I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  Somewhere, buried in that basement, were some wooden planks. I could start there and, once that store was depleted, the furniture would fall victim to the hammer. The basement had no windows or doors, so it could easily be sealed off from the undead. Hopefully, I wouldn’t need an underground refuge, but at least there was some security in knowing it was there.

  The final strains of the current song were building to a close just as I tracked down the planks in question. I had to get better at planning these excursions away from the mic. Yeah, it was fucking crazy, but I had an audience depending on me to keep them sane and a DJ has one directive — no dead air. There was enough death out there, I wasn’t about to let it infiltrate my world.

  I hauled the planks out and dragged them to my work bench.

  “I’ll be back!”

  Why I offered the promise to the inanimate objects I’ll never know.

  Chapter 4

  You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio. Your personal soundtrack to the end of the world. That was Red and ‘Feed the Machine’. I hope my lovely listeners aren’t forgetting to feed the machines I like to call the human body. If you fail that one empirical need you, my friend, will die. Dying of starvation is right the fuck up there with dying of a bite from one of the undead, and we all are starting to learn that is not really death after all. But what is it? Seriously. Where did this come from?

  I realize I’m standing above that dead horse with Thor’s own hammer, but we must know what caused this, what it is, and how to save the human race from some horrific sci-fi wet-dream death.

  Ask and ye shall receive. Witness the power of the phone.

  Thank you for calling Zombie Radio. What’s your name and what ya got?

  “Hi. My name’s Bethany. Bethany Nitshimi. I’m calling from Paris, France. I need you and your listeners to pay close attention to what I am about to say.”

  Well, bonjour mademoiselle. It is my privilege to be speaking to such a lovely …

  “You can cut the schtick for a moment. This shit is real and you need to pay attention or you and all your listeners will be dead in the next few days. Or worse. You see those things outside your window? Those are the creation of a collective of people set on re-inventing mankind. You need to know everything. A man wrote a book. That man was Jacob Plummer. That book is ‘I Zombie I’. I have it on a server. If you want to know the truth, the absolute truth, you need to download this book and read it right away.”

  A book? Seriously?

  “Yes. A Book. He was infected by the Mengele Virus and — .”

  It has a name already?

  “Yes … read the book and you’ll know everything. How it happened, who caused it, what we need to do to stop it. It’s all there. Go to bethanynitshimi.org and download the file. Read it. Now. I have to go. I’ll call back later. There’s much you need to know. Good bye.”

  You heard the lady. Zombie Radio Nation, download the book. I’m on it right now, verifying that it does, in fact, exist. It’ll be like Oprah’s book club. We’ll all enjoy this little piece and chat about it live on Zombie Radio.

  Books. Interesting. I remember the film ‘The Book of Eli’. A post-apocalyptic flick that could have easily been construed as a piece of religious dogma. Never the less, the movie was about a quest for a book. And that makes me think of the Nazis banning and burning books, which in turn reminds me that Ms. Bethany Nitshimi mentioned the Mengele Virus. If I Google that phrase, I actually get hits like ‘The Nazi Doctors’. Does that not send shivers through your soul?

  Two words for you listeners:

  Nazi Zombies.

  Didn’t Hitler and Mengele already do enough God damn damage? Surely this ‘Mengele Virus’ is just a clever name to rouse fear in the hearts of the population. Well, it worked with this citizen. Maybe I should hold my mic up to my heart so each and every one of you can hear it speed-beating in my chest. Oh who am I kidding — that heart beat is for you and only you and it breaks without you. That’s right my loves, that is the sound of a heartbreak beat. And yes, Zombie Radio Nation, that was a segue into one song from the eighties most of you probably missed. The song in question? ‘Heartbreak Beat’ by the Psychedelic Furs.

  The song trickled out of the speakers and kissed the emotion of my memory. I wanted the song to take me away, transport me back to the eighties when things were John Hughes simple and the dead didn’t walk the streets. But that wasn’t about to happen. No matter how smoky and raspy Richard Butler’s voice was, Molly Ringwald wasn’t going to return to her glory days of Pretty in Pink.

  Curiosity grabbed this cat by the scruff and I forced my web browser over to the address Bethany Nitshimi mentioned. Sure enough, there was a book, in PDF format, waiting for my eyes to gaze upon. It beckoned me, taunted me, kissed me from beyond. So I downloaded it. This would make some interesting reading.

  But, before I could lay an eye on a single word it was back to boarding up my house. Heartbreak Beat was five minutes and eleven seconds long which would allow me to at least get organized with barricading my home from the ugly, unwashed masses. This wasn’t going to be easy. I failed shop class. That’s right, I admit it. I nearly sliced off my best friend’s pinky with a cross-cut saw. I followed up that near miss by sanding off the flesh on his left forearm.

  I was then transferred to Home Economics, where I discovered I did have a knack and a taste for apple pie.

  And hanging around cute girls. But that’s another story for another day.

  Wood.

  That was not a transition. Seriously.

  The first window to fall victim to my carpentry skills was the most obvious target of the undead. The front facing windows were of the picture variety which meant their sheer size would afford a full-grown member of the undead army quick and easy access to the inside of my house and thus my skull.

  By some roll of fate’s bones, the boards I brought up fit the windows perfectly. Hooray for standards. Of course, even standards can’t help one without the necessary skills and real grasp of the phrase ‘measure twice, cut once’.

  The first nail was the most awkward to get in.

  “Fuck!” I screamed out as the metal of the hammer met the flesh of my thumb. Said thumb was throbbing as if it had been stepped on by the fattest human alive wearing tap shoes.

  Thankfully the board held, so I could get the remainder of the nails in without crushing another digit. The second board went more smoothly. Or should I say ‘less painfully’? The instant daylight was sealed from the room it all really crashed down on me.

  Our only hope would be to seal out the world.

  We. Were. Fucked.

  I needed a drink. Too bad I never picked up the habit. I had a sneaky suspicion there’d be plenty of time to start sucking on the boozy teat of fate. Either that or one of the undead would suck at the juicy center of my skull. Either way, blissful release.

  And so I stood, staring at my handy work that blocked the world outside. This was the new world order. This was chaos held at bay by some one-by-twelve lumber. Chaos — my new BFF.

  Shit. Dead air. Fuck!

  Chapter 5

  You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio. Your personal soundtrack to the end of the world. That was ‘Heartbreak Beat’ by the Psychedelic Furs and the dramatic pause at the end of the song — intentional. I wanted you to let the hypnotic tones of late eighties keyboard lull you into some semblance of peace before yours truly seduced you back into the reality of the nightmare brought to you by none other than Josef Mengele.

  So, have any of you downloaded that book, I Zombie I, destined to be the bible of the new iteration of mankind? It’s on my desktop right now. Let’s crack it open and see what delights it has to offer.

  If I may indulge both myself and you for just a moment, let me read you a passage from Jacob Plummer’s book.

  “Dr. Godwin brought me the book, nothing more than a trashy love story. I assumed Bethany had found the book somewhere here in the station. At least I
hoped she hadn’t been carrying around such a book. I assumed her to be much more intelligent than that. Anyway, none of that really mattered. What really mattered was what was inside.

  A quick scan through the pages revealed that Bethany had taken the time to find the words from the encrypted message and underline them. But she chose very carefully to make it look as if she was just trying to point out important passages in the otherwise worthless text.

  I started from the front, but it didn’t make sense. The isolated strings were fine, but when placed together, it was nonsense. It didn’t take me long to realize that Bethany had started from the back of the book. Smart, smart girl.

  The hidden message read:

  We have successfully imprinted another subject. It seems we can control the most violent behavior. It is time to take subject to stage two of the process. Once your male has gone through sufficient isolation, the metamorphosis should be complete. When the change is one hundred percent, it will be time to begin the training phase.

  I had to read the message two or three times before I could even begin to believe it. And when I did finally believe it, my entire body began shaking with rage. This was all so much Cold War, axis-of-evil shit. I remembered living in a time when fiction was fiction, and it never crossed into the realm of reality. Now it seemed someone had managed to get caught in a time-warp, landing themselves back in Hitler’s day, thinking the Germans were once again the supreme evil to be destroyed. But in this story, the thinking was skewed, and the thinker in command had decided only one weapon could take down the Reich—Zombies.

  So this was Godwin’s grand plan: Create a legion of moaners and take down the feared German Empire one bite at a time.

  “Godwin! Godwin! I know about your plan, you twisted, sick fuck. It won’t work. If you think I’ll agree to join your army and zombie-stomp all over the German people, you’re wrong! Do you hear me?” I knew I didn’t have to yell, but it did feel good.

  “I hear you, Jacob. Quite well, I might add. There are a couple of things you neglected to take into consideration. You cannot escape, and you are infected.” There was a frightening certainty in the doctor’s voice. That certainty crept deep into my brain.

  A door opened, and Dr. Godwin walked into the external room. In his hands he cradled a folder as if it were an infant.

  “In my hands I hold every bit of information about my research. I am going to give this folder to you so you can fully understand what is happening. Do not worry, these documents are only copies. Naturally, I have all of the originals.” Dr. Godwin slid the folder into the sliding box and pushed it to my side of the room. “You might find some of this material a bit, well… frightening. Let me assure you, this is all very real.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Simple, my dear man: so you can finally understand and appreciate the brilliance that has gone into this plan.” Godwin’s ego was billowing the sails of a giant ship.

  “No, I meant, why are you doing this to me?” I felt like I was talking to a child.

  “Oh, silly me. It must be done. Some call it destiny. Some call it natural selection. I prefer ‘coerced evolution.’ And as I am the one doing the coercing, I prefer the term Godwinism. Fitting, don’t you think?”

  Wow. That’s some powerful stuff. Just a random page torn out of the book of Jacob, I Zombie I. Is it truth? Has the human race been coerced into a new evolutionary state? Good God damn, listeners, what do you think? Call in. React. Revolt. Arise! That’s right, my lovelies, over the centuries the human race has risen against The Man who, at every corner, attempted to force him down on his knees to suck at the penis of politics.

  Well, where are those penises now? Cowering in some underground shelter beneath the White House? Is President Gas safely tucked away from the Mengele Virus, or will we see him shambling about above ground, looking for your votes and your brains? I promise you, should I see Mr. Zombie President coming at me for a snack, my razor-edged shovel will swing down with the righteous might of the oppressed and lop that fucker’s head off in a single swipe.

  And we have a caller. You’re talking with Zombie Radio. What’s your name and what ya got?

  “I know who started this mess. It was the religious right.”

  And the holy hand grenade of Antioch has been launched.

  “I don’t get it.”

  I didn’t think you would. Continue.

  “This plague was created by organized religion to wipe out all they deem unworthy of entering the gates of Heaven. They see that their God has become too kind and loving, so they’ve taken it upon themselves to unleash the beast to eliminate the competition.”

  Now it’s my turn to not get it. Competition?

  “You know, the gays, the blacks, the Jews … ”

  Seriously? Are you going down that dark homophobic path?

  “No, no, no not me. I’m not like that. I have friends — .”

  Let me guess; gay friends, black friends, Jewish friends? You even have a gay, black, friend who is Orthodox.

  “This is serious. Organized religion has been plotting this evil for centuries. It started with the Inquisition. The Catholic Church wanted to organize the means with which to eliminate the heretics en masse. When hangings didn’t work, they brought out the Black Plague. When that didn’t complete the task, they molded a man named Hitler into — .”

  Okay, okay, okay — story time is over. You get a time out for bad fact checking and poor plot devices. Look, I understand the rumor mill is going to jump into overdrive like McFly driving a DeLorean. I could segue that into a song, but I’m just not the type to spin for you Huey Lewis and the News. If I do that I might as well play Hootie and the Blowfish. If I do that I may as well don some khakis, tuck in my shirt, and march out to locate the nearest walking damned and invite him or her to dinner.

  Main course? My brain!

  But that’s not going to happen. Instead me, you, and everyone listening will rise up above the ridiculous claims of the unwashed masses and cling to intelligence, to fact. And we will rise up against ‘The Man’ who has forged the way for this virus to bring us down. They cannot control us. They will not contain us!

  I love a good segue, and what better segue than one to leading into Muse’s ‘Uprising’? It was a powerful song that actually had become quite apropos, given the new information I had. Problem was, did I believe what I’d been handed? I guess my only choice was to actually read the book and find out. Maybe the words contained within Jacob Plummer’s tale would offer up some wisdom I could spread to the masses, something that would help them survive the onslaught.

  I had just enough time to bring up more wood and introduce it to the window of the world. God that was sad. What was it going to be like when all manner of sunlight was blocked out of my sanctuary? Would I lose what was left of my mind, or just my tan? At least I didn’t suffer from Season Affective Disorder — oh how sad.

  Back down to the basement.

  As I was heading down the stairs, the sound of pounding stopped my heart. My feet were glued to the stairs. My lungs refused to pull in a life-giving breath. Everything went Poe and suddenly there came a tapping, but the tapping was a crashing and I knew outside the door raged the undead.

  My fear was made real with the overtone-laden moan rattled the wood of the door and vibrated its way into my house. A zombie was at my door, begging to come in. Did he want to use the facilities? Did he want to sell me cookies? Or did he just want to play a rousing game of bash, dine, and dash.

  My heart was in my throat, so I swallowed my throat down into my boxers.

  Pound.

  Moan.

  Pound.

  Moan.

  Pound.

  Moan.

  The rhythm sunk into my flesh. I avoided looking at the door for as long as I could When I finally decided to venture a glance at the rattling door, I realized the door was locked but the deadbolt open. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, but the door lock was flaky
and couldn’t hold off an infant. The deadbolt on the other hand made Masterlock proud.

  Fuck.

  Could zombies turn the handles on doors? My mind raced back to every zombie film I had watched. ‘Night of the Living Dead’, ‘Return of the Living Dead’, ‘Day of the Dead’, ‘Shaun of the Dead’, ‘Zombie Strippers’ …

  Don’t judge.

  And then it hit me. This wasn’t a movie. There wasn’t going to be some deux ex machina moment where the hero comes in with guns a blazin’ to save the maiden in distress. This was real-fucking-life and real life didn’t have superheroes.

  As my brain zipped through the catalog of films, I couldn’t remember a single zombie turning a door handle. It would be nice to trust in that thought; but my brain really, really wanted to stay in its current home, so that door had to be locked.

  It was time to think Ninja.

  Be silent.

  Be Jackie Chan.

  My right foot slid down one stair. No sound. When my left foot rose from its current position the creak of settled wood made itself known. Either the zombie at the door didn’t hear the noise, or it was waiting for me to inch ever more closely.

  Quoth the raven, my ass.

  Another silent step. I was just a couple of feet from the door.

  One. More. Step.

  I reached out to the handle. Just as my hand was about to gain purchase on the brass another round of pounding scared me to my ass. I tried to lurch away from the door to escape the beat-down coming from the other side, but my feet wanted to Flamenco while my torso wanted to Tango. Ass, meet hardwood. Hardwood, meet ass.

  This time, on my hands and knees, I reached the door, shot my hand up, and threw the deadbolt closed. Now it was a matter of waiting to see if Masterlock was enough to keep the undead horde at bay.

  Just as I thought everything was going to regain some sense of calm, my worst nightmare once again gave me the ninja junk punch.

  Dead air.

  This time I was really fucked. I didn’t dare race up to my office to kill that devil silence. The second my buttery Barry White meets James Tiberius Kirk voice hit the air, those zombies were going to amass at my door and beg me to read them a zombie bedtime story.