I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  Dane shot a damning glance to the man in shotgun. “When in the fuck have we ever dealt in what ifs? We are the people of now. What is the rule of three?”

  Ronny closed his eyes and bowed his head. “There is no past. There is no future. There is only now.”

  Dane nodded. “And now is our time to ensure our future.” A raspy laugh escaped Dane’s mouth just before he slammed his fist into the ceiling of the cab.

  The rear door of the box van swung open and six men exited…clothed in robes, thobes, dashikis, or kilts. There wasn’t a visible weapon among them.

  There was also not an ounce of fear.

  Dane swung himself out of the driver’s seat and made his way to the waiting soldiers. He glanced inside the rear of the vehicle to see the collection of valuables they’d brought along. Chances were, they wouldn’t need them…not when they had the one thing the Zero Day Collective really wanted.

  “Like candy from a baby,” Dane whispered with a seductive grin spread across his lips. “The weak will be supplanted and the worthy will rise.” He turned to his soldiers. “Let’s go.”

  As one, the Thelemites marched toward the location where the ZDC would be selling the cure to the highest bidder. The cocksure man walked with an ease and pride that belied every given outcome known to the new world order. He knew, around any corner, death could await; a bullet, a blade, or a bite. The unholy trinity could take them down as easily as chaos itself.

  The seven men neared the square and were greeted with silence. Instead of a raucous auction with a silver-tongued MC spouting the clichéd chants of one dollar bid, now two, now two, will ya give me two?, bidders held up signs as a man seated behind a glass partition pointed and took notes. Below the auctioneer, projected in digital numbers, was the current bid. The sign read:

  $225,000.

  Dane nodded.

  And waited.

  He had a number in mind…wanted to hold off until he knew the bidders had reached their ceiling before dropping the bomb that would send them all home, empty-handed.

  $310,000.

  Closer, Dane thought.

  $405,000.

  Dane glanced around to see his soldiers in perfect place. Although he was certain this would go off without issue, there was always a chance for upheaval. The apocalypse thrived on disorder and dined on malice.

  $495,000.

  The crowd grew visibly nervous. Would the bidding finally reach that magical half million mark?

  $500,000.

  “I have Bethany Nitshimi,” Dane called out.

  All heads turned, eyes wide and mouths agape. From out of a tent flap, a dapper man in a linen suit peered out briefly and then vanished. The auctioneer stood from his seat and shut down the display. “What proof do you have of this?”

  Dane grinned and shook his head. “I don’t have or need any proof. If you choose not to believe me, then that’s your loss. But I can give you the location where you’ll find her and the baby.” Dane thumbed his finger over his shoulder. “I also have a van full of a valuable things for you; although I seriously doubt you’ll find any need for money or possessions when you could have the very thing that has somehow managed to elude your grasp…since her escape. My guess is, should the leader of the ZDC find out that you passed on the possibility of bringing the great one into custody over, what, a half million dollars…your life might well be forfeit.”

  The Thelemite gave the man time to ponder the possible outcome. As predicted, the outcome wound up in his favor.

  “Sold to the man with the dreadlocks.” The auctioneer retreated behind the partition and cracked a gavel onto a block of wood to announce the adjournment of the meeting. As soon as the gavel met the podium, another counter appeared on the display, this time counting down from fifteen minutes.

  Slowly, the crowd dispersed, each member tossing hate-filled glances toward Dane. The Thelemite soldiers were prepared for any outcome…machetes tucked under their garments. Not one blade came out from hiding. There would be no death today.

  “Approach the stand,” the auctioneer called out to Dane. Little did the man know, Dane could and would do as he pleased.

  The leader of the Thelemites opted to approach.

  “Where is she?”

  Dane shook his head slowly. “First…the cure.”

  The rail-thin man smiled. “You see, it doesn’t work that way. You produce payment for the item, and only then will we hand over your winnings.”

  Dane hopped up onto the platform and leaned in close enough to the man that he could almost taste the flop sweat. “Do not deign to insult me with rules. If you want the location, hand over the cure. No cure, no location.”

  The Thelemite soldiers approached the stand, weapons still hidden from sight.

  “Fine,” the auctioneer hissed. He pulled out a walkie talkie and nervously hit the talk button. “Bring it out.”

  A tent flap gave way to a monstrous man carrying a metal suitcase handcuffed to his wrist. Dane laughed. “You know that never really works. A quick blow with an ax or hammer, and those cuffs will slide right off the wrist. I’ve always loved the sound of crunching bone… especially when a wailing cry of pain follows.”

  Fear flashed in the eyes of the auctioneer as he removed a key from his pocket. “Fortunately, that won’t be necessary.”

  “One man’s fortune is another’s disappointment,” Dane mumbled.

  The living hulk gently placed the attache on the platform. Once the cuff was removed, he folded his arms over his meat-slab chest and stood, silent and unmoving.

  The auctioneer placed his hand on the flat surface of the case until a beep chimed. He then opened the lid to reveal rows of sealed vials. “Your cure.”

  Dane touched a gentle finger to one of the vials. “How do we know this is really what we’ve come for?”

  The auctioneer smiled. “You don’t.”

  “Touché.” Dane nodded as he reached into his jacket pocket.

  The hulking guard stiffened and made for Dane’s hand. Before his grip touched down, Dane withdrew a piece of paper and handed it to the auctioneer. “Coordinates.”

  Once the paper changed owners, Dane shut the briefcase, pulled it to him, and turned to leave. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

  The Thelemites fell in step behind Dane. As they were about to exit the square, a crew of uniformed men blocked their way. Dane’s men stepped forward and each withdrew their sword. The ZDC men laughed and reached for their own weapons. Before a single gun was drawn, blade met flesh and men dropped dead. Dane turned back to the auctioneer and shouted, “It seems your soldiers might need a bit more training…and blood.”

  The Thelemites continued toward their van, walking in silence, with ease and confidence.

  “Did you really give them Nitshimi’s coordinates?” Ronaldo asked as he slid into the passenger seat.

  Dane closed the driver’s side door and shook his head. “No. I gave them the location of our gallows. We will be prepared for them and we will kill them.”

  The vehicle pulled a tight U-turn and drove off, heading back toward New Salt Lake City. After a few blocks, Ronaldo turned to Dane, a mixture of concern and anger spread wide across his face. “So you’re putting us in danger for some bitch?”

  An explosion rocked the van. From the direction of the auction, a plume of gray and white smoke rose. Dane slammed on the brakes, sending Ronaldo’s seat belt cutting into his neck. He turned to the passenger and snarled, “What the fuck was that?”

  Ronaldo shook his head. “My guess is the place was rigged to blow once payment was confirmed. We just fucking risked our lives.”

  “Do you have any idea who that woman is?” Dane growled.

  “No. I don’t really give a fuck who she is. Neither should you.”

  Dane hummed a soft tune, something he’d picked up over the years to keep himself grounded…to ease away his violent tendencies. Ronaldo knew of the habit and shrank as far away from the lea
der as possible.

  “You really don’t know who we are dealing with?” Dane asked of his compatriot.

  “Y-you mean that prick back at the square?” Ronaldo stuttered nervously.

  “I mean Bethany Nitshimi.”

  “She’s just some…”

  Dane silenced Ronaldo with a single shake of the head. “For lack of a better term, she is the messiah. Without her, you and I wouldn’t be here.”

  “B-but we were only recently about to celebrate the body of her boyfriend. Why would you change your mind? That is not our way.”

  The ice of Dane’s resolve broke. He slammed a hand against Ronaldo’s chest and grabbed a fistful of robe. The man instantly froze, fearing for his life.

  “What good is our way if we do not survive? I am your leader and I am honor-bound to ensure the law of Thelema continues in this great world of chaos. The only way I can do that is to ensure that woman survives. Should she not make it, the bastard machine of fascism wins out. That, my friend, is a vacuum in which we cannot survive. If you have a problem with my decision, the door is immediately to your right.”

  Ronaldo’s body quivered in fear of whatever justice Dane would mete out. Through shaky breath, he managed to say, “I am but a servant to the law.”

  Dane turned back to face the road ahead, placed his hands on the wheel, and said, “Don’t worry, I will personally see to it that Nitshimi returns our favor in kind.” Dane punched the gas and drove off toward NSLC.

  nineteen | moaner 2.0

  “Fuck me.” The epithet slipped from my mouth before my brain could flip the censor switch. “It’s so…human.”

  Strapped to the table, the Chatterer looked, for the most part, like a very gaunt, very pale man. Gone were the sour-milk eyes and the blue spaghetti-work of veins racing under paper-thin skin. Moaner 2.0 was covered in the sickly-gray skin of a Cardassian—of the Star Trek variety—looked about with jaundiced eyes, and included the Borg-like implant of the bone-conducting headphones. His jaw clacked out a pattern over and over.

  Click. Click click. Tick. Click. Click. Click click click. Click.

  After each double-click was a single tick of the tongue…a piece of dry flesh that randomly poked out from between cracked and peeling lips.

  “What is it doing?” I asked Gerrand.

  “Communicating,” Gerrand answered.

  The slightest bit of panic set in. “Shouldn’t we stop it? What if it’s phoning home to tell the ZDC where we are?”

  “No way,” Jamal said from behind.

  “Never say never, J-Mart…especially during the apocalypse. Remember, back in school you were famous for arguing against the feasibility of human reanimation.”

  Jamal wagged a finger at me. “At that time, there was no indication—scientific or otherwise—that humans could be reanimated.”

  “And on August 5, 1945, no one believed atoms could be split and made to wipe out an entire city.”

  Gerrand’s statement brought us all to silence. The Chatterer continued doing his thing as its eyes glanced about the room in search of some secret separation.

  “What do we do now?” Jamal wisely changed the course of the discussion.

  “I’ve drawn blood and am running it through a few specific tests as we speak,” Gerrand answered. “In the meantime, we wait…and watch.” Gerrand turned to face Jamal. “By the way, have you made any progress on the headphones?”

  Before we returned from our quest, Jamal had—without my knowing—removed the headphones from the zombie we’d left behind. Had I known about this at the time, I would have ripped him from his task and dragged him up the wall with my bare hands. In hindsight, Jamal’s action was a move he had to take…his calling in action.

  “Not yet,” Jamal answered. “The tech is pretty simple, though. Actually, it seems too simple to be anything more than a means to a very basic end; in other words, so these bastards can communicate.”

  Gerrand turned to look Jamal’s way. “I don’t buy that the ZDC would ever deploy a piece of technology without an ulterior motive. Those headphones have to have another purpose…you just haven’t found it yet.”

  I nudged into the conversation. “If they have a secondary purpose, Jamal will find it.”

  “Right now I’m running scans on the logic board of the device. If I can gain shell access, I’ll know exactly what they do. Embedded tech can be tricky.”

  Out of nowhere, the Chatterer fell silent.

  “Gerrand,” I said before a nervous breath caught in my throat. “What’s going on?”

  “I have no idea.” Gerrand’s answer was flat and fearful.

  Jamal raced from the room. Seconds later, he peeked his head back through the door. “I have an idea why that thing’s doing what it’s doing…or not doing, as it were; but I have to test my hypothesis before…”

  “Go!” I barked.

  Jamal vanished.

  “It…he…the Chatterer is still…alive?” I asked Gerrand.

  Richard leaned over the surgical table and flashed a penlight into the zombie’s eyes. “I have no idea why I’m bothering with these kinds of tests. Zombies don’t breathe, their pupils don’t dilate, and they have no pulse. The only way to know if this thing is…” Gerrand hesitated. “We have to see him move.”

  Before I could respond, Jamal reentered the room, the skin on his face paler than usual.

  “I know that look, Jamal. DEFCON…?” I prodded.

  “Three,” Jamal answered grimly.

  “What’s going on?” Gerrand asked.

  Jamal paced. “The transmissions have ceased. Or, rather, they’re no longer reaching us. That could mean the other Cradle zombies have crashed and burned or are beyond range. Either way, that thing no longer knows what to do.”

  Gerrand turned to us. “Is that bad?”

  “It depends,” Jamal answered cryptically.

  I nodded. “Explain yourself to the man, Jamal.”

  “We have no way of knowing if these creatures have been programmed—for lack of a better term—to phone home in the event of an emergency or if the ZDC is tracking each Chatterer. My guess is that thing will eventually start pinging for its brethren and, when it doesn’t hear back, will start sending out a distress signal.”

  Gerrand shook his head. “And this is all based on what?”

  “Having been up against the ZDC long enough to know they don’t relinquish their assets that easily. We know these things have a purpose…to spread the disease. My guess is that the Zero Day Collective calculated the minimum number necessary to bring about the Beta variant of the Mengele Virus and deployed exactly that count. When they discover one of their soldiers has ceased moving…”

  Jamal fell instantly silent and blinked. I knew the face…some answer was about to bubble up from under the surface of his intellect.

  “Accelerometers,” Jamal whispered.

  The second the word left his lips, I could easily predict what was stirring in his brain.

  “They know as soon as the Chatterers have stopped moving,” I completed Jamal’s thought.

  Gerrand leaned against a desk and crossed his arms. “Would one of you mind telling me what I’m missing?”

  Jamal extracted his cell phone and tapped on the screen. “Have you ever played a game on your phone? One that allows you to tilt the device to move a character, drive a car, or something along that line?”

  Gerrand shook his head. “Not a big gamer.”

  “That’s fine. Let me show you, then.”

  Jamal tapped open a game and walked Gerrand through the process of tilting to control whatever micro-entertainment he’d chosen.

  “And what does this have to do with those?” Gerrand pointed to the Chatterer.

  Jamal sighed. “If the headphones contain accelerometers, the ZDC will know if that zombie is stopped, sitting down, laying down, jumping up, jumping around, and where exactly they are. In other words, everything.”

  “How do we falsify this informa
tion?” Gerrand asked.

  Jamal grew even paler. “We don’t…at least, not right away. Given enough time, Bethany and I can hack into these things and emulate the accelerometer movements. In the meantime, we can at least remove the headphones and…”

  “And what? Move around with them?” Gerrand huffed.

  “Exactly,” Jamal reached toward the Chatterer. Gerrand wrapped his fingers around Jamal’s wrist and stopped him from reaching the zombie’s head.

  “We need those attached,” Gerrand demanded.

  Jamal yanked his arm free from Gerrand’s grip. “Why?”

  “What happens if the others come back into range and attempt to communicate? We need that thing ready and able.”

  Jamal glanced at me. I shrugged, unsure of what he wanted.

  “Fine,” Jamal hissed. “At least we can remove the strap from its head. That way the thing could glance about and move the device enough to register.” Jamal stared, long and hard, my way. “I know it’s crazy, but at this point we can’t take a single chance. Until I’ve managed to hack that hardware, there’s no way of knowing what those devices are doing. I’m not willing to risk the ZDC growing suspicious and chasing their asset down. Do we really want those bastards finding us here?”

  Gerrand slowly capitulated and removed the strap holding the Chatterer’s head down. Immediately the thing shifted its gaze to the left and then the right, before resuming its haunting communication. Oddly enough, it made no attempt to bite the doctor. “As much as I appreciate your sentiment, I’m fairly certain the Thelemites will be leading the Zero Day Collective here without the help of this technology. However, there’s no reason to give them any advantage.”

  “Good call, Jamal.” I gave him a pat on the back, which immediately morphed into a bear of a hug. “Maybe you should go check on the broadcasting again. We need to make sure the ZDC haven’t picked up on our little ruse.”

  Without a word, Jamal slipped out of the room, leaving Gerrand and me to babysit the chattering zombie. The thing lifted its head from the table, working its jaw with a maddening purpose. I started to say something to Gerrand, but the Chatterer made eye contact with me—a moment that stopped all thought and purpose. Recognition flashed across the monster’s eyes and it doubled down on the mandible Morse code.