Zombiemandias (Book 0): After the Bite

by David Lovato

  “You’re in no position to ask them,” Tate said. The man laughed.

  “Have you not seen? I have your commanding officer on his knees with a gun to his head. We waste time. My friend has been bitten.”

  “Bitten?” Chancellor said.

  “One of our own. He dropped his gun and started biting.”

  “Is that who you were shooting at?”

  “Muslims are not to kill Muslims. We only hoped to scare him.”

  “Where is he?” Wilk asked.

  “…We failed to scare him. I will pay the price later. Right now I must help my other brothers.”

  And just like that, things changed. The man clutching his wrist turned to the one nearest him and bit into his throat. He screamed for only a second before his mouth filled with blood, and he fell to the street. The other combatants turned to him, and Tate and Wilk moved. They rushed to McCready and raised their guns. Two of the men dropped their weapons, but one raised his. Wilk shot him, and the man dropped. Their leader turned back, but by then McCready was on his feet, raising a pistol to his head. The man frowned as he dropped his guns and raised his hands.

  “What kind of soldiers are you to take advantage of a medical crisis?”

  “I see no medical crisis,” Chancellor said.

  “See what you think when your men start biting each other.”

  McCready looked down. The man who had been bitten was dead, and the one who had bitten him was eating him.

  “Kill him,” Tate said to their leader.

  “What?”

  “Raise your gun and kill him. The one eating your friend.”

  “Tate, shut up,” McCready said. “I’ll do it.”

  “I suppose I should thank you,” the man said.

  “What’s your name?” McCready asked him.

  “Abu Abdullah Jasim al-Aaqil.”

  “Taliban?”

  “Local police.”

  “Oh, what the fuck?” Tate said. “Aren’t you supposed to be on our side?”

  “All we knew was that someone was shooting outside of our homes. It is dark, things get confusing.”

  “We can worry about that later,” McCready said. He raised his gun to the head of the man eating the other and fired. “Can I call you Jasim?”

  “That is not my name.”

  “Humor me. For time’s sake.”

  “Very well.”

  “You guys are our prisoners,” McCready said. Jasim frowned again.

  “We’ve done nothing but defend our homes. I need to return to mine, my wife and my son—”

  “Should’ve thought of that before you shot at us,” Tate said. “Give me your guns. Come on, now.”

  They did so.

  “Turn around,” McCready said. “Put your hands on your head, all three of you.”

  McCready began marching the men down the street.

  “Any of you others speak—”

  A shot rang out and Chancellor’s head exploded. The six living men ducked before his body hit the dirt.

  “Shit!” Tate said.

  “There!” McCready said. He pointed to a hovel that was missing most of its top floor, and was likely to be empty. Another shot rang out, and a pock mark appeared in the earth by McCready’s foot.

  “Sniper!” Wilk said.

  “One of yours?” McCready asked, guiding Jasim with one hand and holding a gun with the other.

  “If they were, would they be shooting at us? It’s the Taliban.”

  They reached the hovel and Jasim shoulder-charged the door, knocking it in with ease. The place was a mess, but empty of people. The six men filed inside, the Americans shoving the Arabs into the place and then crouching beside the windows. Tate shut the door.

  “We don’t have time for this shit!” he said. “We have to get to the extraction point!”

  “I fucking know that, Tate,” McCready said. Their own sniper had been killed hours before. They were hopeless. Wilk peered out of a window, and the sill exploded. He ducked back into the hovel.

  “What do we do?”

  “Are any of you sharpshooters?” McCready asked.

  “I am,” one of the men said.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Qareem.”

  “Qareem, if I give you a rifle, you’re not going to turn it on me, are you?”

  “Why should I not?”

  “We just want to get home, same as you,” McCready said.

  “Then let us,” Jasim said.

  The third man started shouting in Arabic.

  “What the fuck’s he saying?” McCready said. Tate listened.

  “He says, uh—”

  “He says it’s happening again,” Jasim said. He pointed.

  Through the broken back window they could see into an alley. A group of people was feasting on two bodies on the ground.

  “What the fuck is this shit?” Tate said.

  “We can’t stay here, they can walk right in,” McCready said. He turned back to Qareem. “If you take out that sniper, all three of you are free to go.” Qareem laughed.

  “What good is being free to go if my soul is condemned? I will not kill a Muslim.”

  “He would’ve killed you,” Tate said.

  “No matter,” Qareem said.

  Tate started toward him.

  “Tate, no,” McCready said. Tate grabbed Qareem by his shirt and lifted him up. “That’s an order!”

  Tate looked at him, sighed, and shoved Qareem back down.

  “I’ll do it,” Jasim said.

  “How good a shot are you?”

  “Good enough, I hope. I’m already condemned. And now I just want to see my son’s beautiful eyes again.”

  “Wilk, you still have Orson’s rifle?”

  “Yeah,” Wilk said. He swung the gun from his back and slid it across the floor to McCready. McCready emptied it of all but one bullet and handed it to Jasim. Jasim took the gun.

  “What if I miss?”

  “I’ll give you another bullet. One at a time, until the sniper’s gone.”

  It didn’t take more than one shot. Jasim crawled to the window, placed the barrel of the gun on the sill, looked down the sight for a moment, and then fired. The gunshots stopped, but the third man started shouting in Arabic again.

  “They heard the shot,” Qareem said. The people from the alley were climbing into the window at the back of the hovel.

  “We need to leave,” Wilk said.

  “We can’t,” McCready said. “We don’t know how many more there are.”

  Qareem got to his feet and helped his friend up, and they started for the door. Tate raised his gun to them. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “We were promised,” Qareem said. Jasim handed the rifle to Wilk on his way to the door.

  “Don’t move,” Tate said. Wilk began firing his pistol at the people entering the house.

  “Help us,” McCready said. Jasim laughed.

  “Why? You’ve agreed to let us go. Why would I kill more brothers for you?”

  “Whatever these are, they aren’t Muslims anymore,” McCready said. Qareem opened the door. “They’ll eat you the same as us.”

  “Eaten, shot, it makes no matter. If we die, we die trying.”

  Wilk fired a few more shots, then his gun clicked. McCready turned his rifle to the entryway. They were all low on ammo, and he hadn’t expected… whatever the hell this was.

  “Jasim,” McCready said. “Help us get through town. We’ll give you your guns, we’ll even escort you home.”

  Jasim stopped. Qareem and the third man were already outside.

  “Why?” Jasim said. “Why do you need my help?”

  “I told you,” McCready said. “We just want to get home.” The first of the men from outside entered the room, and McCready fired.

  “All right,” Jasim said. “I’ll help you.”

  McCready tossed him a pistol. Jasim fired at the next man from outside. He and McCready covered Wilk and Tate as th
ey made for the street. Then Jasim covered McCready as he followed.

  “What about your friends?” Wilk said when Jasim exited the hovel, calmly closing the door behind him.

  “They can find their own way home.”

  “They won’t help us?”

  “They have no reason to.”

  “And you do?” Tate said.

  “My reason is named Abdullah. He has hair of silk and eyes of the ocean, and I would very much like to see them again. Get me home.”

  They started off with Jasim leading the way. Shots rang out far away, and all wondered who was shooting and what they were shooting at.

  A man came out from the alley, lunging and Jasim. Jasim stepped aside and the man fell to the dirt. Wilk shot him.

  “Wilk, do have any idea just what the fuck is going on?” McCready said.

  “You want my expert opinion?”

  “I’ll take just about anything.”

  “Sir, if I didn’t know better, I’d say we have a zombie problem.”

  McCready wanted to laugh, but he was just too fucking tired.

  “A madness has befallen them,” Jasim said. “They are dangerous, but they are not smart, not swift. Four men should be able to find a house at the edge of a city. Three men should be able to follow a river to their extraction point.”

  “Hey, how the fuck do you know where our extraction point is?” Tate said. Jasim only chuckled.

  “You have quite a temper, my friend.”

  “I’m not your fucking friend,” Tate said.

  “I never caught your name, my friend.”

  “Tate. Jared Tate. The fuck do you care?”

  “You’re a man, as am I. Like it or not, we’ve saved each other’s lives this night. I’d know the name of the men who brought me to my son.”

  “Wilk.”

  “I’m McCready.” He stopped walking and offered his hand. Jasim looked at it, took it, shook. Then they continued.

  “Ahead,” Jasim said. There was a group of men in the street, most just standing there, some bleeding and wrestling with others.

  “We don’t have much ammo,” Wilk said.

  “We go around, then,” Jasim said. He led them down an alley that ended in a dead end.

  “He tricked us! Motherfucker!” Tate said. “Should we use the C4?”

  Jasim held up a hand.

  “It would seem to me that quiet is our friend on this night, and this is no trick. Over this wall is an alley much like this one. Should we reach the end of it and go left, then walk several blocks and go left again, would we not emerge ahead of that group?”

  McCready looked around, spotted a trash can. He swung his rifle behind him, grabbed it, and dragged it to the wall. He jumped and grabbed the wall and then put a foot on the trash can, trying to keep most of his weight on the wall to keep the can from collapsing. McCready peered over the top and saw another alley. It was empty. He hopped down.

  “He’s right,” he said, and then he saw figures at the end of the alley. “Shit, we need to move, now!”

  The figures approached. Jasim put his gun in his belt and offered his hands, and Tate hopped to the wall, resting his foot in Jasim’s hands. Jasim lifted him to the top, and Tate stood upon it, reaching a hand down.

  “Go, my friend,” Jasim said. McCready turned to Wilk, but Wilk shoved him toward Jasim.

  “You need to stay alive, you’re the one who knows how to get to the extraction point.”

  McCready wasted no time. He hopped up the wall and Jasim gave him a boost. From the top of the wall, Tate reached down and took his hand and hoisted him up. The wall was thin and Tate had to struggle to keep his footing and practically threw McCready to the other side.

  McCready could see only Tate and could hear the other men. He heard a few gunshots.

  “Come on, Wilk!” Tate said. “We have no time!”

  But it was Jasim who came over next. Tate helped him, and that time he did lose his footing. Tate and Jasim tumbled over the wall and landed in the dirt near McCready.

  “Fuck! Wilk!”

  Shots rang out.

  “Get out of here!” Wilk shouted.

  “Wilk, why didn’t you grab my hand!”

  “You guys need Jasim. He’ll get you out of this town. Now fucking go!”

  “We don’t leave men behind!” Tate said. He tried to climb back over the wall, and then Wilk screamed. Tate dropped to the ground and landed on his ass, and McCready could swear his eyes teared up. His own already had.

  “We must go, my friend,” Jasim said. He helped Tate to his feet, and McCready did as well.

  “I’m not leaving him!” Tate said.

  “A man died for you this night,” Jasim said. The gunshots and the screams didn’t stop. “You’ve seen what happens when someone is bitten. The madness takes them. Perhaps we should leave now, and let your friend not die for nothing.”

  They practically had to drag Tate to the end of the alley. It was uphill and difficult, but once Tate rounded the corner, he went easily enough.

  McCready stole a glance back. At this height he could see over the wall, and what he saw only made it hurt worse. Wilk was just now being bitten, had screamed just to convince them to get to safety. McCready was glad Tate hadn’t seen. It would only make it harder on all of them.

  Jasim kept them to back alleys and dark streets. They ran into trouble a few times, but watched each other’s backs. McCready didn’t know how much time had passed. He could swear the sky was getting lighter, but between the fire and his own exhaustion it was difficult to tell.

  “There,” Jasim finally said. He pointed to a hovel. In the distance behind it the hills rolled, sandy and dark, and McCready could see the river. They were so close.

  “That’s yours?” Tate said.

  “Yes, I’m afraid,” Jasim said. There were people wandering the entire street, and the door to Jasim’s home was wide open.

  “Then let’s get to fucking work,” Tate said. He cocked his gun and started firing. The wanderers turned and started toward them, and the three men continued walking and firing. No one came within ten feet of them. They reached Jasim’s door.

  “You’re home, buddy,” Tate said. “Thanks for everything.”

  “We’re going in with you,” McCready said. He had a sinking feeling in his gut.

  “You have no time, my friend. You’ve brought me to my son, for that I can never thank you enough. There’s the river. Go.”

  “Humor me,” McCready said.

  The three men entered the hovel. It was dark. Jasim rushed ahead, past a hall and into the kitchen.

  Then he screamed a tired, painful scream that hurt McCready’s heart worse than anything else that night.

  McCready entered the kitchen. Tate brought up the rear, firing at anything that approached the door.

  McCready looked down, his eyes adjusted to the light. Jasim was kneeling next to a woman’s body. Her throat had been torn out. He held something in his arms, cradling it back and forth, and he screamed again and again, shouting something in Arabic between his cries.

  McCready was out of tears. He saw a little hand dangling from Jasim’s arms, brushing the floor gently, blood dripping down it. McCready saw a tuft of black hair, and when he kneeled down next to Jasim and put his arm on the man’s shoulder, he saw eyes the color of the ocean staring up at the ceiling, dead.

  “Abdullah,” Jasim said. “My beautiful Abdullah. This is my punishment.”

  “No,” McCready said. “This is a tragedy. Nothing more.” Jasim sobbed.

  “Guys, I can’t hold them much longer,” Tate said.

  “Come on, Jasim. We need to leave.”

  “Leave me here,” Jasim said.”

  “We don’t leave men behind,” McCready said.

  “Just let me die with my son.”

  “No,” McCready said. Jasim looked at him. “You live, damn it. You live and you keep him in your heart and you let him live, too. On your feet.”

 
Tate kept firing. He was in the kitchen now.

  “He must be buried,” Jasim said.

  “He will be,” Tate said. He took something from his pack and knelt down, and McCready saw that the hovel and the street beyond were packed with people with vacant eyes. And then he saw Tate stand up with a remote in his hand.

  “Let’s move!” McCready said. Jasim placed the boy’s body down and the two moved toward the back door. Tate followed. They exited the hovel and Tate pressed the button, but nothing happened.

  “What’s wrong?” McCready said.

  “No fucking clue,” Tate said. The people were pouring out of the hovel. Tate turned to McCready. “Get out of here,” he said.

  McCready didn’t have time to speak. Tate rushed toward the hovel, through the mass that began biting him and scratching him, and inside. A moment later the hovel exploded, and bits of bone and stone and blood rained down.

  Only a few of the things remained, and McCready and Jasim took care of them. In the first kisses of sunlight the smoke cleared, and where the hovel once was only a mound of dirt remained.

  The sky grew brighter as the two men walked along the river. They got to the spot McCready had been shown, a very discreet little place where the river expanded into what was almost a little pond before slimming down and continuing on its way. The two men sat at the bank of the river and said nothing, and after a while, when the sun was up over the distant mountains, McCready heard the sound.

  The chopper grew deafening as it dropped down. The door opened, and the soldiers inside looked out.

  “You all that’s left?” one of them said.

  “Yeah,” McCready said. He stood up, and Jasim did as well.

  McCready climbed inside, and then turned around and extended his hand to Jasim. Jasim only looked at it.

  “Come with us,” McCready said.

  “It is not my place,” Jasim said. McCready offered him a smile.

  “Of course it is,” McCready said. “You’re my brother.”

  After a moment, Jasim took McCready’s hand, and McCready pulled him into the chopper. The door shut, and the helicopter lifted off the ground and turned toward the rising sun.

  Concrete Nightmare

  The gigantic blue drum of the cement truck rotated slowly. There was a slight scratching sound emitting from inside, and with every rotation the company logo was brightly displayed. It was a small castle tower with weathered bricks and above it sat the words WATCHTOWER. Below the tower it read CONCRETE CO. The font made the letters look like rocks, and the colors contrasted well with the liquid blue of the drum.