by Jack Wallen
Rusty grappled with the stranger nearest me. The soldier dwarfed the pale bone-rack of a man. The fight should have been an instant kill—but something was amiss.
An inhuman cry spilled from Rusty’s lungs just before the stranger snapped his arm in two. The lower half of Rusty’s right arm pulled away like a turkey leg from an overcooked Thanksgiving bird. His suffering scream nearly brought the entire battle to a standstill.
The strangers were winning; slowly but surely. No matter how many soldiers got in their way, they seemed hell-bent on reaching me. Each lost gaze found me. Each raging monster went for me.
I scrambled for something to use as a weapon. One of the ZRT soldiers spotted my desperate act and tossed me a knife. Before I had the chance to use it, one of the strangers howled and broke out its best wacky pop dance. The bastard jerked, popped, locked, and dropped.
Over the din of horror, Gerrand’s voice sang out. “Cover your faces.”
I stole a glance his way and spotted a syringe in his hand. He’d dosed the zombie with Fry.
Everyone turned away or ducked behind a seat. The injected stranger stopped in his tracks and was overcome by a violent case of the shakes. Before I could shout “Scanners”, the zombie exploded. Blood, bone, flesh, and offal sprayed out in three hundred and sixty degrees. The splashdown coated me in undead smoothie. I finally knew what Carrie felt like after being crowned queen of the prom.
I wanted to scream, cry, and vomit all at once.
Before I could manage the emotional triple crown, Gerrand had four more syringes out and was about to send each to the hilt in a different undead patient.
The idea hit like Thor’s hammer. “Wait,” I cried out.
Gerrand shot a confused glance my way.
I communicated the first piece of my idea in two words. “Save one.”
Gerrand nodded and pocketed one of the four syringes. Without hesitation, he punched the remaining three through the taut flesh on their necks.
One by one, the bags of undead rot painted the inside of the bus a sickening shade of filth.
All but one.
It was time to toss a Hail Mary skyward.
I stepped into the aisle and slowly walked forward until I stood face-to-face with death.
“Bethany.”
It said my name. Fear choked my heart. The dead didn’t speak, didn’t know my name. I tossed caution to a gale-force wind and nodded.
The glassy-eyed man looked me over, his head jerking on a wiry neck. “I must bring back Bethany Nitshimi.”
It was my turn to nod. I stole a glance toward Rondo, who returned the gesture and offered me a thumbs up…all the approval I needed.
“Take me to your leader,” I said, grinning wickedly.
The zombie turned and marched out of the bus. As I walked up to Rondo, I revealed my plan as quickly as I could. “That bastard is going to lead us to Faddig. Be ready for a fight.”
I turned to Gerrand and shot my hand forward. “I need a dose of Fry.” He complied without complaint.
Before I exited, Rondo forced a pistol into my hand. I accepted with a quick nod and departed.
As my undead tour guide and I marched forward, the bus followed close behind, its engine whining against the funeral-dirge speed.
“What’s your name, friend?” I asked flippantly.
“Subject 002.”
“Seriously? Come on, you had a name before…” I wasn’t sure how far to dive into a past I might not want to know. But then again, knowledge was the ultimate power. “Before the Zero Day Collective had their way with you.”
Silence.
“Where are you taking me?”
Subject 002 twisted his head on its awkwardly thin neck. Red-rimmed, dingy-white eyes glared at me. “To Commander Faddig.”
Score one for assumption.
We walked. And we walked. And we walked. Most of the journey was made without sharing a word. On the rare occasion Subject 002 did speak, it was rudimentary in nature and nothing that served to dredge up any useful information.
Social engineering ended with the undead.
My legs objected. Of all the things to happen, my body dared complain about a simple walk. But there it was. My feet were on fire, my legs wobbled with each step, and my mind was about to throat-punch me if I continued on.
Just when I was certain my getaway sticks would buckle, the reanimator special stopped and pointed.
“There.”
A train.
Yes, Sam, I would on a train. In dire pain…even in vain.
Fucking brilliant. A mobile headquarters that could easily go completely off-grid. For the briefest of pauses I stood in a thick pool of jealousy. The audacity of the ZDC, to go so old school they trumped every piece of modern tech available.
And yet, I stood next to an evolved member of the undead horde. The new world order was officially passé. Old school met new school and showed it what for.
The bus engine heaved a heavy sigh as it nodded off to rest. The door opened and Rondo stepped out.
“Why is this bastard not going ape-shit?” he whispered in my ear.
“My guess is because I’m standing by him and we’re following his prime directive.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This thing had one objective…bring me here.”
“Are you sure about this, Bethany?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure of anything at the moment. But I am doing this.”
Rondo stepped from behind me and stood at my side. “Understand that I cannot let you fight this alone.”
“I don’t expect you to. But you have to let me go in by myself.”
“How will I know when to send the cavalry in?”
I pulled out my phone and dialed Jamal’s number. He answered immediately.
“B, what gives? You’re right outside…”
“Whatever you do, Jamal, don’t disconnect this call. I’m going into a hostile situation and you are my lifeline. As soon as you hear my signal, send the troops in hot.”
“Got it. Bethany,” Jamal’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You left me behind once before. I don’t know if I could stand it a second time.”
“I love you too, Jamal.”
I slipped the still-live phone into my front pants pocket. The compartment was shallow enough that the mic peeked out to ensure no sound was blocked.
I gestured toward the train. “After you, old chum.”
Subject 002 walked steadily onward.
My heart leaped from adagio to presto before nature’s maestro had a chance to raise the baton. It took every ounce of will and courage I had to continue forward. Swarming the back of my mind was a hive of questions: Why am I doing this? Why aren’t I running? What purpose does this serve?
In the end, it was all about enabling a future for my baby. As long as Faddig and the Zero Day Collective existed, the very idea of future hung in a very doubtful balance. So this was for Jacob.
And Echo.
And Rizzo.
And for love.
For hope.
To life.
We the fucking people. In order to form a functioning union. Establish order, secure domestic viability.
We reached the train. I gestured for Subject 002 to step onto the ladder first. To my relief, he didn’t hesitate to follow my order. Concern flooded my system. The last time something went this right was…never.
I raised one foot and let it hover over the first rusted metal step. With a deep breath, I managed to draw up the necessary courage to keep me moving forward with the plan. My hand snaked its way around until it grazed the metal of the gun. That fractional moment offered me all the security I needed.
After five quick steps, I stood within a train car. Subject 002 nodded and gestured for me to follow.
I was finally here—within the belly of a beast that must be destroyed.
“Follow me, please.” Subject 002’s voice rang hollow and empty. My mind and my heart we
nt to war with one another. Nevertheless, I complied. We stepped into the car and out the other side.
As we walked down the hallway, I wrapped my fingers around the syringe—my only chance of survival. The zombie knocked on the door three times. The door slid open and he stepped through.
Go time.
Before fear had the chance to grip my heart, I walked through the doorway. All eyes landed on me—one pair of particular interest.
There was no denying who was in charge…the man in the most expensive suit. His cocoa skin indicated some other nation of origin…a once-significant detail that no longer mattered.
Soldiers stood. Guns aimed and cocked. Faddig stepped forward, his arms raised in a non-confrontational manner.
I didn’t buy it.
With the skill of a pickpocket, I swiped the syringe from my pants and jabbed it deep into the flesh just above Subject 002’s kidney. He managed to plod two more steps forward before the all-too-familiar la danse de folie began. At first the zombie didn’t budge; he continued onward to take me to his leader, who stood but a few feet away.
And then the familiar dance from hell began. Subject 002 jerked forward once and stood upright and stiff. The vibration began low and soft—his slack skin trembled over cracking bones and liquefying tissue.
“What the fuck is going on?” Faddig shouted.
From deep within Subject 002’s bowels came a tremulous roar. The sound danced about the metal-walled room until it was overtaken by the pop of flesh and the splash of sludge.
The distraction was all I needed. I pulled the weapon from my waistband and unloaded. Like a slow-motion moment in any given Wachowski film, my arm pivoted on my shoulder to bring the gun to bear on each Zero Day Collective soldier. Every bullet somehow hit home and brought the Grim Reaper to squeeze the life from each man.
My ears rang with the sound of battle.
As the fog of war cleared, Faddig came into focus. He blinked against the thick layer of liquid zombie that coated his face. His bright eyes gleamed through the dark brown mess. He sucked in a breath to speak. Before a single word escaped his lips, I raised the pistol.
“Piss me off, Faddig, please.”
“What now, Bethany? You have what you want…the head of the Zero Day Collective. Shoot me.”
I stood my ground, gun still trained on the man’s face.
“Why wait? Be a hero and end this.”
I slipped the phone from my pocket and called out to Jamal. “Now.”
Faddig leaned his head forward ever so slightly. “Now what?”
Instead of giving him what he wanted, I tightened my resolve to speak not a word to the man. Even though I wanted nothing more than to unleash every ounce of hatred I had onto Faddig, I found it thrilling to keep him in the dark…or better yet, the shadows that fear the dark.
The smell in the car was sickening—fetid meat and soured blood. I blinked my eyes against the sticky mess that coated my face. What I wouldn’t give for a shower. Under the sticky, bloody coating, I’d already begun to smell quite ripe…so much so, even patchouli wouldn’t save me from my funk of funks.
Before Faddig had a chance to attempt another round of provoking me, Morgan’s voice broke the silence. One by one the team entered the train car. I tossed a glance to Morgan. “Sweep the train. Make sure there are no others on board.”
Morgan barked a few orders and every member of the Zombie Response Team responded by disappearing deep within the train.
Faddig’s gaze bounced between me and Morgan. I could see every thought that danced behind his eyes. Fear. Uncertainty. Doubt. Calculation was the thread that tied it all together. When he spoke, his perfect British accent intimated his current truth—he knew his hate-fueled game was over.
“What are your plans for me?”
Morgan stepped up. “Death…if you’re lucky. If not, I’m fairly certain you can guess the prize behind that particular door.”
Faddig had the audacity to laugh before he spoke. “Kill me and two more will step forward. The Zero Day Collective is a many-headed beast.”
Morgan landed a solid round-house on Faddig’s jaw. A downpour of blood drained over his lower lip and onto his perfectly pressed linen suit. Morgan shook out her fist and nodded—her eyes glistening with pride.
One of the ZRT members peeked his head into the car. “We have a situation.”
“What is it?” Morgan demanded.
The soldier’s gaze dropped to the floor and then returned to Morgan. “I think you better come with me.”
I stepped behind Faddig and pressed the barrel of the pistol into the base of his skull. “If you so much as twitch, I shoot. Understood?”
Faddig slowly and carefully nodded.
We stepped out of the car—the young soldier leading the way. After trudging through what could only have been a dining car, we arrived at a single door that had been beaten down and broken in.
I forced Faddig through the opening.
“You don’t want to see this,” Faddig whispered back to me.
“I decide what I want to see.”
We stepped into the room. In the center, a pillar rested, surrounded by a thick glass wall. On the pillar rested a small, covered bed. From the ceiling, a multitude of wires and tubes snaked down and into the bed. Through each tube flowed a distinct liquid—it was impossible to tell if the liquid was flowing to or from the bed.
My heart skipped about manically. My mind wrapped around nearly every permutation of what could be found in that bed. In the end, there was only one way to find out.
I leaned into the glass wall and the bottom of the world dropped away. My mind, heart, and soul spiraled out of control. The walls and the sky crash-landed to crush conscious thought and buckle my knees.
From the floor, I wailed until I could barely speak.
“What have you done?” I screamed, my voice hoarse and cracking.
There was no answer.
I stood and turned to face Faddig. He spotted madness flitting across the glassy field of my eyes and stepped backwards. Morgan halted his retreat.
I rushed forward and pressed the barrel of the gun between his teeth and against the back of his throat.
“No!” I screamed. “No, no, no, no, no!” With each repetition of the suffering word, I punched the gun forward…into meat, cartilage, and bone.
“What is this?” I demanded. “Tell me what this is now!”
Faddig attempted to speak, tears coursing down his cheeks.
I pulled the gun from his mouth and pressed it into the base of his neck.
“The child you have in your possession…is a clone.”
The proclamation sent me stumbling backwards until I fell into the glass wall. I turned to look upon Jacob…more experiment than baby. His flesh was milky white, his limbs lay motionless on the cold, heartless bed.
“I want my baby.” My whispered demand to Faddig carried enough menace to frighten Charles Manson.
Faddig didn’t flinch. Instead, he replied calmly, “Jacob cannot be removed from the Cradle.”
I jumped up, shoved the barrel of the pistol into Faddig’s right eye and screamed at the top of my lungs, “I want my baby, now!”
Faddig didn’t budge. His voice remained a steady, constant monotone. “If you remove Jacob from the Cradle, he will die. What you see on that table hasn’t been human for quite some time. The child you have in your possession is a perfect clone of Jacob. Be happy you have that.”
I pointed the gun downward and sent a bullet through Faddig’s left foot.
As Faddig howled, I leaned in and whispered, “Be happy you still have the other.” I looked up to Morgan. “I want Gerrand in here as soon as possible. Take that son of a bitch to the bus; he’s ours now.”
“You might as well kill me, Bethany. If not, the Collective will find you, and what we did to Jacob will pale in comparison to the torture and experimentation they will exact on your flesh.”
I stared deep into the blac
k pits of Faddig’s eyes and said with an authority I’d had no idea I possessed, “Let them come and fall upon my sword.”
Without a word, Morgan exited the room, Faddig in tow.
Once alone, sorrow wormed its way deep into my core and dropped me back to my knees. The only thing I could do was weep—as if all memory but one had been wiped from my world.
Jacob. The infant I’d given birth to had been turned into some grand guignol experiment used to further cement Holocaust 2.0 into the annals of the human condition. The image of the truest Jacob was burned upon the cinema of my mind. I would leave my mark upon the graves of the stillborn. That mark would forever condemn the Zero Day Collective to a life of suffering and woe.
The woe of a mother who’d lost a child.
“Bethany,” Gerrand’s soft voice pulled me from my reverie. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me from the floor. I turned and buried my face in the crook of his neck to weep.
“Dearest God,” he whispered.
I pulled away and turned to face the glass cylinder.
“Is there anything you can do, doctor?”
Gerrand placed a hand on the glass. In the ensuing silence, I could hear the soft patter of tears drop to the floor between his feet.
The hurt was spreading.
“No, Bethany. I’m afraid there is nothing I can do for him. Without understanding exactly what was going on…”
“He is my child.”
“Was, my dear. Was. What remains on that table is not Jacob…not human. Your baby is currently very alive and very safe. As hard as this may be to accept, the Jacob you have been caring for and loving is every bit as much your flesh and blood as was this…” Gerrand hesitated, unsure of what to call the boy on the table.
My boy. My Jacob.
Or was he?
“What do we do with him? Do we hold onto hope? Does hope even exist?”
Gerrand wrapped a comforting arm around my waist. “Nihilism does not become you, Bethany. I cannot tell you what to do with that fragile body. The only thing I can do is remind you that there is a Jacob, very much alive and very much dependent upon his mother’s existence. Maybe now is not the time to wage war against the Zero Day Collective.”
I turned to Gerrand and spat, “It is always time to wage war against those bastards. They’ve done everything in their power to destroy my life at every turn. I will not rest until they burn.”