by Jack Wallen
I’m sorry … I —
“He became violent with me. He filled the tub with water and forced me under. I thought he was going to drown me. Finally he let me up for air and I managed to get away from him. He was screaming the same Bible verse over and over. ‘And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.’ He was going to kill me.”
Silence.
“So I did the only thing I could think of doing. We had a gun in the house. I grabbed it and forced him outside. He didn’t even try to get back in. With his Bible in his hand he stood out on the sidewalk screaming random verses. Until — a pack of zombies ripped him apart. I watched as my husband was torn to pieces by the undead. One of them began cracking his head on the pavement until his brain spilled out. My husband’s blood was everywhere. His bits and pieces being tossed aside like rotten scraps.”
Carol, you did the only thing you could do. People are losing their minds out there; and when they do, they become a danger to anyone around them. What has happened has brought out the best and worst in people. I’m sorry that it seems to have brought out an ugliness in your husband you hadn’t suspected.
“You’re right. We were never religious people. I didn’t even know we had a Bible in the house. What would have caused him to do that?”
Some people simply can’t cope with what is going on. Our minds have to rationalize everything we see, and when rationalization fails, we turn to drastic measures. You’re safe now. Just stay in your house and wait it out. Sorry your husband is dead.
“But I can’t do this alone. I killed my husband.”
That’s not true. You can do this and you were only doing what you had to do to protect yourself. Your husband was gone, lost in some other landscape within his mind. I doubt he would have ever returned to you. Or worse, he would have hurt you. You’re safe now. And please, don’t hesitate to call me back should you need to. We’re all here for you Carol. You did the right thing.
“Thank you Zombie Radio. I don’t think I could survive this without you.”
Everything I do, I do for you. Be safe Carol.
Ladies and gentlefolk of the Zombieverse, let’s all take in a deep breath and exhale existence into the universe for our new friend Carol. You never know how this monstrosity of a reality is going to smack you upside the face. But when it does, you must be prepared to smack it back. Carol struck hard and knocked reality back into its corner; and for that I have to quote a catch phrase from one of my favorite superhero characters: ‘You go girl!’
Hey, it’s snowing out there. I’m not talking that ugly-ass gray shit caused by the arrogant, misguided power of the Zero Day Collective. What I am seeing is purest white, the kind of snow that stops everything around you and reminds you of simpler times, peace, and silence. Wow. Deep within the muck and mire of this dirty tango we’re all dancing, the fact that it’s the holiday season has slipped by us all.
Understandable, seeing as how the holiday season was taken under by the dark tide. But hey, there’s no reason why we can’t sprinkle a little Christmas Spirit on the Zombie Radio Nation. Maybe, just maybe, hearing a little holiday music will crack the ice on the freezing heart of mankind. Let me spin for you my favorite holiday tune of all time, it’s Bing Crosby and David Bowie singing that wonderful mash-up of ‘The Little Drummer Boy’ and ‘Peace on Earth’. And this was pre-cosmetic surgery Bowie, so it’s the real deal.
It’s Christmas time in the Zombieverse!
The famous piano riff wafted from the speakers massaging a calm from my nerves I didn’t realize was there. I turned to see Alexa staring at me, her lips glossy and her checks flushed.
I half-smiled back, the memory of Carol still lingering. “What?”
“You’re amazing. I don’t think we’d survive without you. I mean, the human race — we’d never make it.”
Alexa and I sat, just listening to the words and the melody. I couldn’t believe it was almost Christmas time. How would, how could it be celebrated? Consumerism was pretty much over. There would be no shiny lights, bows, or presents. The Grinch finally did have his way and stripped the joy from the world. ‘Silent Night’ had taken on a completely different meaning.
“I’m not sure if I can deal with many more calls like that,” I sighed.
“You have to. They need you. Besides, I’m here. I will do whatever it takes to help you through this.” Alexa kissed my neck. The warmth of her lips and breath filled me with life again. Maybe she was right, maybe having her by my side was all the strength I needed to get through what would certainly be an avalanche of calls crying out for help.
“Wouldn’t you just love to go out there and make a snowman? Or have a snowball fight?” I asked.
Alexa tousled my hair, a gesture I found strangely comforting. “I would so crush you in a snowball fight.”
“I’ll have you know — ” my declaration of supremacy on the snowball battle field was interrupted by a crashing sound from outside.
Alexa raced to the window. “What in the Hell? A group of the undead are standing in the street, facing your house, and just swaying back and forth.”
“What was the crashing sound?” I went to the window to see the scene for myself.
“I think one of them just knocked over a trash can. What is going on out there? That is the creepiest sight I’ve ever seen.”
She was right. About ten zombies were just standing on the street, their bodies moving slowly to the left and right, staring at the front of the house. Were they waiting for something, for some signal or sign of life? Or were they waiting for the grand buffet to open up?
“Why aren’t they moving?” Alexa voiced the question of the day.
For some reason, I opened the window enough to give a listen. Just as I expected, a strange cow-like lowing was coming from the small group. Moans. With the power of a ball peen hammer, an idea hit me. I had a shotgun mic that could pick up sound from nearly three hundred feet and with the accuracy of Clint Eastwood in a Dirty Harry flick.
After I had the mic hot, I raised the window just enough to slide the business end of the boom out and pointed it in the direction of the zombies.
I called Alexa into action. “Hold this steady for me.”
I sat at the console and began the recording. This sound was going to be helpful. My listeners needed to know what they were listening for. Like the sound of a train before a tornado, this moaning was a dead giveaway for the zombie brigade. Being able to recognize the noise could easily mean the difference between living and dying. I was fairly certain my audience would prefer the former.
The moaning continued on. After a minute or so I had enough sound to give my listeners a solid sample of things to come.
“Pull the mic in and shut the window,” I instructed Alexa. She complied. We were a good team.
Bing and Bowie were just about to finish up. I did a quick edit on the recording so it was ready for me to play in the next segment.
Chapter 14
You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio. Your personal soundtrack to the end of the world. That was the holiday stylings of Bing Crosby and David Bowie. Peace on Earth.
Peace. It seems like peace is another world away. I want to ask if we’ll ever enjoy peace again; but I’m caught up wondering if we ever really did know peace. Have we? We’ve had nations of people born and bred for nothing more than war. We have religions hating other religions to the point of condemning one another to Hell. Partisan politics that couldn’t come together to do the right thing for the people.
Who in the fuck are we kidding? This apocalypse is just another rung in the ladder of mankind. We’ve been climbing this ladder for centuries. It was just a matter of time before we finally managed to push that metaphorical red button in an attempt to wipe the slate clean. Only that button wasn’t nearly as metaphorical as we thought. That button just happened to unleash a tidal wave of hate upon the planet.
How d
o we survive? Well, my lovelies, I have at least one method that will help you all to keep from being surprised by the average zombie. I managed to record the sound of a small pack of moaners; and, for the first time on live radio, I am going to play that sound.
Moaning.
Chilling doesn’t do it justice. Ladies and gentlemen of the ‘verse, should you hear that sound, you know they’re near. Tuck yourselves away and be as silent as possible. This is especially true if the monsters you hear are traveling in packs.
Monsters.
We’re trapped within the celluloid nightmare of Rob Zombie. But as much as we want this to just be a movie, it’s not. No matter how much you repeat ‘It’s only a movie.’, you will open your eyes to find reality does in fact bite.
And the phones light up.
You’re talking with Zombie Radio. What’s your name and what ya got?
“This is Bethany Nitshimi again.”
Speaking of salvation. What brings your brilliance to my world this time around?
“I heard the sounds you just played. I wanted to make a couple of additions to that.”
As I’ve said before Bethany, you may take the mic any time.
“We’re not just facing one type of zombie. The sound you played was from the more passive of the species. There’s another, more dangerous, type of undead. Jacob called them ‘Screamers’. They seem to be filled with rage and will do anything to get to you. They’re fast, and the sound they make is like nothing you’ve ever heard … like a train wreck, a wind storm, and nails raking across a chalk board all at once. The only problem with Screamers is once you’ve heard the sound, it’s already too late. You can’t run away from them, they’ll catch you. If they catch you, you’re gone.”
Wow, that’s some bleak information.
“I know. It’s no picnic out there. But I do have one thing to share that might help everyone. I have discovered a means to repel the monsters. It’s a device I’ve created called ‘The Obliterator’. All it does is produce sound at a particular pitch and oscillation that the zombies can’t stand. The second they hear that sound, they’ll be bashing their own heads on the pavement.”
That might be the best news I’ve heard in a while.
“It gets better. I’ve uploaded the schematics to the same site the book, I Zombie I, is on. Anyone can print those out and create their own weapon to use against the undead horde. I also have recorded the sound, so there’s no mistaking what this device should sound like. You can download that sound from the site and compare it to what you produce. Please, everyone, build as many Obliterators as you can. Spread the word. If everyone has one of these devices in hand, the chance of death or infection drops dramatically.”
As usual, Miss Nitishimi, you are an angel sent from the heavens.
“I’m just trying to do everything in my power to help save our species. Thank you Zombie Radio. Be safe everyone.”
You heard it from the mouth of the Patron Saint of Survival herself. And I’m going to do her and you a favor and play the sound of that device over the air. Record it people. Know it. Use it. Zombie Radio Nation, I will count down from five and play this sound. Procure the means to record now. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
High pitched, oscillating noise.
It’s understandable why those zombie sons a bitches can’t stand that noise. Play that loud enough and proud enough and anyone within hearing distance will be poking their ear drums out with ice picks.
I don’t know how many of you out there have the engineering chops to complete your own personal Obliterator; but if you can, please do! We need as many of these things out there as possible. Hell, as far as I’m concerned, build ‘em and fire up a mobilized PA system in your car. Drive those fucking zombies down the throats of the Zero Day Collective.
Caller number two. You’re talking with Zombie Radio. What’s your name and what ya got?
“This is the Zero Day Collective. We have pinpointed your location. Unless you discontinue your broadcast we will unleash a legion of the undead upon your house. There will be no survivors. You have one hour to comply. That is all.”
Silence.
This is ‘Iron Army’ by In This Moment.
A hot, sick feeling welled up in my gut. Dared I call their bluff and risk mine and Alexa’s lives? Or did I cut and run?
“They’ll just follow us if we run.” The realization was spoken almost as instantly as it was thought.
“I don’t understand.”
Alexa wasn’t in my head, so how could she follow my train of thought. “It’s simple, actually. If this is all real and we run, those nut jobs will hunt us down because we know too much. I’ve made public more information than they care to have out there. And they probably know that as long as I’m alive, I will get back on the air. But if we stay, they show up and we’re dead anyway.”
Alexa slumped in her seat, the look on her face giving way to the all too obvious feelings of defeat.
But defeat was not a word I accepted — especially when dealing with the fucking shirt-tucking nation. I was never one to back down, give up, or admit any sort of defeat when faced by ‘The Man’.
I turned to Alexa and looked deep into the heart-melting green of her eyes. “Do you trust me?”
She simply, and without hesitation, nodded.
Within the lower depths of my consciousness, a plan formed. The plan had just the right amount of sick, twisted genius necessary to get us out of this fucked game of apocalyptic twister.
“We’re going to fake my death, relocate, and start all over. They’ll never know what hit them. They’ll assume I couldn’t take the heat and took the easy way out. What do you think?”
Alexa bit her lip and stared at her perfectly polished toes. Had the situation not demanded haste, I would have carried her down to the bed and had my way with her then and there. Unfortunately, there was no time for hanky and/or panky.
“I think it’s brilliant. And you have the perfect vehicle to pronounce yourself dead to the masses.”
With Alexa’s blessing, it was time to put the plan in action. The ZDC gave me sixty minutes to comply and complicity was what they were going to get — in spades.
“While I do this start packing anything you think that we will need. Once I’m done I’ll begin packing up my equipment. We’ll load up the car in the garage and take off.”
Alexa stood, pulled my head to hers, and buried her tongue into the depths of the back of my mouth. The woman was electric and it looked I was going to spend the rest of the apocalypse with her.
Small, beautiful favors.
She left the studio and I started preparing for my untimely demise. The violent screams of Mira Brinkman were about to come to a halt. It was almost time.
Chapter 15
You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio. Your personal soundtrack to the end of the world. Listen up, my sweet zombies, I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but the world has become a very dangerous playground for the damned. That knocking at your door? That, my friends, is not the Avon Lady or a sweet Girl Scout plying delicious treats. That is death, plain and simple.
It’s an ugly reality that we must now face. During my time on the air I have called upon you to stand up and fight, to help preserve the human race. And you have answered my call. The weight of mankind has been placed squarely on your shoulders and you have stood strong. You have persevered, fought, offered help when called for, and been a beacon for those in need.
But every battle eventually comes to a most unforgettable end. On one side the winner of the battle will stand tall and proclaim to the heavens their victory. The other side of the battle knows nothing but darkness and rot.
That battle, it seems, has finally reached the moat of Castle Zombie. The horde has raised their mighty fists together to break down the barriers between them and me. My time has come. But unlike so many, I will not cater to their undead desires. I will not add my own brain to the dinner menu. Instead I will follow the a
dvice I have given so many over the last few weeks.
But before I do, I have to ask that someone out there pick up the mantle of Zombie Radio so the airwaves never go silent. The people need a voice to bring them help, to bring them hope.
And with that, and that timeless anthem ‘We Are The Champions’, by Queen, I bid you my final farewell.
Gunshot.
Music.
The sound of the gun, shot about six feet from the mic and into the ceiling, was still echoing in my skull. But it was done. My audience should now be assuming me dead. The Zero Day Collective would hopefully make that same assumption. How can he be sure the ZDC would believe this? How about? Hopefully, The Zero Day Collective would make the same assumption. And as soon as Freddy Mercury belted out that last beautiful note, I would power down the equipment, pack it up, and head out with my new partner in crime.
“Oh thank God!” Alexa startled me from my inner monologue. “For a second I was worried you might have been lying to me and really killed yourself.”
I couldn’t help the smile that crossed my face. She cared about me. “I would never lie to you. To the ZDC? Maybe. You? No way.”
Alexa came to me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders and tucked her head in the crook of my neck. “Can we really do this?”
“We can and we will.” My right hand cupped the back of her head. My left snaked around her waist. “I have too much to live for now.”
Epilogue
We drove. And we drove. And we drove. The point was to get as far away from our own personal ground zero as possible. Of course we knew the ZDC was headquartered in New York, so that was out of the question. Ultimately we decided on Savannah, Georgia. Why? Who knew. But it would at least be warm and there would be an ocean on one side of us, so the likelihood of a three hundred sixty degree attack would only be possible if zombies learned to swim.
Plus, I’d always wanted to see the home of Johnny Mercer.
When we arrived in the city, it was dawn. The sun was casting shadows I had never seen while living in Oregon. There was a brilliance in the light. A hope cast through the Spanish moss covered trees. Alexa was asleep in the passenger seat. Her beauty was breathtaking.