I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  Echo continued. “In case you didn’t hear me the first time, I said to fuck off.”

  I stared, in desperation, at Echo…willing her to silence.

  The creep stepped in close…too close. He reached out and let his fingers graze the flesh of Echo’s cheek.

  Out of nowhere, motherly instinct kicked in. “Touch her again and it’ll be the last thing you ever use those fingers for.”

  The stranger jumped back and started clapping. “Oh, you four are going to be fun. Me and the boys will have a hell of a time playing with you.”

  A wash of bile splashed over my tongue and crashed against the back of my clenched teeth. Instead of caving to the man’s terrorism, I tightened my metaphorical corset and stepped up to the bastard…nipple to nipple.

  He took a great sniff of my neck.

  I shot my hand up, grabbed a fistful of greasy black hair, and yanked his head back.

  He laughed again. “Red likes it rough, eh? I can swing with that. So can my boys…if you know what I’m saying.”

  Before he could say another word, my knee reached ramming speed just as it met his crotch. Without thinking, I shouted, “Run!”

  The overlarge weapon went off─into the sky. The boom was visceral, like a vomitous wave turned in upon itself.

  “The next shot will sever someone’s spine,” the stranger bellowed as he stood against the pain.

  From the next block, the sound of the Quintet in Undead Minor wafted to me…drawing near. All I had to do was stall and hope the Moaners would serve as distraction enough for us to make an escape.

  Behind me, the sound of whispers caught my attention. Echo and Rizzo. My heart skipped and dodged at the thought of the wonder twins pulling off some teen-level stupidity. When the 20+ kHz squeal sounded from Echo, there was no doubt something was about to go down.

  The stranger pointed the gun toward the girls. “Shut your goddamn mouth.”

  As the voice rose to a pain-inducing level, Rizzo shot past me and dove at the stranger’s knees. She collided with intention to kill. The stranger’s right knee buckled backwards and popped. The Big Fucking Gun dropped and skidded to a halt at my feet. I snatched up the weapon and called out, “Run!”

  The Moaners overtook the area.

  “We’re gonna find you, bitch. Then we’re going to fuck you up.”

  I glanced back to see the stranger hopping away. The moment we were beyond the range of sound, the Moaners gave up the chase and swayed as if they danced to the same, tragic song.

  “You should have killed the bastard,” Rizzo snapped from in front of me.

  “That’s not how we work,” I replied.

  She turned around and continued racing forward, putting to shame what physical prowess and capacity I owned. “Maybe it’s how we should work.”

  And there it was─one of my worst nightmares made real. The apathy of the younger generations folding in upon itself until the only solution was to become part of the greater problem.

  Note to fucking self. Time to have a woman-to-woman chat with the teen dream team.

  eight | Fry

  Rondo leaned forward until he was near enough that he needn’t shout at the driver to be heard. “ETA?”

  The driver glanced at the built-in GPS on the dash. “Nineteen hours, sir. We shouldn’t run into any traffic, so with minimal stops we might be able to shave off another few hours.”

  Rondo patted the driver on the shoulder. “Make it in fifteen, Scotty.”

  “Aye,” the driver replied, and goosed the gas.

  Rondo returned to his seat, pulled out his phone, tapped the Skype button, and placed a call. From the other end, an all-too-familiar voice rang out.

  “This is Zombie Radio. What’s your name and whatchoo got?”

  “Sergeant Rondo of the Zombie Response Team. I’ve been charged with picking up the package you’ve been trying to get to the one. Said package is en route and should arrive,” Rondo checked his watch, “at oh blue hundred hours.”

  “Pre…tend my brain isn’t military grade and translate what you just said into civilian-speak.”

  “No can do, sir. Just make sure to relay the message to the one immediately. Rondo out.”

  Before the DJ could pause, rant, crack a bad joke, drop his best Captain Kirk impersonation, or play a song…Rondo disconnected the line. He tucked the phone back into his jacket pocket and turned to Gerrand. “What’s in the case that’s so important you have to cuff it to yourself?”

  Gerrand stared blankly at Rondo. His eyes blinked slowly once…twice.

  “All righty then.” Rondo turned back to face the front of the bus.

  “It’s a cure and a weapon…against the virus.” Gerrand’s voice was soft, understated in its overly proper British accent.

  Rondo continued facing forward as he spoke. “So it’s true–there is a cure?”

  Gerrand stood and shifted into the seat across the aisle from Rondo. “Not per se. What I have developed will prevent you from turning, but only if injected immediately after being bitten. Once turned, the same injection would fry you from the inside out─quite literally boil your blood. Once injected, you’re immune.”

  Rondo furrowed his brow. “So why not just immunize everyone to prevent this piece of shit from continuing to spread?”

  “You didn’t hear me correctly. The only way Fry works…”

  Rondo cut across Gerrand. “Fry?”

  “Yes, the name of my serum. It’s cheeky, I know…but I made it, I name it.”

  “Fair enough,” Rondo said with a nod.

  “As I was saying, the only way Fry works is if injected immediately upon infection. Without the infection active in the blood stream, the serum will turn against the red blood cells and, effectively, boil them. The same reaction occurs if the virus has spread systemically.”

  Rondo turned to Gerrand. “Weapon and cure all in one. I’m impressed.”

  Gerrand shook his head. “Not cure. This is more like an apocalyptic epipen.” Gerrand patted the aluminum case. “That’s why it’s cuffed to my wrist.”

  “Good call, doctor.”

  “So the Zombie Radio guy contacted you?”

  Rondo shook his head. “By way of Morgan Barnhart.”

  “I don’t know that name.” A thread of mistrust wound its way into Gerrand’s voice. When Rondo turned to look, the doctor’s face was flushed and rivulets of sweat traced a path down the side of his face.

  “Relax, Gerrand. Morgan is the leader of the ZRT. Remember us, the good guys?”

  A nervous smile spread across Gerrand’s lips as he nodded. “I do. I must apologize, Sargent. I’ve traveled a very long and arduous road to finally reach this point. I’ve done bad things…things for which I hold a deep and profound regret.” Again, Gerrand patted the case. “This is my amends.”

  Rondo chuckled. “I don’t give a nun’s tits what you’ve done. If you’ve got a cure and a weapon, you get a fuckin’ life-long kitchen pass.”

  “Thank you,” Gerrand replied gently, earnestly.

  “Let me ask you, Gerrand, when you reach Bethany…what’s the plan? Are you going to synthesize enough…Fry…for global distribution? You gonna open source the cure? Is this a grass roots venture?”

  Gerrand’s eyes went wide at the scope of possibility Rondo lobbed his way. “Honestly, I was hoping Bethany had a plan.”

  “How do we weaponize your…epi? Can you make it airborne?”

  “No,” Gerrand said with finality. “The only way Fry works is direct interaction with the bloodstream.”

  Rondo took a pull from a bottled water and offered the drink to Gerrand. “Not a very efficient means of solving the Mengele Virus, doctor.”

  Gerrand gladly took the bottle and chugged. “Oh God, thank you. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I’d been.” He finished the bottle off. “As to Fry, I wasn’t aiming for efficiency. The efficacy of the serum was far more important. In that sense, I achieved total success.”

  “Tel
l me, doctor, how did you come up with Fry? What made you so special?”

  Gerrand swallowed and lowered his head. “Let’s just say I was a part of an early experiment when the Mengele Virus was first created. Because of that, I knew, in great detail, how to manipulate the virus in order to create Fry.”

  “Sir.” The driver interrupted the conversation. “We have a situation.”

  Rondo turned his attention to the front of the bus. Ahead, in the road, a gathering of people waited…and watched. Rondo stood and leaned into the windshield to get a closer look. “They’re alive.”

  The driver glanced Rondo’s way. “How can you tell?”

  “Bastards aren’t swaying.”

  Gerrand entered the discussion. “That’s good, right?”

  “Wrong,” Rondo replied. “If those bastards were Moaners or Screamers, we could just plow through them. Seeing as how they’re alive, our moral compass dictates we stop.”

  “Or,” Gerrand started. “We could stick to the plan of getting me and Fry to Bethany as quickly as possible. What if that group was sent by the Zero Day Collective to intercept me…us?”

  “Cool your jets, doctor,” Rondo snapped. “First of all, how in the fuck would the ZDC know you are with us? Second, does the ZDC know about you and Fry?”

  Gerrand’s face went slack and his eyes focused on the case in his lap. “They couldn’t know I am with you because they believe me dead.”

  “What do we do, sir?” the driver asked.

  Rondo took in a deep breath and released a quick sigh. “Stop the bus.”

  The hiss of air brakes announced the compliance of the driver. Complaints arose quickly. Rondo shot a hand into the air to silence the grumbling agents. He nodded for the driver to open the door and then stepped out to face down the group of survivors. The second the living spotted Rondo, they reacted with an unabashed glee.

  The first of the survivors made it to Rondo and grabbed his hand to give it a good shake. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. We’ve been walking this road for days. We knew someone would come along. We’ve been praying and praying for this little miracle.”

  Rondo took in the large, dirty crowd. Half of them were clad in tattered rags, the others smeared in dirt and grease and not much else. “I’m afraid I’ve got bad news for you, then.”

  The speaker instantly deflated. Rondo continued.

  “We’re unable to take on passengers at the moment. There is, however, a small town not far from here. I’m sure you can find food and shelter there. In the meantime, I’m going to have to ask you to let us pass.”

  “You’re joking, right?” the speaker said calmly.

  “No, sir, I am not. We are at capacity and happen to be on a very short time line. So, please, kindly ask your people to make way for our vehicle and we’ll be on our merry way.”

  The speaker drew up close and personal to Rondo. “You’ll have to kill us.”

  “You should know that I have zero qualms with doing just that.”

  The speaker raised a club above his head and was about to bring it down on Rondo. Before that eventuality was made real, the crack of gunfire rang out. The stranger’s face shifted subtly and his hand clutched at his ruined chest.

  Rondo turned back to the bus to see Gerrand standing by the entry door, his free hand clutching a small pistol.

  A woman screamed and raced to the downed man. “What have you done?” she snapped. “We were only asking for help.”

  Rondo turned back to the crowed and puffed out his chest. “I’m very sorry, madam, but we have been given very specific orders and have a long bit of driving head of us. So…if you’ll excuse our bus, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

  Rondo turned back toward the bus. He took a quick few steps and retreated back to the crying woman. “I will call in an order to have a unit meet you in that nearby town. If you can make your way there, you will be picked up and driven to safety.”

  The ruined man slumped, lifeless, to the ground.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss,” Rondo said in earnest, and made his way to the bus. As he walked, Gerrand watched his back. Mob mentality could quickly take hold and send the crowd raging after the sergeant.

  The woman’s sobs continued until Rondo reached the bus. He entered and instructed the driver to punch it. Before he took his seat, Rondo locked eyes with Gerrand and nodded. “You did what you had to do.”

  Gerrand returned the nod. “You don’t have to remind me of that. I’ve done worse, and I’m certain I’ll be pressed to commit even more despicable acts. One of the benefits of the apocalypse─the veil between good and evil has vanished. Human nature is all we have left. I will survive…at all costs.”

  “Good to know,” Rondo replied.

  The bus rolled forward, picking up speed with ease. The crowd parted to allow the bus passage.

  Rondo pulled out his phone and tapped the speed dial for Morgan. The second she picked up, he spoke with military precision. “We need a pick-up. Crowd of around thirty. Interstate 80, mile marker one twenty-five.”

  Without a goodbye, he disconnected the call.

  “That was kind of rude,” Gerrand huffed.

  Rondo glared at the doctor. “There’s something you need to understand. Every communication that travels across this great big globe of ash and ruin is monitored now. The Zero Day Collective lie in wait in the darkest recesses, hoping to catch one of us on an extended call.” Rondo held up his phone. “You use one of these for more than twenty seconds, you can guarantee the Zero Day Collective will have locked onto your position. Once those twit-wads have you, a brand new level of nightmare begins.”

  “The moral of this story?” Gerrand asked.

  “Keep your calls quick. Think before you dial. Know exactly what you’re going to say and say it with efficiency.”

  Gerrand nodded. “Duly noted.” He turned his head to try and get a glimpse of the people they left behind. “Will the ZRT actually pick them up?”

  “Of course. It’s our duty.”

  “Hey, Sarge,” Manolo shouted from behind.

  “What is it, Manolo?”

  “I gotta piss.”

  Snickers and cat calls sounded off.

  “Grow up, soldiers,” Rondo barked. “Couldn’t you have taken care of your business when we were stopped?”

  “What? And miss the fucking cavalry coming in and saving your ass? No thank you, sir.”

  The bus erupted with laughter.

  Gerrand tilted his gaze toward Rondo─the look’s intent more than clear.

  Rondo turned back to the rear of the bus. “We can’t stop now, Manolo. Either hold it, or get your water sports on with Rusty.”

  This time the laughter was pointed and laced with propositions to both Manolo and Rusty.

  “Dry hump yourselves,” Manolo shouted as she flipped the entire crew off.

  nine | camp clothier

  The sun had set. Darkness surrounded us like a mocking lunatic. We had one flashlight and a camping headlamp. The dim glow between the two was barely enough to help safely navigate the mean streets of New Salt Lake City. Even with the glow of the crescent moon in the open Utah sky, the going was far from easy.

  “Maybe we should find a secure spot and wait out the night,” Jamal whispered.

  I rolled the idea around in my mind. As I was about to agree, an undead chorus in A minor crescendoed from nothing. I shot my arms up to stop and silence everyone.

  Jamal waited for the sound to fade out and rise again. This was his thing─pinpointing sound. I never knew how he did it, I was only ever glad that he could.

  He pointed toward eleven o’clock.

  I focused my headlamp toward two, then three o’clock─the obvious routes to get us away from moaning death yet still keep us on target with HQ. At our three o’clock was an alley. Alleys had a tendency to dead-end. I took that as both a literal and metaphorical sign and pointed toward two o’clock.

  A building. A door. Over the door hung a
sign.

  T&J Clothier.

  Why couldn’t T&J have been gun aficionados or swordsmen? Even an Army surplus would have been nice. Instead, we had the opportunity to regale ourselves in evening wear and dapper the dead to death.

  We silently made our way across the street and through the doors of T&J’s.

  The smell of mothballs and leather accosted my nostrils with a dichotomy of smells. Ex-boyfriends and grandmas.

  “How can that stench have lasted?” asked Echo.

  “It’s the only smell on the planet that reminds me of grandma and cowboys at the same time,” Jamal whispered.

  I smacked the back of Jamal’s head. “You get stranger and stranger by the minute.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing?” Jamal replied.

  I winked.

  Rizzo tugged on my arm. “What’s the deal? We staying or leaving?”

  Jamal shined the flashlight around the room. “We can stay here, B, no problem. I’m honestly not sure how much longer we have to go before we’re home. Might be a damn good idea to set up camp.”

  Camp. Ironic thing, that, considering we had absolutely nothing to make said camp with. But there were four walls here─walls that looked like they were built to survive the apocalypse.

  Funny how that worked out.

  “Yeah,” I finally answered. “Might be a good idea.” I scanned the room again. “We should look for a basement or attic. Either one would be preferable to staying here in this open room.”

  It took no time to locate a door that led to a spiral staircase. “What lies beneath?” I asked.

  Jamal grinned. “Nicely played, B.”

  I gestured for Rizzo and Echo to wait on the main floor with Jamal. I had to find out if the basement was free of undead and living creeps.

  Or worse.

  The beam from my headlamp cut through the thick fog of dust and spiderwebs. It never ceased to amaze me how quickly nature and entropy took over the second human activity vanished from an area. Outside it was weeds, wind, and wither. Within the walls of human erection, it was dust, disuse, and detritus.

  I placed a cautious foot on a wooden stair. The creak momentarily stopped my heart. Any second, a demon’s talon would reach between the steps and take me down to its very own paradise city. I counted in my head. One. Two. Three. The numbers faded into static and then silence.