by Jack Wallen
Rondo roared, “Hey, motherfucker!”
The Screamer turned and unleashed hell. First came the metallic screech as the muscles and tendons of the beast’s neck threatened to snap. Next, the monster threw his full weight into Rondo, knocking his gun from his hand.
“Fuck you.” Rondo brought his meaty fist crashing into the Screamer’s face. The zombie didn’t flinch.
Gerrand exited the stall to see the waging war before him. The gun lay on the floor near the Screamer’s feet. Without giving thought to consequences, Gerrand placed the briefcase on the trashcan and tapped out the six-digit unlock code. The case clicked open and Gerrand withdrew the last remaining vial of Fry.
“Fucking help me,” bellowed Rondo.
Gerrand remained silent. He plunged a needle into the rubber stopper of the vial and drew in the full contents of the clear liquid.
Before the Screamer had a chance to render Rondo beyond hope, Gerrand stepped in and slammed the needle into its neck. The plunger depressed to deliver the liquid hate into the system of the zombie. “Let it burn,” whispered Gerrand.
The Screamer momentarily fell silent and released his grip on Rondo.
“Run, now,” Gerrand demanded. “You don’t want to be around for this.”
Rondo slipped from the zombie’s grasp and followed Gerrand out the bathroom door. The zombie grasped at its neck and madly tore at the flesh.
“What’s going to happen, doc?”
Gerrand held up his hand and, using his fingers, counted down from five. The second his last digit dropped, a muffled thump bounced off the metal of the door.
“That’s going to happen.” Gerrand pointed toward the door. A brown sludge oozed out of the bathroom.
“What the hell?”
Gerrand stood proudly. “That’s Fry. It was also my last dose.”
Rondo rushed to the door and pushed it open. Bits of meat, bone, and a rainbow splatter of brownish-red blood peppered the walls. The smell of rot and disease burned his nostrils.
“Son of a bitch,” Rondo whispered to himself. “You weren’t shitting us, were you?”
Gerrand shook his head. “I was not.”
Rondo snapped his head back to stare down the doctor. “Wait, that was your last dose? As in…there is no more Fry?”
As Gerrand spoke, he withdrew a key from his pocket and unlocked the cuff holding the case to his wrist. “Not in existence. But I have the formula with me.”
Gerrand dropped the case into the trash can.
“Why are you tossing that in the trash? Isn’t the formula in there?”
Gerrand shook his head.
“Where is it then?” Rondo asked nervously.
“That, my friend, will remain a secret.”
Rondo’s eyes grew wide. “But you can make more, right?”
“It is my hope, yes,” answered Gerrand.
Rondo shouted in celebration. “Hells, yeah. That, my friend, was righteous. I didn’t really believe you at first, but good goddamn, you have an actual, factual weapon against the undead. That is pure, balls-out glory there.”
The sound of Rusty’s voice shattered the moment as he peeked his head into the bathroom. “What the fuck happened in here? You have another case of explosive diarrhea, Rondo?”
“Shut your hole, Rusty, and load up whatever you can find that will serve us on the road.”
“You got it, boss man.” Rusty started to leave the bathroom but gave it a second thought. “By the way, the bus is fueled up and ready to rock.”
Rusty exited and made his way to the counter. Rondo and Gerrand followed.
“I have to confess,” said Gerrand, “it is such a relief to have that case off my wrist.”
“That big-ass case held nothing more than a single dose of Fry and a syringe?”
Gerrand nodded as he exited the building. “Nothing more,” he said over his shoulder.
eighteen | or die trying
Morgan slammed both hands down on the table. “Son of a bitch.”
Josh placed a gentle hand on her shoulder; she shrugged it away.
“I assumed we’d already witnessed the human race at its most depraved,” Morgan growled. “Now this?”
Jamal entered the room. “Now what?”
I gave Jamal the Cliff’s Notes version of the human pyrotechnics we’d witnessed. He listened intently, his fingers steepled before his mouth. When I finished the tale, he sighed, stood, and paced.
“I have a really, really bad idea. It’s so bad, I’m hesitant to even bring it up. But it could, very possibly, end our little war with the Thelemites.”
Every head turned to Jamal…attention rapt, eyes wide. I read his face; I didn’t like what I saw.
“What if we drew the Zero Day Collective here…to the Thelemites. Have the bad guys take out the other bad guys?”
Morgan laughed. “Are you kidding me? The second the Zero Day Collective comes near and finds us, we’re dead.”
Jamal dropped his hands onto the table and leaned into Morgan. “They can’t kill us if we’re not here.”
It was Josh’s turn to object. “No way. It’s taken us too long to find and secure this place. I’m not starting over…again.”
“Who said anything about starting over?” Jamal pulled a chair out and sat. “New Salt Lake City is huge; over one hundred square miles, if I remember correctly. All we have to do is find somewhere to hide away while the Collective and the Thelemites take care of one another.”
“Right,” Morgan shook her head. “And when the ZDC gets here, who’s to say they don’t tear every building apart searching for us?”
Jamal grinned. “Let them. Remember Seattle? This city has a very similar underground tunnel system. We could hide away there until we’re sure the ZDC is gone.”
I decided to join in on the fun. “And just how do you propose we draw the Collective here?”
“Jacob.”
My heart skipped. For the first time since graduate school, I wanted to punch Jamal.
“I don’t mean the baby. What I should have said was Jacob’s signal. I can mimic that signal with any number of devices and plant it on the Thelemites. The Zero Day Collective locates the signal, comes in, and either the Thelemites or the ZDC are dead.”
I sat in the chair next to Jamal. “I see where you’re going with this, but you might be forgetting a crucial element. Every time the ZDC has located me, they’ve sent in a transport filled with the undead. They don’t do their own dirty work. How will it help us if a zombie army attacks? I’ve been in that exact situation…it’s not something we want to deal with.”
Jamal sat in silence, chewing his lip.
Morgan glanced between me and Jamal. “What are the chances of the Collective doing a zombie dump near Jacob? Isn’t that baby too valuable for shock and awe?”
My heart twisted like a wet sponge inside my chest. Everything about this idea screamed nightmare. I’d had enough of the danse macabre to last a lifetime. As much as I hoped to rid New Salt Lake of these bastards, the last thing I wanted to do was draw the ZDC anywhere near us.
“Wait.” I stood and turned to Morgan. “Isn’t there a small army escorting Richard Gerrand to us? Couldn’t they be the ones to fight this battle for us?”
Morgan pursed her lips and closed her eyes. “You saw what they did to the last crew I sent in. I can’t risk losing any more men and women. What we do is too important.”
I nodded. “Understood.”
Jamal raised his hand. He tilted his head and opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing. I knew this moment well. He was about to drop a smart bomb. “What if we corralled the undead toward the Thelemites’ headquarters?”
“And how do we do that?” asked Josh.
“The Obliterator,” answered Jamal with finality. He smiled and nodded. “Hell yeah.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying? If you are, J-mal, that is brilliant.”
“Again I say, hell yeah.”
&nb
sp; “Care to fill me and Josh in on your little secret?”
Jamal stood and paced. “We find out exactly where the Thelemites are located and strategically plant Obliterators around the area in such as way to force the undead toward the location.”
“Holy shit,” Josh nearly shouted. “That’s fucking brilliant. Get those sons a bitches surrounded by Moaners and Screamers and they’ll have to fight their way out…and die trying.”
Morgan nodded slowly. “I think that could work. And it’s certainly safer than drawing the goddamn Zero Day Collective to us.”
“All I have to do is build the portable Obliterators.” Jamal’s voice faded into disappointment.
“What?” we all said to Jamal.
“The fucking Thelemites emptied the electronics store. I don’t have the parts to build the devices.”
I patted Jamal on the back. “Road trip.”
Jamal glanced over to me, his face riddled with questions.
“New Salt Lake is a big town. Certainly there has to be more than one electronics store, right?” Before anyone said a thing, I grabbed my phone and pulled up Google. A quick search affirmed my suspicions. “What in the hell will we do when the internet stops working?” I shuddered briefly. “Looks like there are three such stores, all within ten miles of this location.”
I hooked my hand under Jamal’s arm. “You’re with me.” I turned to Morgan. “Can I count on you and Josh to babysit the kids while we’re gone?”
Morgan nodded. “Can I count on you to babysit one another while you’re out?”
We nodded.
“We doing this by bike, doll face?”
I grinned at Jamal. He hadn’t called me that since grad school. A rush of warmth raced through my system and converged in my chest.
“Oh, no, sweet cheeks,” I replied. “This time we travel with class.”
By class, I meant the rusted Mercedes that had somehow fallen into our laps.
*
“Why couldn’t we have absconded with a pimper ride?” Jamal asked as I eased the car onto the road.
“Are you serious, Jamal? It’s the apocalypse and you’re wishing for a pimped ride? You may think girls would find that cute….they don’t. Trust me.”
“Bethany Nitshimi…”
I raised my hand. “If you say I’m like school in the summer time…”
“No class,” Jamal finished.
“I’m in love with a child.”
We laughed as the Mercedes coughed and rattled down the road.
“Where am I going?” I asked.
Jamal proceeded to guide me through the ruined streets of New Salt Lake City. The circuitous path wound us through one broken neighborhood after another.
“God, this place is depressing,” Jamal whispered under his breath.
“I imagine the whole world resembles this mess. I swear, I never thought I’d live to see the day when a Mad Maxian landscape became our reality. Our species has always been capable of adapting…but where does this take us?”
“Tank Girl?” Jamal answered with a question.
I laughed. I loved that film. What woman wouldn’t go vaggitarian for Lori Petty? “You mean mutant kangaroos and a barefoot Malcolm McDowell?”
“I’m talking water. Nearly every good futuristic movie dealt with the dwindling water supply trope. There’s a reason for that. Without the workforce available to man the processing plants, how are we to supply the world with potable water?”
I sighed.
“What, B?”
“I was hoping this would be a road trip, not a pedantic discussion about the decline of civilization as perpetrated and perpetuated by the global spread of the Mengele Virus. Sorry, Jamal. I know you get your head wrapped around something and can’t untangle your thoughts until you’ve purged, but right now…I just need fluffy kitties, unicorns, and bronies.”
Jamal hissed. “It was a phase, okay.”
I laughed. “So was Sailor Moon, if I recall.”
“Every male in graduate school was obsessed with that show.”
“Keep telling yourself that, big guy.”
Our destination came into view.
“Electro Shack? Are you serious?” Jamal checked his phone. “Yep, this is the place. I hope their stock is better than their brand.”
“It’s a mom and pop store. This country was built on the shoulders of these small operations. It was a shame to see corporate America pick apart the heart and soul of…”
Jamal cut across me. “I thought this was a profound-free zone at the moment.”
I pulled the car close to the entrance of the store, slammed it into first, pulled the emergency brake up, and turned off the ignition. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I closed my eyes and placed the palms of my hands to my temples. “Be the cheerleader.”
When I opened my eyes, I tilted my head back and forth and released a high-pitched squeal. “Like, oh my god! I am so gonna get faaa-reaky with you after prom tonight.”
Jamal stared and blinked. Once. Twice. A smile spread from cheek to cheek and then he kissed me. “We could skip the prom and get right to the freaky in the here and now.”
I opened the driver’s side door. “Your timing blows goats, Jamal. Let’s get in, get out, and get home.”
We stepped out of the car and listened. On my back was a military-issue backpack. At my side was a non-military-issue Mr. Pointy. The three-foot titanium pipe was as strong as it was light…which was only outdone by the ridiculously sharp point.
Hence the name…Mr. Pointy.
Eat your heart out, Buffy.
“Silent night. Holy night.” Jamal sang softly.
Together, we approached the door. In Matrix-like slow motion, I reached out and grasped the handle.
The door hissed open. Jamal and I both sighed in shades of relief.
“After you, my dear.” I gestured for Jamal to step in first. Like a gentleman and a hero, he complied.
“All clear,” Jamal called out softly.
Silence was our greatest ally.
Inside the building, Christmas came early. I was fairly certain Jamal was going to come unhinged with joy. He spread his arms wide and spun in place.
“Candy, candy, candy.” Jamal sang a simple melody that made me want to join in.
Instead, I made with the shopping. We both knew the Obliterator schematics back and forth, so a list wasn’t necessary.
“I’m going to need another pack,” Jamal said from the other side of the store.
“I thought this trip was all about the devices.”
“Are you kidding me, B? This is veritable gold mine here. Besides, I don’t want to take another chance the Crowley Kids will slip in under the cover of night and suck this place dry.”
He had a point…so much so that I took a quick trip to the front door and stole a glance up and down the street.
Nothing.
“Holy flashback, Batman,” Jamal squealed. “B, come and look.”
In his hands, held aloft like Excalibur or Precious, Jamal was holding an original Atari 2600.
“Behold, the grail of geekdom.”
I bowed before Jamal. “For God so loved the world, he gave his only console.”
“And it was good,” we said in unison.
“This comes with us.”
I turned to the dusty shelf that held the prize. “Any games?”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about games. I can mod a few up for us.”
“Jamal, you know I love it when you talk dirty.”
“Rowr, kitty.”
We stuffed the backpacks full of necessary components, and then made a few extra tips to load up the trunk and back seat of the car. What we left behind was of no use to us or the cause.
We slid into the front seats and closed the doors. I grabbed the keys and twisted the ignition.
Nothing.
“Oh, come on,” I shouted. “This isn’t a fucking movie where the narrative needs to stop for plot
-convenience theatre.”
I tried again. The engine attempted to turn over but groaned and sputtered.
“This isn’t good, Jamal. We’ve got to get back before the moon comes out to play.”
Jamal made a duck face and shook his head. “Girl, you done forgot who yo wif.” He stepped out of the car and said, “Release the emergency brake and shift it into neutral. We’re going to pop start this baby.”
I did as instructed and nodded.
With a great grunt, Jamal leaned into the hood of the car to get it moving. Inch by inch, the metal beast cleared the storefront. Jamal shifted to the rear of the vehicle and began the grunting and groaning process anew.
“Press down on the clutch and shift it into first,” Jamal called out. “When I tell you, pop the clutch and give it some gas.”
The Mercedes very slowly trudged forward. Before we could get up any speed, the sky filled with screeching.
“Oh, shit. Jamal…get in the car.”
He refused, continuing to push.
The relentless sounds of raging death punished the air around us. “Come on, Jamal. Get in the fucking car.”
“Almost there,” Jamal shouted.
The oncoming Screamers drew near.
“Son of a bitch, Jamal…”
“Now, Bethany.”
I released the clutch, hit the gas, and the car sputtered to life. As soon as the engine assured me it would remain in motion, I slammed the clutch down and shifted into neutral. I turned to demand Jamal get in.
“Jamal!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. A Screamer was barreling down on the love of my life. Without thinking, I leaned across the seat and opened the door. Jamal raced to the side of the car, jumped in, and slammed the door shut.
“Go. Go, go, go, go,” Jamal huffed and stuttered.
I shifted and punched the gas. As the car squealed away, the Screamer leaped and landed on the trunk. The sound of flesh and bone crashing into metal could mean only one thing─the Screamer was taking his eternal hatred out on the car.
The speedometer inched clockwise until it reached sixty. I spun the wheel to the left and right, hoping to shake the monster loose.
No such luck.
“The bastard has an unholy grip on the car,” I screamed.
Jamal pointed forward─not indicating a direction for me, but calculating. His mind was gone, vanished into the dark space I could never reach.