I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  “Thanks, Jamal. I’d like to think they’d go for the sexy heroine, at which point the strapping young hero would leap to her rescue and, against all odds, take down the mask-wearing big bad.”

  We pedaled away from the wall.

  “Of course I would, Bethany. I will forever stand between you and death.”

  I raised my palm to him. “Don’t say shit like that, Jamal. The last thing I need right now is to think of losing you. Let’s just concentrate on making our way to the first location. Speaking of which…how are we going to read a map while maneuvering bikes?”

  Jamal laughed and attached a clip to the handlebars of his bike. “Check it.” Another laugh.

  “What the hell?” I asked.

  “I spent some time riding with the local bike club of my hometown. They all clip their route to their bars so it’s just a quick glance away. It’s called a queue sheet. Schooled ya.”

  I couldn’t stop the laughter from exploding through my lips.

  “What’s so funny about this brilliant use of a chip clip?” Jamal asked.

  “Just…” Another bout of laughter nearly took me down.

  “You gots ta share this, girlfriend. I could use a good laugh.”

  “There’s a mental image of you, prancing about wearing spandex, rolling through my mind.”

  Jamal shook his head. “Bethany Nitshimi, you are made of bad stuff.” Jamal sped up, but not before saying, “Really bad stuff.”

  *

  The first leg of the trip took us roughly five miles from the wall. Fate did not toss a bag of undead dicks our way, so we arrived unscathed.

  “What is this building?” I asked as I leaned my bike against the front-facing wall. There was no signage, nothing to indicate what dark secrets hid within the monument to modern, spartan architecture.

  Jamal approached the entrance. “Every time I see a building like this, I assume black ops government experiments were going on inside.”

  “That’s probably more true than not, Jamal.”

  Jamal guffawed. “Oh, come on, B., you can’t possibly have a conspiracy streak in you that wide.”

  “Why not? I know enough about how the world works. It’s not that much of a leap of logic or faith to believe the United States government had its fingers in a lot of experimental pies. What if…” I paused, swallowing a quick lump down into the depths of my throat. “What if one of these generically evil buildings was where the ZDC first tested the Mengele Virus?”

  Jamal shook his head. “We all know where that happened. Remember the bogus filming in Templeton?”

  “No, no, no, Jamal. Not where it was first released…where the very idea was given birth. Somewhere, here in the United States, Jonathan Burgess gathered a collection of mad scientists to hatch an evil plot. That could have happened in this exact building.”

  “Or it could have happened in Topeka, Kansas…or Helena, Montana…or Muncie, Indiana. Who the hell knows, B? There are thousands upon thousands of these buildings strewn about the countryside. The likelihood of us finding the birthplace of the deadliest virus in all of history is…”

  A pounding came from the other side of the door. The noise shook me to my core. I shot a glance at Jamal—whose face was pinched and his hands balled into fists. We both remained, locked in silent repose.

  The disturbance to the force occurred a second time—this go ‘round, something slammed against the door, sending Jamal and me stumbling backward.

  “What the fuck?” Jamal squealed. “We are not going in there.”

  We stopped backpedaling, and I turned to Jamal. “Gerrand had very specific instructions about what we had to pick up. He didn’t offer alternatives. We have to get in there.”

  Fear slowly washed from Jamal’s face. He nodded. “You’re right. But judging by the ferocity of the beat-down that door is getting, we may be facing a Screamer…or worse.”

  Jamal reached for his Fry gun. I grabbed his hand and held it fast. “Not yet. We don’t know what’s on the other side of that wall, so we can’t be rash.”

  “No, but we can protect our asses.”

  “Trust me, Jamal. Keep the gun in its holster. I have a plan.”

  Said plan involved us finding a back entrance and doing a bit of ninja-level breaking and entering.

  “I don’t understand why these doors and windows are all locked,” Jamal said while he worked on the handle of the door. “Think about it, B.—the apocalypse sweeps across the land, you don’t take the time to lock up daddy’s business. You run and you hide.”

  “Unless the most logical place to hide is your current location. Maybe whoever—”

  “Or whatever,” Jamal interrupted.

  “Maybe whoever is inside this building wasn’t locking themselves in, rather they were locking the monsters out.”

  Jamal’s breathing eased up. “I like the way you think, Ms. Nitshimi.” He withdrew a small leather pouch from his back pocket, unzipped it, and revealed what could only be…

  “Lock picks?” I sighed. “You’ve got to be kidding. First off, where did you find a set of lock picks and, second, how did you learn to use them?”

  Jamal twisted his face into what I like to call his What choo talkin’ ‘bout look. “Girl, when I Live Action Role Play, I go all out. I play a twentieth-level thief named Skylar von Tassel. A long time ago, I decided to learn all the skills Skylar would need. I was dedicated.”

  “You’re an uber nerd.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing, Nitshimi. On top of that, I could easily call pot and kettle here.”

  The door lock gave a resounding click. Jamal stood and gave me a nod. “Say it.”

  I shook my head.

  “Oh, come on, B., say it.”

  Another shake of the head.

  “Some day you’ll say it, Bethany Nitshimi. When you do, I can promise there will be much rejoicing.”

  Jamal slowly wrapped his fingers around the knob and turned. The door eased open with the slightest hiss. A wall of stale air spilled from the dark inside. The smell was an amalgam of death, organic rot, feces, and urine. We both pinched our lips together to avoid hurling bile rainbows into the air around us.

  “Are you certain you want to go through with this?” Jamal whispered.

  I shook my head. “Not really…but we don’t have much of a choice.”

  Jamal took the lead, his fingers hovering over his Fry gun. Each step was taken as if a land mine might be waiting for detonation underfoot. We moved like feline ballerinas. Silent, swift, and sure.

  From somewhere inside the building, the not-so-rhythmic pounding sounded off once more. It was immediately met with a second round of thunder…from the opposite direction.

  “Shit. There are two of…whatever it is. Let’s just find what we’re looking for and get the hell out of this God-forsaken Dodge,” I whispered.

  Jamal nodded. “You’ll get no argument from me. By the way, what the fuck are we looking for?”

  I handed the list to Jamal.

  “I have to ask the hard questions that neither of us really wants to know the answer to,” Jamal said softly. “How was Gerrand so sure we’d find this particular ingredient here? Wouldn’t that require him have a questionably intimate knowledge of this building? And are we certain he’s trustworthy?”

  Jamal’s questions instantly wormed their way into the center of my mind and nestled in for an overlong consideration. There was only one answer to all three, and I didn’t want to give that answer a single ounce of credibility.

  “You’re thinking what I’m thinking, aren’t you, B-diddy? This was one of the original ZDC research buildings.”

  I stopped and faced Jamal. My voice was barely audible. “Stop it. Honestly, I don’t really care to solve that riddle at the moment. The only thing I do care about is getting this goddamn scavenger hunt over with and getting back home.”

  Home. The word landed square on my chest and threatened to break my heart in half. The definition of
the word was now completely flawed, because the idea of family and home had been shattered. Family was no longer defined by DNA, birth, and marriage. In the ugliest here and now to have ever taken humanity hostage, family was no longer defined by who gave you life, but who and what helped you remain alive. Jamal, Morgan, Josh, Echo, Rizzo…they were my family now. Home was wherever they were.

  “Bethany.” Jamal’s whisper dragged me from my inner monologue. “What we need is in there.” Jamal pointed through a large window. The second my eyes followed his finger, a Screamer slammed itself against the glass. The wall shuddered, but the glass remained intact.

  “Son of a bitch,” I hissed, my heart begging for release from its bony cage. “How in the hell are we supposed to manage this bit of cluster-fuckery?”

  “My vote would be to skip this slice of shit pie and move on to the next,” Jamal answered.

  “And when we return back to base camp missing some pieces to Gerrand’s puzzle—and he can’t complete the next batch of Fry, what then?”

  “Damn you and your iron-clad logic,” Jamal spat. “What are you, Nitshimi, half Vulcan?” Jamal spun to face me. “Don’t answer that. I already have a fantasy where you have your way with me, and you do it completely in Klingon. Knowing you were Vulcan would be disastrous.”

  I pointed back to the glass wall, and the Screamer roared our way. Every muscle and tendon on the beast’s body tensed and stretched to near snapping.

  “I have an idea, “Jamal said, his mind clearly shifting into that extra gear he had…the one I’d always been jealous of. For whatever reason, Jamal had always been capable of processing input far faster than anyone I’d ever known. It was one of the reasons he’d always been such a brilliant coder.

  “What’s the plan?” I asked, eager for the answer.

  Jamal glanced upward.

  I knew exactly where he was going with the idea. “No way, Jamal. You know better than to think a clichéd plot device would ever work in real life.”

  “Who said anything about clichés?” Jamal asked.

  “Oh, please. You’re thinking about making your way through the ventilation system and then popping that thing with Fry from above.”

  Jamal looked at me and rolled his eyes. “Au contraire, mon amour.” He pointed upward. “That’s a box beam ceiling. All I have to do is punch my way through one of those panels and I can walk along the reinforced beams. Punch through on the other side of that glass and…ping! Have that Screamer mainlining Fry. Once he pops, I’ll drop down, open the door, and you and I can loot this bitch.”

  It was a horrible, terrible, no good, piece of shit plan. Unfortunately, it was the only one we had and it offered our best chance of success. I nodded…as if I had to be the one giving Jamal permission to follow through with his plan.

  He located two metal stools, climbed up on the first, and gestured for me to hand him the second. Once in his hands, he slammed the stool into the panel directly above his head. Plaster rained down from above. I covered myself too late and wound up with chalky rubble in my mouth and eyes. I blinked and spat.

  “How about a little warning next time!” I hissed.

  “Sorry, B.”

  The Screamer unleashed a volley of terror at the glass wall. I was certain this time the thing would break through, split me open, and slurp every succulent morsel of meat from my skin sack.

  The ceiling split and shat splinters and chunks onto the floor. I dove out of the way, just in time to miss a manhole-cover-sized piece of wood as it landed where I was only just standing.

  “Heads up,” Jamal said with an undertone of apology. His next words sent chills racing through my system. “Here goes everything.”

  Before I could stop him, Jamal pulled himself up into the ceiling. The thudding of footfalls from above punctuated the unholy cry of the Screamer. Soon after Jamal vanished, I heard the explosive pounding from the ceiling on the other side of the glass. The second the first boom filtered into my consciousness, a thought occurred to me.

  “He wouldn’t dare be that stupid,” I said aloud…just as his foot penetrated a tile and the ceiling opened up and dropped him to the floor.

  The Screamer turned on Jamal and roared. Instinct took over and I snatched up the stool. With every ounce of strength I could muster, I slammed it into the glass window. With each blow, the stool bounced, but the glass gave no quarter.

  “Fuck!” I shouted until I used up every ounce of air in my lungs. I slapped my bare hands against the window…anything I could do to distract the undead bastard.

  The Screamer spread his arms apart and prepped to launch itself at Jamal. The undead body completely blocked my view of Jamal. I wasn’t even going to get to see the man I loved before death had its way.

  When the Screamer was in mid-flight, it flinched and tumbled to the floor. The bastard finally managed to stand back up; it shook, violently. It spun to face me and I spotted the Fry dart embedded in the beast’s neck.

  I was about to shout, “Oh, shit,” when the thing exploded. The glass window was splashed with a sludgy, brown ooze, bits of bone, and strips of flesh. I couldn’t see through the smear of death to know if Jamal had survived the spontaneous undead combustion.

  My desperate breath steamed up the window. “Jamal!” I called out.

  No answer came…at least not until a hand slapped against the glass and smeared the sickness to clear my view.

  On the other side of the wall, Jamal grinned and held up a rack of vials with a goofy thumbs up. He had somehow managed to dodge the bullet of zombie sludge by ducking behind a glass partition that now dripped with gore.

  I pointed to the door. Jamal nodded twice. After a moment, the door opened and he stumbled out. Without hesitation, I grabbed Jamal and pulled him in for an embrace.

  “Don’t you ever do something that stupid again,” I said through tears of relief.

  “You mean kick ass?”

  “No, you idiot.” I pulled away and glared as if beams of radioactive energy would shoot from my eyes. “Follow through with an unvetted plan like that. That Screamer could have made you his taco.”

  Jamal wilted a bit. “Oh, hell, I miss tacos.”

  I drew back a clenched fist. Jamal offered an upraised hand of surrender, as his other held tight to the vials. Instead of slapping or punching, I kissed Jamal’s open palm. He looked over his hands and returned to me the sweetest smile I’d seen in a very long time. Jamal opened his mouth to speak, but the walls shook with the unrelenting, malevolent sound of death.

  The second Screamer.

  Jamal flinched. “We can’t catch a break.”

  “We’ve got the vials. That’s all the break we need.”

  Without another word, I gestured for Jamal to follow me out of the building. We were racing through the main hall when the thunderous booms rattled the floor beneath our feet.

  “Shit!” Jamal screamed. “Run, Bethany.”

  My original plan was to lock the death dealer in the building. That idea had officially taken a back seat to making sure our asses survived.

  Jamal and I hit the exit at a full-on sprint. The second our feet hit the dirt, a cloud of dust kicked up in our wake. We turned the corner, grabbed our bikes, and sped off.

  Sped is a bit of an overstatement. The bikes were in the wrong gear for a quick take-off. I didn’t have the clarity of mind to simply shift, so I powered through getting the bike going until I’d finally reached the sweet spot.

  Eighteen.

  “Hit it, Jamal!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

  I pressed the small red button adjacent to my right hand grip and the sound of the portable Obliterator kicked in. The high-pitched oscillation was nothing but an annoyance to me; but to big stompy raging behind us, it was far more than a bamboo shoot under the fingernail…it was a war to rage against his inner machine.

  The rumble of footsteps ceased. Jamal and I turned back so we could verify what we assumed was happening. We rode in a wide, sweeping ci
rcle—large enough to maintain the necessary speed. As we furiously pedaled, the Screamer matched our ferocity and continuously slammed its head into the pavement. The crunch of bone served as a rhythmic backdrop for the whine of the Obliterators. Every so often the vengeful roar of the Screamer would remind us that what we were doing wasn’t barbaric, that there was absolutely nothing human to be found within the beast.

  Sometimes the line between right and wrong was imperceptible.

  The Screamer drew up one last time. I swear it tossed a devil horn salute into the air before it crashed its skull down for the killing blow. The beast slumped to the ground, limp and lifeless. I slowed my bike down until the Obliterator ceased its song. My legs and lungs burned. Jamal and I came to a side-by-side stop and gasped until our breathing returned to a more sedate rhythm.

  “Fuck,” Jamal coughed. “I thought we were in better shape than that.”

  “We are,” I responded, my voice breathy. “That was a combination of pant-shitting fear and adrenaline.”

  “I’ve got to figure out a way to hack these generators to make them more efficient. Keeping up eighteen miles an hour might be a jaunty stroll in the park for an elite athlete, but for us average bipeds, we can only go so far, so fast.”

  My breathing finally found some semblance of normalcy. “There’s no time for hacking at the moment.”

  “You mean, outside of hacking a lung?”

  I nodded. “We have to make do with what we’ve got.”

  Jamal smiled. “And by got, you mean we got the first item on our scavenger hunt checklist.” Jamal held up his hand for a high five. I slowly shook my head, but complied with his sophomoric request.

  “What’s next, my dear?” I asked.

  Jamal glanced down to his queue sheet and pointed. “Six point three miles that way, my love.”

  five | back to the pleasuredome

  The leader of the Thelemites, his head resplendent with Medusa-like dreadlocks spilling from his scalp, slowly made his way into the center of the circle, where a naked man stood strapped to an upright, re-purposed and rusted car frame…his limbs stretched until they threatened to snap. Tears raced down the man’s cheeks and snot bubbled from his nose. His shoulders were millimeters from dislocating, so even the slightest vibration sent agony racing through his system.