Zombies vs Polar Bears: Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse, Book 5

by E. E. Isherwood

  I think there are people in those beds.

  She looked down at the door, and considered whether she could get it open so she could take a closer look. Surely the nurses wouldn't mind some extra help, would they?

  There were no light on. At all.

  Something wasn't right.

  The nurses walked among the patients, though some moved faster than others. That alone gave her pause. The night shift should have fewer nurses, not more. She counted five.

  A different research project?

  Her pupils grew larger and the data coming in became even more detailed.

  The nurses weren't dressed like nurses. They were in civilian clothes.

  She thought she could see a face. It was glistening.

  It fell into place like the final pieces of a complex jigsaw puzzle.

  The odd movements. The lurches. The searching behavior. The wetness on their heads. On their necks.

  Oh God, no.

  There were zombies in the room. It suddenly made sense. The zombies were walking among the test subjects—they were left in there. The nearest body on the bed was still strapped in. It was too dark to see any facial details, but there was definitely a restraint over their mouth. It could be the fear she felt, but she thought the test subjects were squirming.

  Whatever was going on inside, she wanted nothing to do with it.

  She looked down the hallway, found it clear, then looked once more into the room.

  A zombie face appeared in the window of the door.

  She froze.

  In the moonlight she watched as it appeared to sniff the door and cock its head like it was listening for something. The filth on its face wasn't visible in the terrible light, but when it licked the glass she could see the disgusting film that had to be red.

  She prayed it would leave the door so she could escape unnoticed. She hadn't even brought her gun. There wasn't supposed to be any threat inside the walls. On the spot she decided from that day onward she was going to take a gun into the shower with her.

  With a loud snort, the zombie moved out of her field of view. She was just about to move when something told her to stay still. Almost as she resolved to keep her feet planted, the zombie came back to the window—as if it were playing a game with her.

  Sensing nothing new, it left faster the second time.

  She ran. First to the stairs, then down a few steps.

  No. Liam would go up. I know he would. I can't let him down.

  With great effort she spun on her heels, and trod upward.

  6

  The third floor was also the top level. She was dismayed to face a set of closed doors when she reached the top. The crazy thing was the lack of adequate security. If there were zombies afoot, experiment or not, there should be Army tanks surrounding the building. That's how she'd do it, if asked.

  Well, V, do you leave this place and get a good night's rest, or pull the doors and find out what's going on up here? Your call.

  She argued with herself for many minutes. At one point she was convinced she was better off leaving, but an image of Grandma Marty popped in her head. If Grandma was inside those doors, and there was something she could do about it, by God she needed to go inside.

  At last, she made up her mind to do it. She pressed on the door latch to try to get the twin doors to open just enough to let her through, but they made a loud squeaking sound when she moved them even a little bit. Years of misuse must have made them less than optimal.

  Get it over with, silly.

  She pulled one of the doors and slipped through. It was impossible to keep the door from coming back to the closed position, and when it did, the noise echoed in the interior hallway. A curse word was on the tip of her tongue, but she managed to hold it in.

  The top floor had one long hallway running end to end. She was roughly in the middle. Moonlight fell into both ends—it reflected off the trees and other buildings. If nothing else it provided her a framework from which to search the floor. She had all night.

  The first few rooms nearest the stairwell were filled with beds, but they were most definitely empty. They may have been overflow for the research on the floor below.

  One room had the soft glow she associated with computer screens. She peeked in through the window on the door and confirmed her suspicions. A bank of monitors glowed with the motion of a dozen rudimentary screen savers.

  After a quick look inside to ensure there weren't any guards asleep at their desk, she looked both ways in the hallway and then tried the doorway. It swung open without the faintest sound.

  Oh sure, now I get the quiet door.

  There was a small click when it shut behind her, but if no one came running for the larger doors, they weren't coming for that one. She took a seat in the nearest chair and pulled the nearest keyboard. She clicked a letter to see which screen saver kicked off. The closest monitor lit up with a live video feed. It had a little indicator near the bottom which displayed “recording.”

  She studied it for a minute, until it made sense. The camera was displaying the room downstairs. The false light of the computer made it easy to see the five zombies walking among the beds, but also the faces on the people laying there. Most were in states of horror. They shook. They quaked. They were likely screaming for help under their gags. It was horrible to watch, though it wasn't clear at all what the purpose of the experiment might have been.

  She jiggled the mouse of another computer and the display monitor showed another room with just a few people tied into their beds. It was much darker there, but she had a feeling she knew the identities of those people—or at least their ages.

  My butt they sent them all home.

  In quick succession she got all the video monitors working. Room after room showed beds in darkened rooms. Some were like hospital wards with many beds, but most only displayed a few beds. One showed a scene with two beds in a small room.

  It caught her eye because of the box sitting on the floor between the two of them. It was something she recognized.

  Her stomach dipped, ducked, and then dodged a little.

  “No. No. No,” she whispered.

  She moved over to that computer and jostled the mouse around. After some trial and error she found what she was looking for: the controls for the camera.

  Within moments she had readjusted the camera and saw her photo album lying on Casey's bed.

  Oh my God. No.

  Working the controls she rewound the tape. The live feed dropped to the corner of the screen, unaffected by what she was doing in the main portion of the window.

  It went back far enough she could see herself just before she tossed the book. She didn't want to relive that, so she rewound it even further.

  Soon it showed her and Liam early yesterday morning, near her bed.

  Oh no. Please.

  There they were…

  She backed it up angrily. Whoever watched this tape was a pervert, she knew that for absolutely certain. This was the only way something so innocent could be ruined forever as part of someone's voyeuristic recording. She would have deleted it right on the spot, but she suspected there could be a clue as to the origin if she watched from the beginning. Maybe whoever set it up would be sloppy at the outset. It suddenly made sense why all her food had been taken...

  It only took a few minutes to reach the end of the tape, which was the beginning of the recording. At the starting point she hit play so she could watch the moment the thing came online.

  The scene showed her dorm room under the harsh light of electric lighting. There was no timestamp, though she could tell by how fast it rewound that it couldn't have been more than a few days. The date blinked “1969” like it had never been set.

  A person walked across the screen—in her dorm room. That person was involved in setting all this up. She slumped in her chair, sure she knew who it was. Someone she was praying she'd never see again.

  Behind her, the voice belonging to that person startled
her onto her feet.

  “Hello, Vicky.”

  No. No. NO!

  Chapter 12: Antique Tanks

  Liam and his teammates approached the Tiger tanks with great caution. He had hoped it would be as easy as walking up, hopping in, and driving away, but he was pretty sure it wouldn't be that simple. Nothing was, these days.

  The tanks weren't sleek and modern-looking like the M1 Abrams tanks which were the mainstay of popular American culture—both from movies and news broadcasts from wars overseas. These were boxy and angular, with flat sides and rectangular plates which covered the treads on each side. Two big exhausts hugged the back side, and the large turret on the top held the deadly gun toward the front. Liam fought against the urge to run up and climb all over one of them like playground equipment...

  “Well, this is what we came to get,” Jason said as they walked along the backside of the building.

  “You think someone is guarding them?” Lana asked.

  Liam said nothing, but kept his eyes on the windows near the tanks. Someone was here in the last twelve hours, at a minimum. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

  “Maybe, but we called this in. They'll be expecting us if they're up there, just as Liam said. We might as well act like we own the place.”

  Liam had discussed this pickup with Hans. The man seemed anxious to help and said he was doing it because he really wanted what was coming to him after he was left behind. The tanks were his, and he'd get them. Thus, he needed Liam and the others to follow through on their end by hoofing it to the tanks, and bringing them back to him. He was very forthcoming overall, though he admitted he couldn't predict who, if anyone, would be at the drop. Also, Hans gave no clue how an elderly man would be able to operate the tanks, much less climb into one...

  “Lower your weapons,” a man called out from a second floor window. Liam couldn't see him, but it sounded like it came from right on top of the tanks. “We've got you. Just come in nice and slow and no one gets hurt, right?”

  A man in dark tactical gear walked out of the building, near the far tank. He had the mannerisms and dress code of a professional soldier. His swagger as he approached Jason was apparent.

  “My men have you bracketed. Don't bother doing nuthin' stupid, m'kay? We're just here as a precaution. Heard the gunshot earlier and figured that's where you'd be coming from.”

  Liam's blood pressure soared as he tried to be casual. Though they didn't wear uniforms, he recognized the man's appearance as matching the men Duchesne traveled with. Both back on that bridge over the highway and when they were carrying his boat down at the riverfront. Plus, he'd seen plenty of bodies in the Riverside Hotel with matching equipment. Sort of a cross between ninja and infantryman. He figured the NIS was involved in this, but seeing them in person again rattled him.

  Jason pushed his rifle on its sling back over his shoulder, then extended an arm to shake the man's hand.

  “Ah, no thanks. We don't take chances with the plague,” he laughed quietly. “I appreciate the offer. My name is...Cliff Hammerich. My team is on overwatch. Others are...about. We're the lead team in this sector of the city, now.”

  “Got ya, Cliff. We had trouble with a strange zombie back there. Thanks for shooting it for us.”

  “That wasn't us. There are many holdouts in these warehouses. Came here thinking they'd live large off metric tons of food, but instead found this area is mostly dedicated to the construction industry. Not too many left, I'd guess. But at least one, huh?”

  Jason nodded. “Well, I'm surprised they got you pulling duty for a simple delivery like this. Old man Grubmeyer sent us down here without many instructions, though, so we didn't really know what to expect.”

  “Understood. We've been informed by Control that since this is the first deployment, and a bit earlier than expected, we needed to have a strike team here to ensure there were no problems.” He laughed, but it was still measured and low in volume. Like he thought zombies were somewhere near. “We halfway expected him to show up. You know they are kind of pissed the old codger didn't make it to safety when he was told.”

  “I think he hopes to ride it out until the convoy gets here, you know?”

  “Don't we all. Things can finally get going once we have all our friends in town.”

  He turned away when another soldier—a tall, beefy blonde-haired woman who looked like she'd lived her life alternately in the gym and in fistfights—stood in the doorway of the building. That gave Jason a chance to face his team, as well.

  “You all know what to do. Check out your tanks so we can get out of here and leave these guys to do their job.” His eyes fell on Liam with a knowing look.

  Stay sharp.

  Liam climbed up the front of the first Tiger. Since he was technically not part of the Polar Bears operational unit, he wasn't designated to operate the heavy machine. His “job” was to sit in the turret and stay safe. Lana climbed up after him. Her job, to his astonishment, was to drive.

  “I thought you were going to be with me?” he whispered.

  “Change of plan. Me and Jason are the drivers. And—”

  He looked up when she stopped herself. She was watching something happening on the ground.

  The man who was attacked by the Arizona was pushing and shoving against the man trying to help him along. He'd been bloodied almost as much as the red-head, but none of it looked life threatening or even that painful. More like bumps and bruises from the initial jump on top of him.

  The man became even more agitated as Liam watched.

  “Calm down, Dean, damn!” said the man trying to keep him under control. But Dean continued to push and pull, eventually breaking free. The commotion now had the attention of everyone who could see it.

  “I can't do this. I'm...” He hit himself in the head a few times. A few steps and he was well clear of the other man. That guy held his ground, maybe sensing that the time to grab him had passed.

  Dean screamed for a wild-eyed few seconds, then took off along the wall of the building, away from them all.

  Liam wondered if anyone would give chase, but everyone seemed too stunned.

  Cliff walked back to Jason, but spoke loud enough they could all understand him. “Is anyone going to tell me what just happened?”

  Something new.

  2

  “He must have been bitten or scratched by that zombie that fell on him.” Jason said it, but he slowly turned to the red-head woman who was also part of the scrum. Though her face was covered in smeared-off blood, she seemed the model of calm compared to Dean.

  “What?” she said when Jason faced her.

  “You feeling OK, Annie?”

  “If you mean do I feel like going for a jog in the zombie railyard of death, the answer is no. I feel like staying right here.” She pointed to the ground beneath her feet.

  Jason strode next to her. “Did you get bitten? Where'd all that blood come from?”

  “This ain't my blood Jace, trust me. That thing splashed its own juices on me when it pushed me over.”

  She used her sleeves to wipe more of the drying blood from the edges of her face where it still remained. Jason studied her up close, then seemed satisfied. “Let me know if you get any, um, urges, like Dean.”

  With a quiet laugh they all went back to their tasks, though it left Liam with many doubts since Annie was supposed to be in the turret with him.

  The plan was to have one driver in each tank, with the other two people riding as passengers in the safety of the turret, keeping an eye out for trouble. The turret was designed to have had three people in it, so two would be roomy. But now they were a man down... Lana and Jason moved to the second Tiger, discussing their manpower shortage, while Liam sat on the front edge of his tank and was vigilant in his search for zombies.

  None showed up, for which he was glad, but Cliff came over and leaned against the industrial gray tank.

  “Hell of a thing, this tank.” His eyes bore into Liam's. He wen
t almost all the way to panic mode, sure the man knew who he was. What he did.

  Cool, Liam. Play it cool. He's only an NIS baddy, not a mind-reader.

  He decided to stick to the truth. “I wish I was old enough to drive one of these.”

  “Didn't the old man tell you all how to drive? That's the hardest part. But back when this girl was new, it was crewed by boys not any older than you. What are you, seventeen? Eighteen?”

  “Seventeen.” The lie came out easily because he'd declared to Victoria he was skipping sixteen.

  “Yeah, see. Young soldiers back then fought and died for years in the war. This tank would have been safer than most, mind you, at least until later in the war. Here, in the Final War, you'd have similar safety. The dead can't exactly shoot guns, can they?”

  They both looked to the right, following a noise that had come from that way. He saw nothing, though Dean had gone that direction.

  “And let me tell you, these old tanks aren't what they used to be. This thing couldn't hold off an M1 Abrams for five seconds, but it can hold its own against most everything else that you'll get from the ground here in the city. We've added some upgrades.” He laughed dryly. “And made it easier for kids like you to drive them around. The wizards added modern electronics to this antique.”

  He thought about how he could broach an important topic. Something someone “in the know” would naturally assume was coming from a fellow NIS traveler.

  “So did the old man keep his tanks down in the Koch Hospital Quarry?”

  The mine had to be crawling with zombies. Liam really wanted to know how anyone could get back in there, clear them out, and then load tanks on railroad cars. But the answer he sought didn't come.

  “No, these two were parked somewhere else.”

  His chat was interrupted by his mom. She passed in front of them, then jumped up on the tank with impressive athleticism.

  “OK, we've got this figured out. Liam, you'll still be in the turret. Annie will join you. I'll drive.”

  On the other tank, Jason climbed into the circular hatch on the middle deck, near the front. His mom opened the driver's hatch for her tank, allowing him to look down at a confusing array of dials, levers, and a funny-looking steering wheel.