by Jack Wallen
The door hushed open. A wave of sound accosted Faddig. Moans, screams, pleas…and worse. Hitomi turned to Faddig, her eyes wide and mouth agape. “There are too many of them. The holding cell was not made for these numbers.”
The flesh of the turned pressed hard against the glass that separated the living from the dead. Bloody hand prints, chunks of flesh, and bits of bone stuck fast to the smeared surface.
Faddig crossed the console and grabbed the mic.
“Repeat after me,” Faddig shouted. “I must bring back Bethany Nitshimi.”
The voices, many and menacing, echoed the statement, this time not nearly as placid as the first round of turned.
Faddig continued, “Repeat after me. I am the property of the Zero Day Collective.”
The somnambulant humans complied.
“Repeat after me.” Faddig paused, recollecting the last time he’d commanded the Cradled. “Work makes you free.”
A silence overcame the room. Faddig felt a wave of nausea return, his legs and arms momentarily sapped of strength. He slammed his hand against the glass, jarring the attention of the Subjects. He repeated the last phrase.
“Work makes you free,” the lowing chorus returned.
“You will be transported to a new location where you have a single directive,” Faddig shouted.
“Bethany Nitshimi must die,” the Cradled answered.
Faddig turned to Hitomi. “Hail the apocalypse.”
The biologist bowed slightly and smiled. “Hail the apocalypse.”
“There is a transponder signal. Part of the Cradle programming is the ability to lock onto the precise frequency being emitted by Jacob. They’ll find him and they will succeed at what we have failed to do so far.” Faddig turned back to the window. “It’s time,” Faddig said with an ominous pride. He then turned and exited the room.
The hall didn’t spin, convulse, or mock Faddig this trip. He stood, arrow-straight, and marched his way to command central. The second he entered the car, he called out, “Full stop. The Genesis Cradle is complete.”
Every member of the command team went to work. The train’s brakes sang a metal-on-metal song to bring the massive transport to a slow, steady halt. Orders were barked, commands entered into consoles. The whole of the scene was a masterful ballet of military precision.
“Sir, the turned are being transferred and should be en route in less than twenty minutes.”
Faddig stepped in close to the officer. “Destination ETA?”
“Two hours tops, sir.”
Another officer turned his chair toward the commander. “Sir, Subject 001 is still in Medical. Should he be traveling with the turned?”
Faddig chewed at his lower lip. “He is not necessary at the moment. I have something very special planned for him.”
“Sir, I have audio.”
Faddig nodded. “Let’s hear it.”
A flip of a switch was all it took to flood the command room with the dark sounds of death bouncing off the metallic walls of the transport vehicle.
One of the soldiers broke the rank of silence. “Jesus Christopher Jones, that is some creepy-ass shit!”
Faddig slid in close to the offender and placed his hand on the man’s neck. “There’s still time for you to join them, solider. I hear they are ideal traveling companions. What do you say?”
The soldier shuddered and stiffened. Flop sweat leaped from his brow and splashed down on his uniform shirt.
Faddig glanced around the room. “I will not tolerate insubordination, incompetence, or impotence. If anyone in this room is unfit for duty, I highly recommend you confess your sin of failure now. Should you prove yourselves unworthy of this mission later, the consequences will be tragic.”
The room again fell to a perfect silence. Not even the click of keyboards punctuated the air.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Sir, the transport is ready and waiting for your orders.” The officer offered Faddig his phone.
Faddig pulled the receiver to his ear and barked out the simple command. “Go.”
twenty-two | the death parade
“I never thought I’d say this, Bethany, but damn I missed riding a bike. I’d forgotten how much joy could be had by the simple act of self-propulsion.”
I cranked harder to pull my bike side by side with Jamal. “You make it sound dirty, J-mal.”
He nodded and offered a grin. “I can make anything sound dirty.”
Before I got the chance to laugh, a Moaner launched itself out of nowhere into Jamal. His bike crash-landed into mine, sending us both sprawling to the ground.
“Bethany,” Jamal cried out. “You okay?”
The Moaner straddled Jamal, blocking his view of me. It leaned down, its clacking maw inching closer and closer to Jamal’s chocolate flesh. I spun my bag around and fished for Mr. Pointy. My fingers found purchase on the collapsible pole and yanked it free. Within seconds, I had it extended and locked in place. With a single downward thrust, the business end of the weapon pierced the back side of the zombie’s skull to render the bastard inanimate.
Jamal pushed upward and the lifeless Moaner dove to the dirt…never to sing its baleful song again.
“Please tell me you packed some of Morgan’s special wipes,” Jamal said as he sat up. His face was covered in the collateral wreckage of undead death.
“Out of luck, J-man. Sorry.”
Jamal stood and pulled off his shirt to wipe away the gore.
“For a nerd, you’re pretty cut, Jamal.”
He simultaneously shrugged and blushed. “I avoid the gym so hard it’s almost a workout.”
We righted the bikes, checked them for damages, and rode off…reminded that complacency would be our death.
“We’re getting close,” Jamal whispered. His tone was the timbre of B-horror doom and gloom. Fingers of ice caressed the base of my neck. The underside of my jaw tightened…I wanted to throw up.
“Why am I so afraid of these dumb-asses?”
Jamal tossed a sideways glance my way. “You’re kidding, right? These people are the worst flavor of crazy. I’m talking straight-up chaotic evil. On top of being unpredictable, they have no moral boundaries and are guided by a singular purpose—pleasure. That’s a dangerous combination to have at your back with the undead militia constantly attacking your front. Believe me, B, you have every reason to be afraid of these punks.”
“I didn’t think it possible, Jamal…but you just made me fear them even more.”
He laughed. The second he spotted my glare, the laughter fell silent.
“Sorry. I guess what I should have said was that you have no reason to fear anyone so long as the J-man is by your side.”
A strange chant interrupted our conversation. Jamal pedaled off into an alley—I quickly followed suit. We hopped off the bikes and crouched behind a well-placed pile of garbage.
A percussive beat rattled my nerves. We were much closer than I thought. The web of nerves under my flesh caught fire. I wanted to scream, pull my hair out, and go fetal.
Jamal remained Chuck Norris calm. He pulled out the transponder and then his phone. He opened up a mapping tool and checked our current coordinates against the pinpointed location on his map. He nodded, pressed the power button on the device, waited for the light to glow a steady green, and then tucked it under a discarded mattress.
After a quick thumbs up, he nodded for us to depart.
The chant stopped. Silence forced itself upon us. Our very breath seemed over-loud.
A piercing scream shattered the brief peace. The ear-shredding plea was quickly followed by a new, more dissonant and foreboding chant.
And then it came.
A cry for help.
My chest constricted and my lungs emptied.
“We have to do something.” The desperate whisper hissed between my lips.
“Like what? We’re two to their…thirty? Forty? No way, Bethany. I made a promise to get you back safely and I will
do everything I can to follow through with that.”
The cry pierced the veil again. Tears rushed down my cheeks as my heart threatened to break.
“Besides, B, it could be a trap.”
“Or it could be an innocent woman being burned alive.”
Jamal faced me, his eyes rimmed with passion and strength. “I know this goes against everything you feel and believe, Bethany, but no. We’ve set the trap, now we have to get out of the way and hope it works. Otherwise, everything we’ve done is shot to hell.”
He was right. Goddamn, he was right. Even as the realization cooled down my heated heart, the impassioned plea begged me to turn full-on cavalry and come to the rescue.
I nodded hesitantly. Even as the action of agreeing happened, I wanted so badly to take it back.
Together we stood and quietly made our way to the bikes. I was about to throw my leg over the machine when the first of the Thelemites crossed in front of the alley entrance. Instinct forced its will upon me and I dropped to the ground. The bikes didn’t make for the best camouflage, but the revelers hopefully weren’t on the lookout for those seeking vigilante justice.
I was and always shall be…Batman, I thought to myself.
I felt Jamal’s hand against my lower back…just an assurance he was there, ready to protect me at any cost.
After the first few marched by, a second group heaved at a heavy rope. I didn’t want to see their cargo—especially when the source of the pleas grew louder with every passing breath.
Before I could will my eyes shut, a rolling platform came into view. In the center of the platform, a naked woman was lashed to a pole, her flesh smeared and caked in blood. Surrounding her were Moaners, all chained so that they could almost reach the woman. As they clawed at the air, testing the tensile strength of their chains, the woman pleaded for a mercy she wouldn’t get. I knew, deep in the pit of my stomach, that as soon as they reached their destination, the zombies would be loosed upon her and an agonizing death would soon follow.
The platform passed and more Thelemites came into view. Before all was said and done, the man we could only assume to be the leader strutted by. He cracked a whip against the back of anyone within reach and cackled.
I wept. I couldn’t help it. Every emotion trapped in my body demanded to be released and heard. My hands shot to my mouth to silence the cries. Jamal reached up carefully, sweetly. As he pressed his palms against the backs of my hands, he kissed my neck softly. The gesture went a very long way to soothe my weeping beast.
We remained in that position long enough for my legs to go to sleep and my lower back to cramp.
Any second, I assumed, Captain Spaulding would leap into frame, offer us some fried chicken, and then gut us as he sang some fucked-up Rob Zombie song. That’s where my mind was, how the apocalypse had twisted and shifted my sensibilities.
I desperately needed a reboot.
That didn’t happen. Instead, the sounds of the psycho parade faded. Jamal and I stood and took our rightful places atop our bikes.
Jamal placed a tender hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”
I looked upwards and sighed. “Not even remotely, Jamal. But I’m alive…thanks to you. I swear, had you not held me back, I would have rushed those bastards and died trying to free that woman.”
“I know you would have, B. That’s why you’re so damned important. You get it…completely and utterly.”
“What about the transponder? Are you sure we can just leave it there? How do we know the pain parade isn’t leaving town?”
Jamal’s face faded deep into thought. His eyes shifted from right to left to right to left. When they came back to center, he had the answer.
“I installed a signal booster in the device. The radius of signal on that transponder is roughly a half mile. If we were in New York, that would be about ten blocks. My assumption is they are transporting that platform to the same location where they burned the Zombie Response Team members—which was about…” Jamal looked over my shoulder. “…five blocks from here. So long as this location allows us to escape safely, it’s perfect.”
Jamal offered up a half-hearted smile and shrug.
A gut-wrenching scream tore across the landscape. The horror-filled sound bounced from wall to wall and shook me from eyes to ass.
“Jamal,” I warned.
He grabbed my hand. “I know what you’re thinking, Bethany. That sound you just heard…it’s done. She’s dead. Even if we were Kickass and Hit Girl, there’s not a damn thing we could do now. So let’s pedal our asses out of here and hope like hell we don’t encounter the walking dead on the way home.”
I nodded. It was all I could do. Any more and another flood of tears would render me worthless.
Jamal graced me with his warmest smile. “WWZRDJD.”
“I have no idea what you just said. My brain is too fried for code. Hit me.”
“What would Zombie Radio DJ do?”
I had to stifle a laugh. The second I had myself under control, I whispered, “He’d prob…ably drop a serious pause just before lay…ing down some massssssive tunage on our asses…ah!”
My jacked-up impersonation of the DJ would have had us both in stitches had it not been for the sounds of the death squad marching back.
Fuck, Jamal mouthed. “We gotta go. Now!”
He wasted no time and raced out of the alley. I did my best to catch up, and within a few short pedal strokes passed him by. We reached the next block, and the thunderous sound of chaos struck us from behind.
“Faster,” Jamal shouted.
I chanced a glance over my shoulder to see a small army of Thelemites giving chase. They hurled rocks and threats. Insult and injury.
A scream lashed out at me from behind. I knew the sound all too well.
“Bethany!”
Jamal.
I looked back to see him on the ground, the Thelemites overtaking him.
“Go, Bethany, get out of here.”
Horror rose from the depths of my existence and shattered what little hope and sanity I had remaining. I unleashed a wail against the scene. My primal rage did nothing to assuage the desires of the scourge before me. They dragged Jamal by his feet and lifted him over their heads like some plundered trophy.
The army stopped and glared. Ten, twenty…thirty pairs of eyes burning through the mask of stoicism I wore. That very same mask melted away in an ocean of tears and rage.
“No, no, no, no, no!” I cried out. “Jamal!”
An unintelligible order was barked from behind the Thelemites. The army turned, Jamal still held aloft. He squirmed and twisted to break free from the hold, but failed.
“Bethany!” Jamal’s cry for help was drowned out by the rising chant from the marauders.
I felt useless, helpless…lost. Instinct took over and my legs pedaled. I had to get some distance between me and the Thelemites. I had to live. As I rode, the only logical next step coalesced within my brain.
Call Morgan.
After a few blocks, I pulled the bike into another alley and grabbed the phone from my pocket.
She answered after only two rings. The second I heard her voice, all I could do was weep.
“Bethany? What’s wrong?”
I tried to verbalize my anguish, but no intelligible words would form on my lips and tongue.
“Come on girl, pull yourself together and tell me what’s up.”
“J—Jamal.”
“What about him?”
“They got him, Morgan. The bastards took him…right in front of me. You have to help me get him back.”
My plea was met with a brief silence. When Morgan came back, her voice was steady and measured. “Bethany, I need you to get back to HQ. Find Rondo and have him gather the troops. Guide them to where Jamal was taken and they will get him back. I’ll call him with a heads up. He’ll be ready for you.”
“We don’t have time, Morgan. They’re going to kill him.”
“Bethany, trust me. T
he longer you wait, the less chance he has to survive. Get your ass to Rondo and do as I said. Those men are trained for this. They will get Jamal back. I promise you.”
What choice did I have? I agreed, disconnected the call, and pedaled as if every life on the planet hinged on me rescuing Jamal.
twenty-three | a canvas most precious
Gerrand stood, naked, before a full-length mirror, studying the handiwork of his tattooed flesh. Every inch he could reach was covered in notes, equations, formulas…and even a few rough sketches. The whole of Fry was etched out, scrawled in rough ink, to the best of his ability. Thankfully, every single letter remained perfectly legible. He took notes as he gazed on.
A story most precious. A map to reconnect the dots of mankind’s unraveling structure and form.
“You’d have thought I’d have put this to memory by now.” He spoke with ease to Josh. “I’ve stared at this canvas so often.”
Josh spoke through a mouthful of Powerbar. “Dude, when we rid the planet of the virus, stick to science. Your tattoo skills suck.”
Gerrand chuckled and then grabbed his pen and notebook to transfer key markers for the initial component of Fry. “My artistry ends at the microscope and beaker.”
Josh swallowed the load of pre-packaged salvation. Before he could retort, Morgan burst into the scene.
“They got Jamal.”
Josh turned to his fiancée. “Who?”
“The fucking Thelemites.”
“Son of a bitch,” Josh growled as he reached for his pack. “We gotta go.”
Morgan stopped him with a palm to the chest. “I’ve already called Rondo. Bethany is going to lead the team back to the location for a search and rescue.”
As Gerrand scrambled to dress, he spoke with a quavering tone. “Bethany is safe? Are you certain of this?”
“She’s the one who called me. She’s freaking out, but she’s alive.”
“And you’re sure Rondo and his men can handle those…”
“Our A-Team can handle pretty much anything. If Rondo says they’ll get Jamal back, they’ll get him back.”