by Jack Wallen
The famous piano riff began, threatening to jerk me straight back to the eighties, when I first learned to love and live with the guidance of a band that spoke straight to the heart of a generation.
“That was adorable.” Alexa had sneaked into the make-shift studio and was back in her chair, smiling at me as if she was reading directly into my soul. “Now do you believe me?”
“Believe what?”
Alexa swooped down on me and wrapped her arms around my neck. “That what you’re doing is incredibly important. You’re not only entertaining people, you’re giving them a reason to hope, to believe.”
Just as Alexa said the words, Steve Perry sang that famous chorus ‘Don’t stop believin’.
“I guess so. It’s amazing that it took an apocalypse for me to finally become the DJ I worked so hard to be. I dreamed of fame as I was growing up. I wanted to be one of those radio personalities everyone knew. I wanted to be Christian Slater in ‘Pump Up the Volume.’” I blushed.
“And you are … and just as hot. That’s right, I had a big ol’ crush on Christian back in the nineties.” It was Alexa’s turn to blush.
A smile crossed my lips that I couldn’t prevent. “Hell, I think I had a crush on him then.”
Alexa turned her head the slightest bit, raised one eyebrow, and bit her lower lip. I was such a sucker for the lip bite. If she didn’t stop soon, I would wind up a puddle of melty goo in my chair.
“Is there something you’re not telling me? Do you have even more hotness hidden in there somewhere?”
A crashing sound interrupted the moment. The noise came from outside, on the street. A car. Fortunately there was no need to board up the second story windows, so we had a bird’s eye view of the scene below. I almost wished I hadn’t been able to see the sights.
Below, a crowd of zombies were circling a car. There was only one reason the undead were about to attack and it wasn’t to commandeer the mangled machine. For whatever reason, the driver smashed, head-on, into a telephone pole. The front end of the car was now the proud owner of a crumpled, deep-V that rendered the car immobile.
“Oh my God! We have to do something,” Alexa voiced her concern.
There was nothing we could do. I knew this. Before we even saw the results of the accident, it was too late. The driver was obviously out cold. By the time we reached the car, the zombies would already have the brains of the driver in their rotten mouths. I briefly entertained the thought of opening the window, pointing the gun towards the amassing undead, and taking them down one by one. That plan was horribly flawed. First and foremost, the noise of the weapon would attract way too much unwanted attention. Second, my aim was not even remotely that good.
“It’s too late.”
Alexa wasn’t so sure of that. “We have at least try!”
I didn’t know what to say. The zombies had already dragged the body of the driver out of the car and were ripping it to shreds. Alexa turned away from the horror show.
There really wasn’t anything to say. The world had finally reached that point where interfering with others’ tragedies could lead to the most dire of circumstances. I had to protect myself and my, ummm, partner in post-apocalyptic crime; and that was the end of the story. The very idea of such selfish behavior made me ill, but the only way to ensure the safety of those I cared about was to bring it all down to those I depended upon. In this case: Myself and Alexa.
When I turned to Alexa she had her head in her hands and was sobbing.
“I’m sorry,” was all I could muster.
“It’s okay. You’re right. There really wasn’t anything we could do,” she said between sobs. “It’s just hard to see.”
It was my turn to wrap my arms around her. Her sobs eased. The song was coming to a close. The phrase ‘Livin’ in a lonely world’ rang in my head. Why? I didn’t know. At the moment, my life wasn’t so lonely. Strange that it took an apocalypse for me to find someone. But there I was … with someone. But not just anyone, someone I could trust, believe in, care for, fight through the apocalypse with.
How could I trust this woman I just met? The thought crept into my mind. Trust was never something easily gained in my life. But there was one major change in the world that caused me to rethink my old ways… the apocalypse.
Chapter 12
You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio. Your personal soundtrack to the end of the world. That was the iconic ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’, by Journey. Is it possible? Is it possible for us, at this point in the game, to not stop believin’? Mankind created this mess. We evolved into the greedy, war-mongering, narrow-minded species that allowed a man to create a weaponized virus originally created by one of the dreaded Nazi regime. That’s right. I’m talking about Dr. Linsday Godwin re-creating the work of Josef Mengele with the intent of thinning out the Earth’s population.
Don’t believe me? Read the book. The book I refer to is ‘I Zombie I’. That book clearly explains why this all happened. Could it be the paranoid ranting of an infected man just wanting to lay blame on someone — anyone? Of course. But knowing what I know now, I am inclined to believe it is truth.
I know the last time you called I said to never call me again. I’ve had a change of heart. Zero Day Collective … I want to have a discussion, on the air, with you. I want to know why. I want to hear your grand plan. Call me. I’m waiting.
And while I and my legion of listeners wait for the cowards hiding behind the altered voice, I’m going to read to you a selection from the book of Jacob. Here, Jacob discovers a truth spoken by the dread Doctor Lindsay Godwin:
Of course, the very thought of ignorance made a thimbleful of bile creep to the back of my throat, making me well aware that my choice was preordained. I grabbed the folder, dropped heavily back onto the bed, and plowed into the material. I managed to get only one sentence into the dossier before I realized with absolute certainty that I, and quite possibly the entire world, was fucked.
My name is Dr. Lindsay Godwin, and I have been hired for one purpose: To thin the world’s population.
I read the opening sentence over and over. It didn’t really matter how many times I read it, I still wound up with sickening chills cantering up and down my spinal column. And yet, I read more.
I have decided the only logical way to accomplish this goal is through mechanized, biological weaponry. The complications with this method are many, the primary one being detected introduction of said weaponry. It is with this in mind that I have opted to weaponize the human being via transmittable infection.
I realize this method of deployment offers one very specific problem, that of control. It is my hope that with enough research I can develop the means with which to control the weaponized virus. If I am unable to control the virus, one of two things will happen: 1) I will have failed completely or 2) I will have succeeded absolutely. One brings an end to the human race while the other merely contains the population within acceptable limits.
I wanted like hell for this to be fiction. I wanted to close this file and see a recognizable title like The Dead Rise at Dawn! Or Earth vs. Zombies. That, however, was not the case.
There was something terribly ominous in the phrases “failed completely” and “succeeded absolutely.” I couldn’t help but wonder if both failure and success could, in this instance, be the same beast. I didn’t have to reach the final chapter to know this would end badly. But seeing as how I was caged up with nothing to do—
The virus has been in existence for some time now. Developed during World War II, there is little record of its creation. But there is plenty of rumor, the most widespread being that Hitler’s own Josef Mengele created the virus to urge on the birth of the super race. The virus was referred to only by the letter “I”. At first, I was in doubt about the origins, but the more I researched, the more I was led back to Nazi Germany.
Perfect. Now the Nazis were involved full-force. This whole bitch of a scenario grew ever more intriguing with each turn of the
screw. The only things it needed were a spaceship, an empath, and a mushroom cloud.
Mengele. Really?
I wanted to smack Godwin. If ever there was a scientist whose research needed to never be resurrected, it was Josef Mengele.
Nazis. Really? Fuck me.
Read on, Parsifal.
From a rather suspect connection, I gained some invaluable information. Mengele has a surviving relative who apparently has in her possession the only existing notebook of the dead, mad genius. I have been given nearly limitless resources to recover that book, which is said to contain encrypted passages that hold the key to creating the virus. The relative is located in Paraguay…
I had become so engrossed in the writing I failed to see Dr. Godwin enter the external room.
“Fascinating reading, isn’t it?”
“You’re insane, you know that, right?” I was sure he was completely unaware of his fragile sanity.
Confir-fucking-mation my listeners. It seems that screw has already been counter-sunk into the veneer. This was a cleansing … but a cleansing of what?
And we have a phone call ladies and gents. Dare we venture a guess the Zero Day Collective has grown a pair enough to call and chat?
You’re talking with Zombie Radio, what’s your name and what ya got?
“This is the Zero Day Collective. The information you have received is true. The virus is a strain taken from the original developed by Dr. Josef Mengele.”
Doctor? Seriously? You call the man a doctor? He was a nut job on a power trip handed to him by the Devil himself.
“Be that as it may, the Mengele Virus was created to cleanse mankind of the waste it had produced after years of neglect and wanton lust for diversity. We have assumed control over the evolution of the species and will have this ship righted for the next generation of human.”
Don’t you think that’s a bit self-righteous of you to assume that job yours? Correct me if I’m wrong, but that sounds like a job for good ol’ Mother Nature.
“Nature failed us. It became clear that science was to be the one true salvation.”
Have you taken that up with the religious right?
“We are the religious right — only not in the political sense of the term.”
I honestly can’t believe I am trying to have a conversation with a member of a group who claims to have released the virus that crippled the world. I must have lost my mind.
“Your mind will not be truly lost until it has been devoured by one of the soldiers of the damned.”
Aha! You said ‘soldiers’. So this is political!
“No. This is a rebirth. Mankind will be given a second chance. Should they fail this time, they will be eliminated completely.”
Wait, you don’t get to make those kinds of decisions!
“We already have. Everything has been set in motion. The plan and purpose has been made real.”
I can’t believe I’m actually humoring you here. Okay, when was this plan set in motion?
“Long before the virus was released. The designs and machinations were drafted decades ago. It was only a matter of time until we were able to pull together the power and the funding. The last piece to put in place was Dr. Lindsay Godwin and his Quantum Fusion Generator.”
So what’s your endgame here? At what point do you call it a win?
“When we have rid the planet of those not worthy.”
And who decides who is not worthy?
“That decision has already been made.”
Okay, I’ll play along … am I worthy?
“That depends.”
On what?
“What is your race, color, sexual orientation, and income level?”
Are you fucking serious? This comes down to those same racist, sexist, homophobic beliefs held by the Nazi Regime? Go to Hell! I was hoping to gain some insight by actually having a dialog with you, but it turns out I stand by my original statements. If I have to do it myself, your heart will be ripped out of your chest and every member of the Zero Day Collective will watch the blood drain from that still-beating heart as I hold it in my hand.
“The chances of — .”
No. You don’t get to talk, not on my show. You get nothing, but a slow wait for the ironic hand of death to squeeze the life from your blackened soul. Oh God, I need a break. I need to wash my mouth and ears out with soap and bleach to get the charred taste and sound of hatred out. A song. An angry fuck of a song. What is fitting here? Ah yes, ‘You’ve Got Another Thing Coming’ by Judas Priest. Kick some ass boys.
The shrill, metallic sound of KK Downing’s guitar threatened to rend my speakers asunder. I wished like Hell I could spit the lyrics directly into the face of the caller from the Zero Day Collective. But that wasn’t going to happen.
“Do you think they’re for real?” Alexa’s voice yanked me from my hate-filled day-dream.
I didn’t even have to give it a second of thought. “Yes. I do. Whoever is calling knows too much and is too arrogant to be an impostor.”
I could tell Alexa was concerned. And why shouldn’t she be? Some disembodied, God-like voice was claiming to be cleansing the world of all not worthy. To make matters personally worse, they were calling into my radio show and making threats.
Who wouldn’t be concerned?
Me. How? Why? The world was already fucked beyond belief. We were living in a post-apocalyptic world handed over to the undead to gnaw, chew, and destroy. How could things possibly get worse?
“What should we do?” Alexa leaned in on her chair, hands on her knees.
Once again, I didn’t have to give the matter a single thought. “What we’ve been doing. Until we’re given a reason to stop broadcasting and hide from the world, we’ll keep plugging away. They need me out there. I can’t give up on them. I won’t. Fuck the ZDC and their master plan. And fuck my stomach, I need a sandwich.”
I had to lighten the mood. I couldn’t dive deeper into that train wreck of thought too long, lest my sanity caved in. So I did the one thing I always knew to do when stress was about to wend its way into my system — eat.
“Wait!” Alexa stopped me from leaving the studio. “Shouldn’t you be concerned by their threats? They’re not only trying to wipe out the human race, they’re attempting to shut you down. What if they target you? What if they show up at the front door with more weaponry than just their mouths and hands? I know this sounds crazy, but I don’t want to lose you.”
What could I do? I certainly couldn’t heed the call of ham after that. So instead I did what any self-respecting man should do — I hugged the stuffing out of the gorgeous redhead who stood before me, her eyes dripping tears to her breasts.
“You won’t lose me. I promise. And the ZDC won’t stop me. They can’t track me down from the airwaves because I’m not broadcasting on radio frequencies. And if they shut me down, I’ll just use a different IP address. This is Pirate radio and a pirate is always prepared.”
“I thought that was the boy scouts motto.” Alexa smiled.
“I’m a Pirate. I can pillage any motto I want,” I laughed. “Now, about that sandwich… ”
Alexa took point on the run to the kitchen. Priest was about to fade their way into the annals of apocalyptic history and I had nothing else queued up.
Chapter 13
You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio. Your personal soundtrack to the end of the world. That was Judas Priest and ‘You’ve Got Another Thing Coming’, dedicated to the purveyors of this landscape massacre the Zero Day Collective. I wonder, why Zero Day? Do you think they are planning to reset mankind’s clock and take us back to a new first day? Do they yearn to bring back Adam and Eve? And if that is the case, who will they select to play the parts of the first human beings? And what about those of us refusing to fall for the whole ‘creation revisionist’s wet dream? I never fell for the whole Eve eats the apple and condemns the whole of man in the first place. Why should I believe some collection of schmucks will be resetting th
e clock of conscience a second time around? Simply put, I don’t.
What I do believe in is you, the power of music, the hope that my voice might help to save someone from Mengele’s maw, and that red hair does, in fact, make the world go ‘round. Okay, maybe that last one was a bit of a stretch, but it certainly does make my world go ‘round.
And the lights of love are flashing. We have a caller. Actually, we have lots of callers. Let’s take the first of many.
You’re talking with Zombie Radio. What’s your name and what ya got?
“Yeah, my name’s Ralph — .”
Seriously? I didn’t think people still named their children ‘Ralph’. It brings back memories of ‘Happy Days’, the ‘Karate Kid’, and ‘The Christmas Story’. You WILL shoot your eye out kid.
“Yeah, I get that a lot. Long time listener, first time — .”
Cut to the chase the kiddo, this isn’t the House of Pause, hosted by Radio’s Jim Rome.
“Good one! I’m from Chicago. I have a theory about who this Zero Day Collective is and why they’re doing what they’re doing.”
Let’s hear it Grasshopper.
“Another gem! You’re good. Okay, so I think the ZDC are responsible for the curse on my beloved Cubbies. And I think this apocalypse came about because they knew the Cubs had their best shot at winning the big dance. So instead of — .”
Thank you for calling Mr. Malph, but I simply can’t entertain such lunacy on this show. Oh, who am I kidding, of course I can. But the idea that this hell train has a single thing to do with the sporting world is insane. Next caller.
You’re talking with Zombie Radio. What’s your name and what ya got?
“My name is Carol. I don’t know how to say this … but my husband went crazy.”
Were you attacked?
“No. We weren’t. We were safe inside our home. But he started reading from the Bible and screaming at the top of his lungs that this was some sort of plague sent to cleanse mankind of its sins. He started getting physical with me, insisting I be washed in the blood of the lamb or I would burn in Hell for my sins. He was never like that before. I don’t know what got into him.”