by Jack Wallen
We located the nearest elevator. Jamal reached out to press the Up button, but I stopped him short. “I don’t do elevators.”
To the right, a doorway stood sentinel before a stairwell. I opened the door and gestured for Jamal to lead the way. On the other side of the door, Jamal stopped to think.
“What are you…”
Jamal shook his head and held up a single finger to beg my patience.
I watched the man do his thing. When his eyes finally met mine, I smiled. He returned the grin and said, “I had to retrace our steps. I don’t want to land on the floor above us and have to remap our route in real time.”
“You good to go, then?” I asked.
“When am I not?” Jamal snarked.
I kicked up an eyebrow and asked, “Do you really want me to answer that?”
Jamal crossed his arms and clucked his tongue. “If given the choice, I’m going to say no.”
“You are given the choice.” I nodded.
“Then I’m going with no.”
Without another word, Jamal took off up the stairs. I followed suit until we wound up on the second floor landing.
Jamal placed a finger to his lips and shushed me like I was a kindergartner. I decided the only logical reaction was to pout like a little girl. Jamal shook his head. Nerds never picked up on the subtleties of flirtation. Of course, I couldn’t fault the man. He was already leaning into the door to check for noise of a zombie nature.
My hero.
Not that I actually needed a hero…or saving. I never ascribed to the whole damsel in distress shtick, and never would. If I couldn’t survive on my own, what good was I to humanity? The world was far different from the days of women working at home in pearls and heels. The new world order demanded an equality the pre-Mengele society would never have allowed.
I think, therefore I live.
I fight, therefore I survive.
I plan, therefore I am.
I, zombie, I.
Jacob. For the briefest moment my mind drifted back to my former love and his journal. I remembered him writing, I would slowly become my very own chiasmus…an inverted parallel of myself. Undone. Folded inside out. When I first read the passage, the deeper dimension of the wording escaped me. Now the meaning was oh so clear. We had all folded inside out to be remade into something altogether different. That parallel of ourselves was the very thing that helped us survive…helped us leave behind weakness and our former, shallow nature.
Jamal snapped his fingers a few short inches in front of my face. “Bethany. Let’s go.”
We took the stairs with silent steps, unsure of what might greet us as we turned through the landing between floors. Thankfully the dead had yet to discover this particular stairwell, so we reached the bottom without incident. I waited for Jamal to do his thing yet again. When he gave the all clear, he opened the door and we squeaked back into the first floor hallway.
“This way,” Jamal whispered.
We tiptoed down the carpeted hall—a bit of ninja-level redundancy that, although not necessary, felt like the smart thing to do.
Jamal stopped suddenly. I crashed into him, sending us both dancing an awkward twist to the floor. Somehow, I managed to wind up on top. Jamal looked up at me with his big browns and smiled. “Note to self,” he whispered.
“Note to self,” I agreed.
Unfortunately, this was not the place for sexy time. I rolled off of Jamal and stood. He joined my vertical-ness and faced a door. “Here it is.”
I automatically reached out for the handle.
Jamal shook his head and pointed to the magnetized security mechanism. “Locked.”
“I assume you have the key to the kingdom within?” I asked.
In perfect silence, Jamal tapped out a few commands on his phone. After a few quick seconds, a muted buzz was heard and the door hissed open.
“Sci fi.” I nodded.
“Represent,” Jamal added with a nod of the head.
I pulled the door open, and we stepped inside the clean room wonderland.
“Holy mother of invention,” Jamal sang as he took in the collection of instruments. “This is…” Jamal was rendered speechless. “Bethany, are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Jamal pointed to one corner of the room where a server rack stood sentinel. He rushed to the tower and made like he was going to either hug it or ask it out on a date.
It wasn’t until I drew near that I realized why Jamal had nearly split at the seams. “That’s—” I started.
Jamal cut me short. “Io. The world’s most powerful stand-alone research cluster. I thought it had been decommissioned.” He turned to face me, but left the palm of his right hand against the side of the metal rack. “I’ve been inside her.”
I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s what you…”
Jamal blushed. “You know damn good and well what I mean, B. I hacked this rack. I hacked it good.”
Again and I had to offer up a curious glance.
Jamal ignored my look. “We should really consider clearing the dead from this building and setting up shop within these walls.”
I shook my head. “I actually prefer the security of being behind a twenty foot wall. Besides, we’ve built a home in NSLC.”
“Then maybe we could manage to transport Io to our HQ?”
“Keep dreaming, Jamal. We have far more important quests to undertake at the moment.”
My D&D reference returned Jamal to the here and now. “Right.” He did a one-eighty and faced into the center of the lab so he could scan every surface and shelf. It took him seconds to locate the object of our desires. “There you are.”
The small case was packed tight with red bio-hazard tape. Upon spying the warning, a cold chill crawled across my skin.
“Do we really want to carry that in a backpack? What happens if—”
Jamal was making a sport of cutting me off. “If we don’t get this back to Gerrand and he can’t create another batch of Fry? My guess is that we’re totally and inexorably fucked. Either way, it’s a huge risk.” Jamal removed his backpack and unzipped it. “Personally, I’d rather risk transporting this than not have the single most effective weapon against the undead on the planet.”
“You certainly don’t piss around when you’re right, Jamal. You go for the jugular.”
Jamal stuffed the case into his pack and zipped it up. “When I science, I science hard.”
I couldn’t disagree.
“Now, B-Diddy, one last mission and we can drop this mic.”
We left the lab in search of edible supplies. Jamal led us back up a flight of stairs, through a few more darkened halls, and back down to the first floor. This time, when we exited the stairs, a carload of metaphorical monkeys flung imaginary poo into the blades of my life’s fan.
Moaners.
This time, the shamblers weren’t bottlenecked into a too-tight hall. These bastards, four of them, were swaying casually to the beat of their own dirge-like drum.
Jamal pointed and whispered, “The cafeteria is on the other side of that horde. I’m not taking any fucking chances.”
Before I could stop him, Jamal had his Fry gun out and leveled it toward one of the zombies. He pulled the trigger, and the familiar explosive crack sent the dart zipping into its target. Jamal wasted no time and reloaded. A second shot hit home as the first target wound up the initial signs that Fry was unmaking him from within.
Another shot, another bulls-eye.
By the time the fourth dart hit home, the first two popped, sending a fetid, brownish-red vapor spraying in every possible direction. The third Moaner turned and shambled toward us.
“Back up, Jamal,” I hissed.
We had to keep enough distance between us and the zombie, else be showered with an offal milkshake. Before the Moaner could gain much ground, it stopped and raked stained fingers into its rotting flesh. The beast pulled away chunks of itself and tossed it, like so much garbage, to the floor. B
efore the thing did too much damage, Fry took over the unmaking and scattered the remade man across the hall.
The final Moaner stood and swayed, a clownish grin painted over its face. There was a tragic irony in the moment—knowing this thing was clueless that it would shortly explode into thousands of tiny pieces. I stared on, instantly realizing that one zombie served as a perfect metaphor for our entire existence. We had no way of knowing what would happen to us—the whole human race—every effort we put in could be completely futile. Time and again, I’d watched people give into said futility and beg mercy from the universe to end their sad story.
“Remember,” I whispered.
“Remember what?” Jamal asked. “Oh, wait, I know…you’re trying to Spock that zombie.”
“No. What?”
Jamal shook his head. “Wrath of Khan. Spock mind melds with McCoy, telling him to remember. Come on, B., surely you…”
The last of the Moaners popped and locked until its flesh was rendered incapable of containing the delights within. The sound of spatter was like a hailstorm pelting a plastic tarp. When all was said and done, the walls, ceiling, and floor were a Jackson Pollack of doom.
Jamal wasted no time, and raced off and disappeared through a door. I had no desire to wait for him in the hall of horrors, so I traced his path. Eyes on the prize, I missed spotting a rope of intestine underfoot and slipped. One three hundred and sixty degree turn later and I was on my ass…both arms wrist-deep in the oily muck of death.
“Damn it,” I cried out.
“Damn it,” Jamal echoed my rant.
For a second I thought maybe Jamal was messing with me. When a long string of profanity immediately followed, I realized something was very wrong. I carefully stood and slipped my way into the cafeteria.
Jamal was standing in the center, his fingers laced together behind his head. He heard me enter and explained, “It’s completely empty, Bethany. Empty! We are so fucked.”
With a nod to the worst timing in the history of my existence, my stomach grumbled loud enough for us both to hear. Jamal turned to me, his face twisted in a knot of rage…and laughed.
I suppose it was the only logical reaction. We’d fought back hell to reach this point…why not be taken down by a lack of food?
“At least there’s water.” Jamal pointed to a sink. He made his way to the tap and grabbed every possible container he could find. “We’re not going thirsty on my watch.”
I joined Jamal at the counter, grabbed a cup, and swallowed down more water than I’d had in awhile before helping him fill up enough sealable containers to get us back home. Once sated, I used a bit of the precious liquid to wash off the remaining zombie sludge from my hands. Once sufficiently encumbered with H2O, we made our way to the exit of the building.
Jamal paused at the door. “I don’t care how many stops we have to make on our route, we’re going to find something to eat.”
I gave Jamal a pat on the back and then a kiss on the cheek. “Look on the bright side, J-Mart, you’ll finally get back down to modeling weight.”
Jamal turned to me, his eyes bug-wide. “Does this apocalypse make me look fat?”
Another kiss…another smile. “No, darling, it’s the jeans.”
“Bethany Nitshimi, you are a bad, bad woman.” Jamal huffed and exited the building. Before he go too far, he turned and winked.
eleven | like father like daughter
“SITREP,” Commander Jessica Burgess demanded as she entered the briefing room. She came to a stop just inside the door, crossed her arms, and took in the room. Faddig was the first to stand and offer salient information.
“The Genesis Cradle was released before the attack. Each subject has a subdermal tracking chip, as well as a bone conducting communication device permafused to the skull. We’ve managed to lock onto the entire horde.” Faddig nodded to the grunt taking notes at the end of the massive oak conference table. The young man tapped his tablet, and a real-time tracking video appeared on the projection screen.
Jessica drew in close to the display. “Why are they not moving as one? Isn’t that the modus operandi of their kind? Won’t that give away their intention, or dilute their collective strength?”
Faddig shook his head. “No, ma’am. We trained the Cradle to separate so they could infect a larger swath of the population more quickly. Once they’ve succeeded in making first contact with the living, we’ll then send out the next phase.”
“Which is?” Burgess asked with slow intent.
Faddig nodded with an intense stare. “We’ll be selling the cure for the mutated virus to the highest bidder.”
Burgess squeezed her eyes shut and said, “So that’s it? The Machiavellian plan my father set in motion has been reduced to a money grab?”
Faddig shook his head. “This isn’t about money, Ms. Burgess. This is all about power. The idea behind this operation is to shift the balance back to us. We make it known the cure will be sold to the highest bidder, and all the world will return its focus to us…and what we’ve done to protect all from certain death. People across the globe will be at war with one another in an attempt to raise the capital to purchase the only cure that will help against the latest iteration of the undead.”
“I still don’t follow,” Burgess prodded.
“Our intention is to price the bidders out of product. Not one human being or organization will be able to afford our cure. And yet…and yet they will do everything in their power to be the one to make the purchase.”
Burgess placed her palm flat against the table. “But is what we’re selling a viable product? Or are we shilling hopes and dreams?”
Faddig nodded to one of the soldiers, who then slid a small case across the table. Burgess glanced to Faddig and back to the black box. She popped open the locks and gently lifted away the lid. Within the case rested twelve vials, each half-filled with an innocuous clear liquid.
“This is the cure?” Burgess said with cautious doubt.
“For the Alpha mutation,” Faddig answered. “The virus will very quickly mutate into Beta…requiring a completely different cure.”
Burgess lifted one of the vials from the case. “And so on?”
“And so on,” answered Faddig. “Until we’ve drained the global population of assets and power.”
“Very well.” Jessica returned the vial and closed the case. “Continue on as planned. But keep me apprised of even the slightest transaction or shift in your scheme. If you leave me out of any aspect of this operation, I swear I’ll have you pulped and fed to the machine.” Burgess nodded. “Leave.”
Faddig tilted his head. “Ma’am?”
“I can’t make that request any clearer, can I?” Burgess snapped.
“I mean…” Faddig hesitated. “Do we have the full support of the ZDC at our disposal for this mission?”
Jessica stood and ran her fingers through her short-cropped hair. “What mission? You’re selling drugs on the street to anyone who’ll buy. Any junkie could pull that off.”
“Ma’am?” Faddig questioned.
Jessica drew in dangerously close to Faddig. Neither man nor woman flinched. “Do you have anything more to say, Faddig? I’m in no mood for games.”
“What we are trying to do is create an artificial demand for a product with an incredibly short shelf life.”
The comment piqued Burgess’ interest. “How short?”
“According to our lead biologist, the mutations will occur within hours after a member of the Cradle infects one of the living. In a span of weeks we could have numerous strains of the virus running rampant over the planet.” Faddig paused to allow the implanted seed time to germinate in Burgess’ mind. The second he spied the spark of understanding, he said, “Eventually the only cure will be absolute annihilation.”
“The Great Cleansing,” Jessica whispered.
“Exactly as your father designed,” Faddig added.
twelve | business as usual
Raneesha s
at at the head of the table, devouring a fruit cup and chugging a glass of water. Between each bite, she glanced up and batted tears from her eyes.
“What did they do to you?” Morgan chanced the question.
Raneesha shoveled another spoonful into her mouth and shook her head.
Morgan and Josh exchanged telling glances.
Rizzo entered the room and, without prompting, wrapped a thick, wool blanket around Raneesha’s shoulders. The sated woman grabbed Rizzo in a tight embrace and said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
The tiny act of kindness had the apparent effect of melting the woman’s resolve. When Raneesha pulled away from Rizzo, she turned back to Morgan and Josh. “They…held me captive and…” tears leapt from Raneesha’s eyes. “They threatened to burn me at the stake.” The tears evolved into uncontrollable gasps. “I’m so sorry…this isn’t your burden to bear.”
Morgan put a comforting hand on Raneesha’s shoulders. “You’re wrong. The burden is as much ours as it is yours. We live and die as one.”
The woman’s sobs softened a bit. She glanced up and looked between Josh and Morgan. “Is it just you three here?”
Morgan shook her head. “No. There are others.”
“May I ask who?”
Josh nodded. “You may.”
Morgan shot a warning glance at Josh, who immediately picked up on it and clarified his stance. “It’s not relevant at the moment. The only thing you need to know is that you’re safe.”
Raneesha nodded slightly, her gaze shifting about the room. “Who were those people that attacked me?”
Morgan crossed her arms and tilted her head. “We were kind of hoping you’d have the answer to that question.”
Raneesha shook her head.
“You’d never seen them before?” Morgan asked.
Another shake from Raneesha.
It was Josh’s turn to question. “Where were you coming from?”
The woman’s eyes bulged as if the inquiry had taken her by surprise. “I…I don’t know. I was just wandering through the streets. I’d been attacked by a pack of Moaners and barely escaped. After that I completely lost my bearings. That’s all I can remember.”