I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  I drove slowly down a cobblestone street at the edge of the city. I wanted to be near enough to civilization to have what we needed, but not smack in the center of chaos. All was calm. I had yet to spot a single member of the undead community. I was fairly certain there was a bit of irony there, seeing as how Savannah was supposed to be one of the most haunted cities in the country. But then zombies and ghosts were not even remotely similar.

  Or were they?

  But the streets were also bereft of life. I had yet to spot a single living human. The only comfort to be found was that the streets weren’t paved with corpses. The lack of life was presenting me with a dilemma. We had to find a new home. We certainly couldn’t just pick out our favorite turn of the century mansion, bust in, and claim it for King and Queen. Even though this was officially the apocalypse, some decorum had to remain. Anarchy would only cause entropy to shift from flesh to society and that would lead to ruin.

  Alexa finally roused from her nap. “Are we there yet?” When she sat up she immediately had her answer. “Wow, this place is — .”

  “Dead?”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking. What do you suppose happened?’

  I had no idea and didn’t really care to know at the moment.

  I found a strip of shops and pulled the car to the side of the street. It was time to brave our new world and find some answers.

  We quietly slid out of the car. We had an understanding, made a few hundred miles ago, that everything done would be done with as much caution as possible. That meant silence.

  The first shop door we tried was locked. The closed sign was still flashing. The second door brought us luck, but our luck ended when the building was empty. Completely empty. It was as if everyone just stopped what they were doing and left.

  The shop was a hipster’s thrift store dream come true. All vintage clothing (mostly circa 1976) filled the racks. The place smelled of moth balls and cloves. The registers were still open, cash in the drawers, and the tragically hipster (and equally boring) Margot & The Nuclear So and Sos was blaring over the speakers. My first action was to locate the source of the music and shut it off. Not because it was so bad (which it was), but because it was so loud it could draw the attention of some shamble-by zombie.

  “Hey, there’s an apartment up here!” Alexa called down from above.

  This was looking promising. A shop wasn’t a home, which meant we weren’t really invading anyone’s privacy. And should the owners return they’d probably be more than happy to find a living couple keeping their goods safe from the undead.

  As if the undead would don the duds of this subculture.

  I took the stairs up to the apartment, two at a time. Alexa was standing in a hall, arms spread, with a goofy grin on her face. “Dare we call it home?”

  “We dare. I do believe we dare.” I ran to her and hugged her. It was as if the outside world, and all the horror it contained, didn’t exist for the moment. Alexa and I had a new place to start a new life; and soon I would have my equipment fired up to bring Zombie Radio back to life.

  WZMB, Zombie Radio. Our personal soundtrack to the end of the world.

  Read On

  …for a bonus short story set in the I Zombie universe.

  Silent Night

  By Jack Wallen

  Silent night. Holy night. All is calm, all is quiet.

  The music gently massaged the ambiance of the holiday occasion. It was a celebration that would have profound and epic repercussions on the human race. And, most importantly, it might well be the only such celebration this holiday season.

  My name is John Burgess. You should know that name. If you do not, it will only be a matter of time before you do. I am the leader of an organization that has been charged with the grand, sweeping change of the human race. A cleansing if you will. This organization is comprised of politicians, men and women of industry, philanthropists with particular desires — dark desires and darker designs.

  We are the Zero Day Collective. We are remaking humanity, forcing its molecular biology to shift, proving evolution can be controlled.

  ‘Round yon virgin, mother and child.

  We are currently tracking down a woman crucial to our goal. She has been part and parcel to our grand design and will help ring the death knell for mankind. Bethany Nitshimi is with child. That baby will be the first human born immune to the Mengele virus. That child holds within his DNA the cure which must not get into the hands of the people. That cure would undo everything the Zero Day Collective has worked tirelessly for.

  But, for now, there is a joyous occasion to celebrate. A moment ripped from time. A piece of peace, stolen from a purer past.

  Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace.

  With a tap of spoon to glass, I had everyone’s attention. God damn power is money, sex, everything.

  “I want to thank you all for joining me for this Christmas celebration. But this is not just any holiday meal. What this meal represents is a new beginning for mankind and, more importantly …” I paused to take in the seduction of their rapt attention. “ … an absolute control over every consumer market, property, and person on the planet. This is absolute power and it will corrupt absolutely.”

  Applause exploded and echoed off the walls in the room.

  I had two big reveals for this auspicious occasion — the first was a video feed, but not just any video. This particular scene the audience was about to gaze upon a glance into Christmas yet to come. Our future silent night. With an elegant wave of a tiny remote the lights in the room dimmed. Candlelight flickered off the glasses and sequined dresses of the more feminine attendees. I would say ‘female’, but there were some in attendance of questionable gender. The moment was perfect, a romantic notion that was about to be juxtaposed with a slice of Armageddon.

  The video screen lowered in absolute silence. When the first images of the video feed appeared, the audience wasn’t quite sure what they were seeing. The feed was live from Munich.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, what you are witnessing is the Quantum Fusion Generator designed and built by our own Dr. Lindsay Godwin.”

  As if on cue, Dr. Godwin walked in front of the camera, inadvertently blocking the view to the device.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, what you are witnessing now is the ass of Dr. Lindsay Godwin.” The audience laughed — eating up every word I spoke. They were mine, the world would soon follow.

  “This device has a two-fold purpose. The first purpose is a ruse to make the general populace think we are delivering a perfect source of renewable energy. It’s the second purpose that brings the Zero Day Collective together, with a singular purpose.” Another smile. Another pause.

  Finally Dr. Godwin moved away from the camera lens, giving the audience another glimpse of the future. Apparently (and unknowingly) the good doctor decided to give us a show by running some tests on the device. A brilliant red glow shone from the top of the generator. The glow was quickly followed by an almost sickeningly low thrumming sound.

  Secretly I turned the volume of the feed up. The noise grew uncomfortable. Patrons squirmed in their seats. Men and women alike pressed the palms of their hands to either their ears or their eyes, to keep the pressure from the sound at bay.

  Thankfully the lighting in the room was so dim, otherwise everyone would have seen the grin gracing my lips.

  “Jesus Christ Burgess, turn it off!” one of the board members yelled over the din.

  I complied. As much as I enjoyed the suffering, I needed these people alive and on my side.

  From my pocket I pulled a mic out and flipped the power switch.

  “Merry Christmas, Doctor Godwin!” My voice had a twinge of mockery.

  The doctor turned to the camera and glared. “I have no time for you at the moment. As you can see, I am very busy.” Godwin started to turn back to the generator, but quickly had a second thought. “Merry Christmas you dare say? You are about to unleash Hell on the planet and
you would dare utter those sacred words — ”

  Mute. There was no way I was going to allow yet another one of Lindsay Godwin’s tirades ruin this moment. He knew his place and it was not to be judge and jury. The man was a creator of life and death. His work with the Heizer Sequence was genius — which was precisely why I had to pull him away. And now, I have his partner in genetic crime working for my team.

  I am, in a word, brilliant. I will, in word, rule.

  “That was only a glimpse of what is to come. Now I have something really special to share with you. In honor of this occasion, this Christmas dinner, I have arranged to give everyone a first-hand look at the future of mankind. I hope you all have strong constitutions.”

  With a sotto laugh I waved the screen away with my magic wand. As the screen slid up into the ceiling, the wall behind it vanished into the floor to reveal a three-inch Plexiglas wall. The dramatic lighting kept the secrets that lay behind the wall still in the dark. Only I had the power to reveal the sights that would forever change the lives of the people seated around the festive tables.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you … the Mengele Virus.” Another wave of the wand and the lights changed to reveal the first amplified human. To call the thing human was a bit of a stretch. It was still bi-pedal and remotely resembled homo sapien 1.0. But try to dig any deeper than flesh and bone and the similarities quickly ended.

  The thing, the zombie … turned and raced at the clear wall. It knew. It could sense, smell, almost taste what lay on our side.

  Brains.

  The Santa suit the beast wore was in tattered rags, the fake beard hung by a thread — it was left for effect. The effect worked wonders on the audience’s sense of irony. I couldn’t help but laugh. It was a thing of genius seeing a group of the world’s wealthiest, the kings and queens of capitalism, shrink in fear of the one man that saved their monetary system year after year.

  Oh what would they say if they knew the ruined Saint Nick they were viewing was the very same man whose lap their children had recently sat upon and in whose ear was whispered the secret of secrets by each youngster — what I want for Christmas.

  Well, little Cindy, what you want is your life; what you’ll get is suffering.

  The Santa-thing crashed a broken, meaty fist against the wall, causing every member of the affair to nearly jump out of their seats. Women screamed, one man stood and slammed his hands onto the table. The man made like he was going to bolt the room, but the holiday music wafted to his ear and convinced his body to sit back down.

  God rest ye merry, gentlemen, Let nothing you dismay …

  The holiday music continued on in the background. What should have been a soothing balm for the attendees went completely unnoticed, save for one shivering man.

  Weakness. It sickened me. I made a mental note to use the shaking man as my next experiment. In a blink, the man’s shelf-life had practically disappeared.

  All eyes and ears were on the morbid horror displayed in front of them. The zombie continued pounding, the audience continued jerking and jumping.

  Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas day …

  The monster stopped his pounding and stared at his audience. He sniffed at the air; his eyes, his sour-milk eyes, were worthless, save for the ability to see light and shadow. I knew the delight that tickled his nasal passages. Beyond a sliding door a gift awaited my subject. That gift was my coup d’etat and would serve to prove to everyone in the room just how serious the Zero Day Collective was about its mission.

  To save poor souls from Satan’s power, when we were gone astray.

  Yet another wave of my wand and a door hissed open. From out of the doorway rolled a remote controlled dolly, which came to rest in the center of the room. On the dolly was strapped a man. The man was alive, awake, and was about to witness, first hand, the new world horror.

  Everyone immediately recognized the man with no future. Only yesterday, Tab Donagal sat at my right side … both literally and figuratively. It wasn’t until he began questioning some of my, shall we say, more fringe decisions, that I decided the man had to be disposed of. When the opportunity arose, I took it. That opportunity was here and now.

  “John, what have you done? That’s …” The first of the audience recognized Tab with a shock.

  The response to the realization had the exact effect I had hoped for — respect and mind-numbing fear. Each and every member of the board knew not to fuck with me. If they ever questioned that, they wouldn’t now.

  The zombie slowly approached the dolly, sniffing the air as it walked. The look on the thing’s face was a mixture of confusion, rage, and bliss. It desperately wanted. it only had no idea what it longed for.

  Donagal screamed out. He had no idea why he was there, why he was about to become the Christmas Goose for the undead. One minute Tab was leaving his office, to spread some holiday cheer. His wife had signed them up to join a caroling group Hell-bent on spreading holiday spirit to a home for senior citizens. He hated Christmas almost as much as he hated retirement homes filled with senior citizens wishing life would just finally release them from their mortal coil. The next the man was injected with liquid sleep and strapped to a remote control dolly. Now the man was about to become the first undead Christmas meal.

  O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy. O tidings of comfort and joy.

  When the undead beast finally stumbled upon the dolly, it reached its bony fingers out so it could feel what it was that beckoned. The greasy hands found the ex board member’s head. With a great sniff the zombie took in the meaty smell with its rotting nose. The stench wafting from the fear induced sweat on the man was like Christmas morning to the beast. It wasn’t the fear, or the sweat, or the skin, or the meat the thing wanted.

  Without warning the zombie placed its palms on either side of the man’s head and began applying pressure. The bound man screamed out, but the undead Kris Kringle had not the power to succeed in its task

  Never fear Kris, I have tricks up my sleeve to rival that of your magical elves.

  The wand waved and the dolly’s straps were loosened. Donagal was free. That freedom would only buy the man his death. Slowly the mouse began to back away from the cat. The cat, of course, wasn’t finished playing with the mouse.

  The man turned and ran toward the clear wall.

  “Jonathan, help me! Let me out of here!” The desperate pleas for help were delicious music to my ears. They sang out again, and again, and again.

  Have yourself a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light. From now on, our troubles will be out of sight.

  The collection of board members around the table were back in their seats. It was clear, by the looks on their faces, they were enthralled with the spook show treat laid out before their eyes. Each attendee knew they were witnessing the fate of mankind, the new evolution of the human being, the perfect storm we brewed in Petri dishes and lab rats. And as Zombie Santa was about to unwrap its first Christmas package and dig into its first holiday meal, the board members around me were drinking the Collective Kool Aid and worshiping at the altar of Armageddon.

  Through the years We all will be together, If the Fates allow.

  The zombie bull-rushed Tab. The two bodies fell, clumsily to the floor — one screaming for help, the other moaning in some sort of post-life ecstasy.

  “Jonathan! Why are you doing this? Help me! This thing is going to kill me!” The man’s voice was pure panic.

  Crack.

  The zombie bashed the man’s head against the floor.

  “Someone … help me.” Tab’s voice was growing weaker.

  Crack.

  Again the skull slapped against the once-white tile of the floor. A hand reached out, hoping to grab purchase on something, anything. It found nothing.

  Crack.

  The body went limp.

  I looked upon my subjects as they stared on in a mixture horror and blood lust. The thirst for power swept over the crowd.
The switch had been flipped. Fear made desire.

  Hang a shining star upon the highest bough. And have yourself A merry little Christmas now.

  The next sound was a wet, slurping symphony. The zombie had its gift unwrapped and was enjoying the sweet meats within. Members of the audience were practically standing on the table to watch the hunched-over monster digging into the brain pan of a man who was once a brilliant colleague. When the zombie finally stood up, gray matter clung to its lower jaw as it roared its thankful approval for the gifts it had received.

  Applause rang out within the room, sealing mankind’s fate. My life’s work, nay dream, was given wings and allowed to fly. With the acceptance of my peers came the green light to move forward to the next phase of what I was called The Great Cleansing.

  The monster ran at the window and began another round of pounding at the Plexi. We had all seen enough of my morbid nativity. As the wall descended, hiding from sight the screaming beast, the audience reseated themselves and began discussing the possibilities that lie ahead.

  The wait staff drifted in, on silent feet, carrying trays of pure delight — our own Christmas meal. Before the first course began, I stood to make one final speech.

  “Thank you again for attending this special occasion. What you have witnessed is only the beginning. In a matter of weeks the world’s population will be greatly reduced and the remaining humans will be desperate for salvation. That salvation will have a price. The wheels of commerce will briefly stop, but as Christmas time rolls around, capitalism will have a new savior — The Zero Day Collective!” As the last word rang from my mouth, I held a glass of wine aloft in a toast. The entire table joined me with a joyous hurrah.

  “Merry Christmas to all!” I shouted above the excitement.

  And so I’m offering this simple phrase, to kids from one to ninety-two, although it’s been said many times, many ways, Merry Christmas to you.