Zombie Attack! Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Devan Sagliani

  “This doesn't look good,” I said, stating the obvious. “You got a second backup plan?”

  “Not exactly,” Benji said. “I wasn't expecting this.”

  “What should I do?” He turned back and stared at Moto, looking for direction.

  “There's nothing we can do,” Moto said, looking frustrated. “We can't outrun their bikes, and if we try to drive through them we'll be turned into Swiss cheese.”

  “What if we put it in reverse?” I suggested, feeling anew the panic rise up inside of me. I knew if Franco got his hands on us again we'd be lucky to just be hung or shot. More than likely he'd use us to quell the rebellion against him, then torture us all during his cruel experiments. After what I'd seen him do to Haki, I was scared stiff for Benji.

  “I don't think that option is available to us any longer,” Moto sighed. I whipped my head around to see John leading a pack of angry Blackshirts in our direction. Many of them had dirt covering their arms and faces, with blood oozing from fresh cuts and scrapes. We definitely weren't going to get any kind of compassion from a troop of armed men we'd just ambushed.

  “There has to be a way,” I shouted, waving my arms in near hysteria. “We can't just let them take us again! You know what they will do.”

  “What other choice do we have?” Moto asked. “We still have value in staying alive for the moment. John will want to hand us over to Franco to regain favor with him, especially after what just happened with Tank.”

  “I'll die before I let that happen,” Benji said. “I'd rather go down fighting, than give him the satisfaction of killing me – or worse.”

  “Agreed,” Moto said without hesitation. “It's going to be all about finding the right moment to make a last stand.”

  “What if that moment doesn't come?” I asked.

  “It will,” Moto assured me. “Remember, these men aren't trained warriors. Most of them are common thugs, street hoods, and hooligans. They may look like a huge force united against us, but the one thing they all have in common is their distaste for rules and authority. When the going gets rough they always revert back to every man for himself. You'll see.”

  “Let's just hope John can keep them from doing something stupid until our big moment happens,” I said, anxiously looking from face to dirty face. They looked eager for mayhem, wild and unruly and ready to do damage.

  “Amen,” Moto agreed. “In the meantime don't give them an excuse. We want them to think we're defeated, ready to cooperate. It's the only way we'll get a chance at all.”

  “Got it,” Benji said at once, nodding his head. I nodded as well.

  “Good,” Moto said. “Now hands up. Here they come.”

  John was now at the driver's side door, opening it and pulling Benji out. He kept his hands up in surrender. Blackshirts swarmed around the vehicle with automatic weapons trained on Moto and me. Acidic panic washed over me in waves as I waited for them to begin firing at us.

  “On your knees,” John said, ordering Benji to a spot in front of him. “And the rest of you join him at once or die.”

  Moto gave me a dark look, reminding me to mind my tongue, before complying. I followed him out of the Jeep, hands up. We both knelt in front of John who looked too frazzled to even enjoy his moment of victory.

  “Good,” John said, sounding tired. “Now stay there and don't move. If you so much as scratch an itch my men will fill you with more lead than a pencil.”

  He turned and walked toward the sound of the roaring motors, his Blackshirts leaning in attentively with their weapons as he left, waiting for a reason to slaughter us. The wall of bikers parted like a curtain and out walked a tall woman in fine clothing, her face covered by a stylish hat. There was something familiar about her that sent chills up my spine. She reached up and removed her hat, erasing any doubt I might have had about who she was. It was the Head Mistress of Hellfire. John took her in his arms and they kissed like lovers who'd been separated too long. They turned and he held her hand as they walked back over to us.

  “So,” she said with a smirk, leveling her gaze at me. “We meet again, young Xander. It's been a long and difficult hunt you've led us on, but it's ended as predictably as I promised, with you and your friends on your knees, once more my captive. No one ever gets away from me. You could have saved us all a lot of trouble if you'd just understood that from the start.”

  “Who are you?” Benji asked, looking up at her in amazement.

  “You need to learn some manners,” she spat angrily, turning her attention to him. “I wasn't speaking to you, was I?”

  John reached out and put his hand on her arm and she calmed instantly, a gentle smile returning to her face.

  “I suppose it's your fault,” she said cloyingly to John. “For not properly introducing me.”

  “Listen up, dirt bags,” John said, beaming with pride. “This is my wife, Desdemona.”

  Chapter Ten

  “You're the one who killed Airi,” I said coldly. “Don't try to deny it. I saw her body, or what was left of it, back at the circus.”

  “She disobeyed me,” Desdemona said plainly. “She understood the consequences of her decision. She was to keep watch over you, and let me know right away if anything out of the ordinary happened.”

  “That's what she did,” I protested.

  “After you were gone, she admitted that she'd taken the gag from your mouth and spoken to you,” Desdemona explained. “I knew right then and there I could no longer trust her, that she had grown emotionally unstable, and that she was of a lesser mettle than I desired at Hellfire.”

  “So she wasn't good enough to be your slave and entertain these savages because she had a single moment of sympathy?” I could feel Moto burning a hole in the side of my face with the look he was giving me, but I didn't care. The girl had done nothing wrong, other than having the unfortunate duty of guarding me, and it had cost her her life.

  “Despite appearances to the contrary, my clients prefer girls of the highest caliber,” Desdemona responded patiently, as if she were explaining big business to a small child. “The ones I select to represent me at Hellfire are handpicked for their personal charms, their discretion, and their loyalty. After all, they are a reflection of me, the Head Mistress in charge of providing luxury companionship. Hellfire is my church and the lucky courtesans within that holy sanctuary are like different religions, all leading to a greater experience of the divine, all tongues speaking forgotten truths of bliss. I have no use for girls with bleeding hearts who can't follow orders at my house of worship – only goddesses.”

  “But it wasn't her fault! Can't you see that?”

  “What I saw was a skittish young girl looking for a way out,” Desdemona cruelly laughed. “So I gave it to her. I brought purpose and meaning to her life for one shining moment. Believe it or not, she was never very popular at Hellfire. She was too withdrawn, too innocent and meek for their tastes. The night I set her free under the big top she was a crowd favorite from start to finish. Her death was cheered by over a hundred screaming fans. She lasted much longer than they usually do, earning herself great glory as she died. I was surprised by how proud she made me in the end. I didn't think she had it in her.”

  “What are you planning on doing with us?” Moto asked as I fell silent, taking in the horror of Desdemona's words.

  “We're gonna keep you safe and sound for now,” John said. “Don't you worry about that. You're our new insurance policy on account of Franco saying he's got something extra special planned for you because of all the trouble you've gone and caused. I'm not sure what it is, but I can imagine it won't be nearly as clean and painless a death as hanging is supposed to be.”

  “And just how long do you think that will buy you with him?” Moto asked, turning to stare up at John from his knees.

  “Why, whatever do you mean, soldier?”

  “Don't play dumb, John,” Moto said sharply. “I've seen the way Franco talks to you in front of everyone, including your ow
n men. He's got no respect for you at all. You're not partners. You're his lap dog, sent to do his errands. Look at how quickly he turned on your good pal, Tank. It was like he was just waiting for an excuse to get rid of him. How long before he does the same to you when you're least expecting it?”

  “He won't,” John said a little too quickly, but it was clear he was worried about that exact thing. Moto was working his nerves, and it was starting to show.

  “What makes you think you're different?”

  “Not that I need to explain myself to you,” John sneered, growing more impatient at the perceived need to defend himself. “But just for your information, there were a lot of incidents with Tank since I brought him back, any one of which would be cause for concern. Let's just say that Tank didn't have the type of personality that lends itself to politics. He didn't understand how things worked. The man could no longer see the big picture. All he cared about was getting revenge. No, what happened to Tank, while unfortunate, was sadly inevitable. I understand that now. If anything, Franco showed great restraint.”

  “You sure you're not just saying that because you're surrounded by his armed guards right now?” Moto taunted. “Because you sound like you're trying to convince yourself just as much as me.”

  “For a guy who's got one foot in the grave, you sure love to run your mouth off, don't you?” John said, turning and winking at his wretched wife. Desdemona let out a false high laugh that made my nerves stand on edge. A murmur of forced chuckles rippled through the men as well.

  “I'm willing to make you a deal,” Moto continued, undaunted.

  “Now this I've got to hear,” John crowed.

  “Lay down your weapons and go, and I won't hunt you down and kill you when this is all over,” Moto said in a slow clear voice. For a moment I couldn't believe my ears. Apparently neither could John. He shook his head from side to side like a dog trying to get water out of its ears. Desdemona's face pulled back into a wide smile as she leered unblinking at my brother. It was far scarier than any other face I'd seen her make.

  “Come again?” John said at last. “I don't believe I heard you correctly.”

  Laughter rang out all around us, from the Blackshirts to the bikers. In fact, it seemed like we were the only ones not amused.

  “I'm going to speak as plainly as I can so you don't misunderstand me,” Moto said, unfazed by the jeering all around him. “You're a coward. Always have been and always will be. You fancy yourself a great leader, but you're just a guy who likes to look like the big shot for making all the calls. When it actually comes down to getting your hands dirty, you get someone else to do it. It's why you had Tank around, and it's why you worked so hard trying to turn my little brother to your side.”

  “Go on,” John laughed. “I can't wait to hear where this is going. I had no idea you were a comedian, but this is some good material.”

  Moto waited for the laughter to die down before continuing.

  “You haven't thought this all through, but I have,” Moto explained. “Soon reinforcements will come, the closest from Edwards, sure, but as I explained they'll want to make an example out of Franco. When they get here they'll burn him to the ground, and anyone who stands by his side. Think about that. They'll surround you from land and sea and push in until every last member of the coup is dead, including you and your wife. If you leave now and head back north you'll have a chance of escaping. I'll even put in a word with the new general about how you cooperated and switched sides at the end. Who knows? If you keep running you might be able to get so far away they'll never find you, all the way up into Canada. I hear up there they take any refugees willing to submit to clean tests and work the land.”

  “Let me just get this straight,” John teased. “You want me to put down my weapons and just run away to live on a kibbutz in Canada? Is that what you're seriously suggesting? That's too funny for words.”

  “It beats living in Franco's shadow,” Moto fired back. “Waiting for him to decide you're no longer any use to him alive. You've seen the type of man he really is today. Does he strike you as the kind of man who actually keeps his promises? Or even remembers making them?”

  “I'll take my chances,” John sneered. “Oh and in case you haven't noticed, you're the one on your knees now, defeated and begging for your life. Not me! You think you're better than the rest of us, better than everyone else because you fight for the weak and protect the innocent, but that's all just a lie you tell yourself to feel superior over everyone. The truth is, you're just a slave. You do what men more powerful than you order you to do, and you call it justice, constrained by your own false sense of morality in a world gone mad. You're weak and weakness has no real place in this world anymore, not since Z Day. It's men like me, men like Franco, men who don't let morals get in the way of doing what needs to be done for the greater good of all, who will shape the future.”

  “Just remember that I gave you a chance,” Moto said, sounding like a district attorney trying to cut a plea bargain with a petty criminal in an old television crime drama. “When you see the first rows of the Unified Armed Forces marching in unison toward you, leading thousands on to corner and kill you like a rat, remember I gave you a way out, fair and square, a chance to save you and your wife, and you threw it away.”

  “You know what?” John leaned over and put his face right in front of Moto. “You're every bit as annoying as your little brother. I can see where he gets it from now.”

  “Thanks,” I smirked.

  “I think it's time we gave them a demonstration, my love,” Desdemona sang sweetly. “Perhaps a front row seat to the big show will give them a taste of just how we plan on dealing with anyone who tries to get in our way.”

  “I couldn't agree more,” John said. “Bring over the cage!”

  There was a loud beeping sound as a huge flatbed tow truck came past the first row of bikers, backing up toward us. John put his fingers in his mouth and let out a loud whistle, signaling the driver to stop. The cage rattled as the truck came to a halt.

  “You two,” John said, pointing to a couple of greasy-looking Blackshirts with visible tattoos on their necks and hands. “Help us up.”

  They look like John’s followers from New Lompoc, I thought, only he’s disguised them to look like Franco’s treasonous recruits so they’d blend in here. But why?

  The two soldiers helped John and Desdemona up and onto the platform. John swung the cage door open and Desdemona walked in.

  “Bring them up now,” John ordered.

  Without pause, several Blackshirts pulled us to our feet and shoved us to the back of the tow truck. John’s men were already on the back of the truck, hands reaching down to help us up. The guy who grabbed my hand had a swastika visible on the webbed skin of his right hand between his thumb and forefinger. I stared at it in shock, all doubt erased from my mind that he was from New Lompoc. I opened my mouth to say something, but he silenced me with a wink – shoving me hard and forward into the cage, then following me. Benji and Moto were escorted into the cage by the other impostor soldier, with John following close behind. John pulled on the gate of the massive cage and shut it behind him. It clanged shut with a scary finality. Reaching through the bars, John clicked the heavy metal padlock together, and removed the key. He unfastened a silver chain from his neck, looped it through the hole in the key, then tucked it back into his shirt for safekeeping.

  Why is he locking himself in with us? I wondered. What's going on?

  “Take their weapons and search them,” John commanded. His men moved quickly between us, patting us down and taking away my katana. They discovered a knife Benji had slipped into his boot and took that as well, handing it to John. He turned it over in his fingers, examining the blade as it sparkled in the sun.

  “Is everything in place?” John asked Desdemona.

  “Do you really need to ask me, of all people?” she replied, cocking her head to the side.

  “No, I don't,” John admitted. “It
's just one of the things I love most about you.”

  “Whatever you have to show us,” Moto said, “it won't change anything.”

  “That's where you're wrong,” John said. “It's going to change everything in a way you can't imagine. Hope you like surprises, because this is a good one.”

  Desdemona threw her head back and let out a high-pitched cackle, reminding me of an evil witch working on a potion over a boiling cauldron.

  “Release the dead,” John yelled at the top of his lungs. The other bikers around him parroted it back to him, revving their engines and roaring around the remaining Blackshirts in menacing loops. The small cluster of Franco's soldiers pulled together, guns swinging wildly back and forth between different bikers, each waiting for the other to start shooting.

  “What are you doing?” Moto questioned him in surprise.

  “Isn't it obvious?” John asked with a big smile.

  “You're double crossing Franco,” I said, my mouth falling open in shock.

  Amidst the chaos, I heard a chorus of low moaning drawing near. Almost immediately after that I caught the scent of putrid, rotting flesh.

  “You can't just unleash an army of zombies on the base,” Moto said. “They'll kill everyone, including your men!”

  “All my men are safe here with me, or back behind the roaring engines,” John laughed. “Who do you think is driving these biters forward?”

  “What about the guys outside this cage on bikes?” I asked. “What if they go down and get bitten?”

  “Then I'll have them turned back,” John said. “Look, kid, the first thing I'm going to do once the base falls is round up all the new recruits to my zombie army and inspect them top to bottom. I'm going to want to pick the best ones to give the new serum to and place on the front lines when reinforcements come, right? If any of my guys are among them, I'll simply give them the antidote and bring 'em back, providing they’re not more trouble than they're worth.”