by Jack Wallen
Josh knelt at Morgan’s side. “You okay, baby?”
“No, damn it. I have a fucking arrow in my leg and…I think I peed my pants.”
“Is everyone all right?” Gerrand called out as he raced into the house.
“Was that your doing?” Josh pointed to the street and still-down gang.
Gerrand nodded.
Morgan sat up and shook her head, grimacing from pain and confusion. “So it looks like Fry isn’t so safe for the uninfected.”
“That wasn’t Fry.” Gerrand answered her accusation without guilt. “I loaded the Fry Bomb with tranquilizer. Those people will be out for a while.”
“Smart thinking, Gerrand. You might want to load up a few more of those, in case we…” A shudder raced through Morgan’s body. “Son of a bitch.”
Josh cradled Morgan and lifted her to the couch, protecting her wounded leg. The second he set her down, he laughed. “I just plopped your piss-soaked ass onto our new couch.”
Morgan glared. “Thanks for reminding me, Josh. Dick move on your part.” A wave of pain washed over her. “Goddamn it.”
Josh leaned in and kissed his wife’s forehead. “Sorry, dear.”
Morgan looked up at Josh, her eyes pleading. “Get this thing out of me. Now!” she screamed.
Gerrand wound his way between the couple and turned his focus on the arrow protruding from the meat of Morgan’s calf. He turned to Josh. “I’ll take care of this.”
“Who were those people?” Echo asked as she bounded down the stairs. “And why are they after us?”
Josh pulled a wooden chair up next to the couch and took a seat. “I recognize that dude. He’s the leader of the group that kidnapped Jamal. As to why they were here? Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Help!” A distant cry rang out from beyond the door. A woman’s voice, desperate and fearful. “Somebody help me.”
Josh sat up, grabbed his rifle, and went through the front door.
The area was perfectly still—bodies remained strewn about on the road and no breeze came to shake and rattle the trees. Josh blinked and shifted his gaze to the right and then back to center. As he was about to turn his attention to the left, a woman burst through the treeline, gasping and struggling to remain upright. She caught sight of Josh, fell to her knees, and wept.
“Shit,” Josh hissed as he darted into the street to help the woman. “You okay?”
The woman drew in ragged breaths until she could finally muster up the will and way to speak. “These lunatics came out of nowhere and attacked me. I only managed to escape because a gang of zombies…” She lost her breath and returned to stuttering gasps.
“Are you hurt?”
The woman took a quick physical inventory, looked up to Josh, and shook her head. “I don’t think so. Just shaken up a bit.”
A distant crack frightened the woman into a tight fetal curl.
Josh scooped the woman up, turned, and carried her toward the house. “What’s your name?”
“R-Raneesha,” the woman stuttered.
ten | path of least resistance
Why we decided to make our standing in the desert, I’ll never know. It was a vicious bitch of a landscape that had zero fucks to give, no matter how hard you begged, flirted, or raged. When the bell finally did toll, Mother Nature would come out on top. We just had to put up our very best fight until the bitter end.
“Don’t Kafka on me, Nitshimi,” Jamal huffed as we struggled to maintain the requisite eighteen miles per hour.
“How did you…” I stopped myself short. “Never mind.”
“That’s right,” Jamal teased. “I know every crease and line on your face.”
“Hey!” I cried out. “Are you calling me old?”
I could see Jamal struggling to weave that thread of logic into a cohesive whole. He failed. “Why do you think…”
“I’m fucking with you, J-Man.” I reached down for my water bottle, only to find it bereft of liquid. “Son of a…”
Before I could finish the epithet, Jamal handed me his bottle. “Drink.”
I didn’t need to bring up the fact that we were officially out of food and—after the last gulp from Jamal’s bottle—water. The heat was, for the most part, tolerable. The one saving grace of the apocalypse was how it toughened up an ever-weakening human race. Prior to the Mengele Virus, suffering in the United States meant having to wait more than two minutes for a latte, reading political commentary on Facebook, and hearing vapid lemmings drone on and on about Kardashians, Hiltons, and other pointless people whose only claim to fame was fame.
Despite my new-found ability to withstand desert-level heat, the human machine could only last three days without water. I had no intention of finding out how epic that suck would be.
“Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” Jamal huffed and pointed. “I think that’s our target.”
A sprawling complex of a building lay ahead. Waves of heat rose from the blacktopped road, making the sight look every bit a magical oasis.
“What is it?” I asked Jamal.
“It doesn’t say. Gerrand was surprisingly sparse on the details. Given his role as a biologist, I find that…”
I held up a hand to Jamal. “Please turn the conspiracy theory off for a while.”
“But…” Jamal argued.
“But nothing. Let’s focus on the facts.”
“Fact the first, everything’s a conspiracy,” Jamal responded, his voice rising higher with each syllable.
I dared ask, “What’s fact the second?”
Jamal winked. “I love you.”
I mimed barfing. “So very, very much cheese.”
“Would you call me a Beaufort d’ete or a Gorau glas?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Jamal.”
“Cheeses. Those are two of the most expensive cheeses in the world. Bethany, have you no class?”
“Jamal, have you no shame?”
“Not one ounce. I was born on the other side of the tracks.” A wicked grin carved a path across Jamal’s lips. “But I do have some very special skills. I think you know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”
I avoided the subject by standing into a sprint on my bike. After a few quick pedal strokes, I immediately regretted the move. My mouth went bone dry and my pores ceased sweating. Jamal caught up to me faster than my shenanigan should have allowed.
“What’s up, B.?” Jamal’s voice was thick with concern.
“I think I’m dehydrating,” was all that needed saying.
We pedaled on at a slow enough pace to avoid any unnecessary rise in body temperature until we arrived at the building. I hopped off my bike, leaned it against a massive stone pillar, and made a bee-line for the entry.
“There has to be water in there somewhere,” I mumbled.
I arrived at the door and pulled on the handle.
“Fuck!” I shouted…far louder than I should have. “Locked.” I tugged at the door with a vengeance I’d probably later regret. “Come on, goddamn it. We need a win right now.” I spun around to face Jamal and leaned against the door. “Work your magic on this lock, my friend.”
Jamal knelt down to investigate the lock. The second his head lolled forward, my heart tripped from a smooth two-two to a frenetic five-four. “What?” I rasped.
“Don’t kill the messenger,” Jamal huffed. “It’s magnetic. I can’t pick it.”
“There has to be…”
Before I could complete my proclamation, Jamal stepped back to get a better view of the building. “That the magnets are holding means the building still has electricity. I can’t verify that because there are no windows to speak of. This is going to be…”
Jamal fell silent. I moved away from the door so I could follow his gaze.
I saw nothing but wall…and a logo.
“What is it?” I asked softly.
Jamal pointed toward the logo. “I recognize that from somewhere.” He pulled out his phone and started swiping through file
s. “Come on, lady luck, come on.”
Silence was a blessed luxury. While Jamal scoured his device, I relished the moment of blissful peace. There were no Moaners, no Screamers or Boners. Not a single cry for help permeated the landscape. I stood…and breathed. My heart slowed to a pace I hadn’t been able to enjoy for a long, long while.
“B.,” Jamal finally broke the spell. “I know this company.”
“How?”
“Back in school. I infiltrated their network and took them down. They were one of the many companies owned by some douche who fleeced people by intentionally jacking up the price of his meds, knowing people would be forced to pay the piper. After bringing them down, I leaked a few choice company secrets that caused them to completely change their business model.” Jamal shot a sideways glance my way. “I may have also ended his marriage by forwarding a few choice correspondences from his boyfriend to his wife. As well as a picture or two of him in a gimp suit.”
It didn’t take a genius to follow Jamal’s line of thinking. It did, however, take one of a certain moral compass to know exactly where his logic led.
“If you can gain access to their network…”
“I can unlock the doors,” Jamal finished my thought.
“Do you have what you need?”
Jamal held up his smartphone and dug out a small solar charger. “This should do it.”
We camped out where the sun shone brightest. Jamal plugged his phone into the charger and went to work. I, on the other hand, sought out the nearest shade.
“Thankfully my Android has a ROM of my own making. I’ve got every mobile penetration tool imaginable on this.” Jamal’s finger danced over the smartphone screen as if possessed by the spirit of Kevin Mitnick himself. After a moment, he glanced up at me and winked. “A little brute force action and…” Jamal returned his attention to the screen. “Three…two…one…”
Jamal pointed to the door and an audible buzz rang out. With the speed of a caffeinated cheetah, he jumped to his feet and raced to grab the door. I joined him just in time for the door to swing open.
“Oh, my God,” I gagged.
A wave of heated rot rolled out of the building, sucker-punching my gag reflex until a mouthful of bile rose to the occasion. I turned and opened the floodgates to spill a hot chunky soup onto the cracked and dry cement. Jamal followed suit, his foot keeping the door open while he bent in half to hurl.
“Make it stop, Jamal,” I cried out.
Jamal coughed and gagged. “Breathe through your mouth.”
I tried, but the bitter taste of putrefaction lapped at my tongue. “How many must have died in there for that level of stench to build up?”
Jamal momentarily went to his happy math place. When he returned to the overripe here and now, the look on his face wasn’t something I cared to see.
“If I were to guess—and you know I loathe the inaccuracies involved with guessing—I would say in the hundreds.”
I couldn’t prevent the monstrous sigh from escaping my lips. “Do we really want to know the cause of death here?”
“Logic would dictate there are only two possible causes—starvation or the undead.” Jamal held up a finger. “Correction. There is a third possible cause.”
“Which is?” I ventured.
“Both.”
I drew in a daring breath and found that either the stench had dissipated or I’d somehow managed to grow used to the foul stink of decay. “As in the undead trapped the innocent inside the building. Due the inability to slip past the zombies, the survivors were either devoured by the said undead or couldn’t escape and starved to death?”
Jamal nodded.
“I’m so going to Hell for saying this…but let’s hope each and every one of them suffered death by Moaner.”
Jamal shot a curious glance my way. “That’s a bit harsh.”
“Consider this, Jamal. If the people in this building died by starvation, that means there’s nothing inside these walls for us. I’d much rather discover a festering pile of half-eaten human flesh, than to find the survivors had nothing to live on and, therefore, devoured themselves from the inside out.” I stared long and hard at Jamal. “Please tell me you understand where I’m coming from. Right this very moment, it feels like I’m being guided by a very broken moral compass.”
Jamal waved me toward him. I complied. By the time I reached him, Jamal wrapped his loving arms around me and pulled me into a great hug. “You’re not alone with that line of thought, B. Truest moral North can no longer be found. Regardless of the cost, we must survive.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, stood out of the hug, and nodded. Jamal opened the door fully and gestured for me to lead the way.
“Who says chivalry is dead?” I teased with a wink.
“You want me to go first?” Jamal mumbled. “I’ll be more than glad to go…” Jamal took another whiff of the surrounding air. “I’m good. You just…you go….” Jamal nodded and smiled.
I placed my hand over the Fry gun and prepared myself for anything to happen. One silent footfall after another, I made my way into the foyer—a monument to opulence and overblown wealth. The room was a modernist’s wet dream. A massive wood and iron desk stood proudly in the open-air room. The stunning beauty of the decor was utterly and permanently fouled by the blanket of death that covered nearly every horizontal surface.
“What are we looking for this time, Jamal?”
He handed me Gerrand’s shopping list and pointed to the item in question. I shook my head.
“Big pharma. Go fucking figure.”
Jamal’s face was pinched. “No shit, B. That’s the very reason why I hacked this company in the first place.”
“Let’s locate the chemical and get the hell out of this festering Dodge.”
In typical fashion, Jamal made his way to the front desk, hopping over and winding around the carcasses strewn across the floor.
“What are you…”
Before I could complete the question, Jamal raised a silencing hand. He ducked behind the desk and gave the entirety of his focus to a monitor. Judging from the look on his face, Jamal was working serious magic.
I decided to remain at a distance. From my current location, I was able to keep an eye out on all the entrances and exits. The last thing we needed was someone—or something—sneaking up on us to dine on human sushi. The thought of Nitshimi-brand zombie chow forced my hand back to the Fry gun…only this time, I drew the weapon.
Jamal finished up and returned to my side.
“Well?” I asked, my curiosity and nervous energy piqued.
“Not only do I know where we need to go, I made sure the path was completely free of locked doors.”
“Have I told you lately that you’re the MySQL to my PHP?”
Jamal giggled. “That makes me wanna rub your LAMP and get that Genie to compile like there’s no tomorrow.”
“No one makes nerd sound as sexy as you, J-Mart.”
Without a returned flirt, Jamal pointed and took off. “This way.”
“Tease,” I huffed, and chased after.
As we made quick time zipping through mostly-empty halls, Jamal filled me in on his plan. “This route will take us directly to the main research lab where the target is stored. After that, we’ll make a pit stop at the company kitchen to see if there’s any grub to grab. From there, I know a shortcut to a nearby exit.”
The path took us through a set of double doors and a jog to the right.
“We don’t have time for a jog,” I quipped.
“Nice,” Jamal replied.
“I love that you get me.” I was certain the smile on my face could be heard in the lilt of my voice.
We sped through another set of double doors and were stopped in our tracks.
“Fuuuuu—” Jamal’s f-bomb was cut short by the fact the hall was literally jammed with Moaners. Somehow they’d managed to pack themselves so tightly, they couldn’t move.
Jamal threw a hand ou
t to stop me. I whispered in his ear, “You have a backup route?”
The second the words left my ears, the log jam of zombies lost their liquified minds. The hall came alive with the sound of Moaners as they struggled to break free.
“Plan B or not,” I said quietly, “We won’t be going through there. My vote is we improvise a path of least resistance.”
Jamal backed away, nodding. “As much as I hate to admit it, Bethany, I do believe you’re right.”
We turned and fled the scene.
“Will they break free?” I dared to ask.
“Once we’re out of sight, those idiots will forget all about us and return to their circle jerk of doom.”
I could have gone the rest of my life without that image crammed into my memory. The idea of zombies masturbating—and that my boyfriend even knew what a circle jerk was—would worm its way into the core of my brain until death did we part.
“Wait, how the hell do I know about…” I started to ask under my breath.
“This way,” Jamal broke the despicable spell. “I remember seeing this hall on the map. I’m fairly certain we can get there from here.”
Fairly certain and most average sentient beings weren’t exactly good bedfellows. Jamal’s fairly certain was a completely different beast. I’d trust his instincts over most people’s facts any day.
I followed.
We zipped past a row of conference rooms—some empty, some filled with corpses. Thankfully this collection of the dead remained that way.
It’s the small things.
“Fuck,” Jamal groaned. “Dead end.” He turned on his heels and shrugged. “I know, poor choice of words.”
We raced down hall after hall until Jamal finally voiced the four words I was dreading to hear. “There’s no other way.”
“You mean we have to somehow manage to plow through that undead gauntlet?” I whined.
Jamal stopped, a curious glaze over his eyes. When his attention returned to me, he said, “Unless we go up a flight of stairs and then back down on the other side of the blockage. I can’t know for sure if that’s possible, but there’s no reason we can’t try.”