Every once in a while I have to make a tough decision. Do I attempt to better arm our little rag-tag group in hopes of getting us back safely…all the while risking a blanket of darkness sending us to the big sleep? Or do we chance fighting back an endgame of darkness with a single gun with an unknown number of bullets?

  Jamal, Echo, and Rizzo looked at me for the one truth that would free them from their fears. “By the power of Grayskull,” I shouted.

  Jamal nodded with a wide grin.

  Echo and Rizzo stared blankly.

  I pointed. “Let’s get our asses home.”

  We took off at a pace that could have easily won gold at the Olympics for speed walking. As we marched on, my head swiveled on its axis to take in the sights…and make sure no one got the drop on us. Every noise, every movement sent my nerves packing to Arkham.

  An undead melod
y rang out. The solo baritone was quickly joined by a quartet of Moaners─bass, tenor, alto, and soprano. Jamal raised his arm and gestured for us to stop. With his other hand he snatched the pistol and held it, with a stiff arm, pointing at the sidewalk. He took a cautious step forward. Another. Another. When he reached the end of the building, he peeked his head around and immediately jerked it back. Jamal turned to me and held up four fingers.

  Four.

  At least the undead had decided it was time to fight fair.

  Jamal pointed through the intersection and then raised a single finger to his lips.

  I rolled my eyes. Hard. The last thing that needed to be communicated was to be quiet around the dead and dying. Obvious much? my inner Whedon threatened to come out and play.

  We were about to come in contact with the big bad. Prime directive. First contact. Yada yada.

  Like four ninjas dressed for blending into a very Western culture, we made our way through the intersection without a sound. Once out of range, all tension drained from my shoulders and neck.

  And then the shit-storm made landfall.

  “Salutations, survivors.”

  The speaker stood before us, dressed in a black kilt, black skin-tight tee shirt, and combat boots. Luckily, the guy had the legs for the ensemble.

  He also had a gun…a much bigger gun than Jamal’s.

  The stranger grinned. “I guess size really does matter.” He tossed a wink my way. “Put the gun on the ground and kick it to me.”

  Jamal froze, his body locked in fear─a move straight out of grad school. Every time he sensed anything less than an A coming, he froze.

  The stranger pulled back the hammer of his BFG9000. “Gun. Now.”

  I did the only thing I could think of and helped Jamal comply with the demand. As I eased Jamal’s hand to the pavement, I attempted to whisper in his ear. “This is the guy. We can’t let him…”

  “Shut it, red, or I’ll ruin that sexy face of yours with some hot lead.”

  “Fuck off, Thelemite,” Echo screamed.

  The stranger tilted his head toward the red-faced girl. “Oh, you are a feisty one. What’s your name, little girl?”