Forest Park: A Zombie Novel

by Jamie Marks

  “But not as you made it.”

  “I made the leap for it that is all. I reduced the time it may have taken in the natural world, not the possibility.”

  “Insanity, pure insanity,” Shapinkov said.

  “I do my duty, just as you do. I should not have to shoulder the responsibilities, or the blame, if you like, for discoveries such as this. Just look around you! Humanity has been raping the natural world for thousands of years; we manipulate it to our advantage, abuse it and discard it. If anyone wishes to attribute blame, let them look deep within themselves first. He who casts the first stone, Aleksandr, so please consider your achievements if you wish to identify them as such. What good have they brought to the world? Or try to be truly honest to yourself; how many sorrows have your achievements caused?”

  “If this hybrid virus was ever used, how would it affect people?” asked Shapinkov, changing the subject.

  The Doctor calmed down and thought about his answer for a moment. “H5N1 causes a massive respiratory collapse, especially in adolescents. You see most young people have an extremely durable immune system, but as you get older, the immune system begins to weaken. So once a person becomes infected by a disease, it’s normally the old and the very young who succumb first. However, H5N1 uses that immune system against itself.”

  “How?” asked Shapinkov.

  “Well, the immune system goes into overdrive to attack the H5N1 virus, and vast amounts of phlegm, which is a by-product of our body’s defense mechanism, like puss under the skin of a pimple, begins to accumulate at a rapid pace, resulting in the body drowning itself after the lungs have filled with phlegm and blood.”

  “How would someone become infected?”

  “Well, how don’t you become infected is more to the point. The MKII virus, in theory, can survive outside of the human body for at least thirty-six hours, while the original source, the MK I, can remain active indefinitely if the conditions are right. A handrail wiped in a solution containing a small dose of MKI could kill thousands people if not millions if unchecked, it’s that contagious and rapid, especially if transferred by direct blood to blood contact, or saliva. However, all you need to do is inhale MKII, that’s why we made MKI airborne.”

  Shapinkov gasped.

  “The simplicity of it all is frightening,” the Doctor said. “The H5N1 virus kills the victim with the typical symptoms of influenza, which is easily passed on from person to person, doctors and nurses, anyone who comes into contact with it, but it’s the MKI element that allows for delayed reanimation. Once a person reanimates this element, it allows for the direct transfer of the virus through violent physical contact. The influenza aspect is removed from the equation when reanimated. Once bitten or scratched, even a small wound will result in infection, and after that, the only thing required from that moment on is time. It’s the reanimation that is the key, when someone has passed, their flesh and bone body will search for another uninfected person to become the next victim. The virus doesn’t sit back and rest on its laurels, it continues to drive infection.”

  “But all you have left is a mindless monster, a soulless man,” added Dr. Vatutan.

  “Something of the person must remain?” said Shapinkov.

  “No, they stop being who they once were; their memories are for all intents and purposes, wiped clean, and they have no loyalty or compassion. The human element is completely removed. The infected are then totally consumed with a need to kill and devour what they once were, they don’t discriminate between friend or foe,” said the Doctor.

  “So now you’ve heard everything. Whether you should have heard it or not, my old friend. You could have dug deeper from Moscow and saved yourself the journey, but as it is, I am surprised you found out enough to find me, let alone the name of the virus. Seriously, and honestly, why have you come? You could’ve, in time, discovered everything for yourself and used it to your advantage. I understand the pressure of fighting for budget increases; the world is becoming an expensive place in this new society.”

  Shapinkov didn’t answer the Doctor, but only reached into his pocket for a packet of cigarettes.

  The Doctor leaned forward and then said, “So tell me, friend, why you’re really here. Be honest, just as I have been with you.”

  THE END OF EXPLANATIONS

  Shapinkov lit a cigarette while the Doctor studied him. “I came to see what is left of my son, he is now one of your soulless men,” Shapinkov said.

  Nearly a minute went by before the Doctor answered him. “Georgi, you came here for him? I guessed as much. Nevertheless, I lacked the courage to confront you directly.”

  “His son was infected?” Dr. Vatutan asked the Doctor.

  “Georgi was a military subject, number twelve,” the Doctor answered him.

  “Oh, God, no!”

  “What did you expect, Vatutan! They were people; they had mothers and fathers, and they celebrated holidays and fucked their girlfriends. And they’re still flesh and blood, even when dead .”

  “I didn’t expect to have a subject’s father ---”

  “You’re speaking of my son! He is neither a subject nor a number, you pompous little shit,” Shapinkov interjected. “Even after taking into account your version of what is ethical, Doctor ---”

  “There was nothing I could have done,” the Doctor interrupted him.

  “It was my son! For God’s sake, man, the boy sat on your knee ---”

  “He was your son, and he didn’t suffer, not by my hands anyhow; none of them feel pain after they’re reanimated. Nonetheless, I didn’t kill your son. He had already passed. One of those things killed him, and for the benefit of everyone, I tried to learn from him and from the others like him. You have to understand, Aleksandr. I admit mistakes were made, but by the people on the ground at the initial outbreak. However, those mistakes resulted from not knowing enough, by not having the knowledge to prevent them; I’m working on that. Those mistakes weren’t mine; they were made by people like Georgi. He was a brave soldier, Aleksandr. He had done his duty as best he could, but as you know, every mission can involve casualties. He was a good lad and wouldn’t want his death to go to waste. He would want you to understand that, Aleksandr, and accept it.”

  “Showing compassion to my son is not a waste. You could have at least spared Georgi!”

  “I don’t have the right to spare any specimen!” the Doctor said. “It would be unethical for me to do so!”

  Shapinkov pulled his Israeli made .50. Magnum Desert Eagle out from his jacket and held it directly under the Doctor’s chin. “This was a gift from an American friend of mine. He said to me once, that the Desert Eagle isn’t known for its accuracy, although at this range, it doesn’t matter a single fucking bit.”

  “Put it away, Aleksandr.”

  “I can’t, Josef.”

  Vatutan suddenly turned and ran!

  Shapinkov swung the Desert Eagle away from the Doctor’s face and took a steady aim at the zigzagging Vatutan. With a gentle squeeze of the Desert Eagle’s trigger, a .50 round flew through the air. The bullet glided over the unused benches and discarded chairs; it flew in between old filing cabinets and the piled and dusty folders toward the running scientist who was slamming one foot down in front of another.

  Vatutan was positive he could beat the bullet. I can do this; I can run faster, duck and weave, dodge, skip, and jump anything. I can do it. I’m going to make it! I’m too important to die.

  The bullet finished its chase when it smashed into Vatutan’s lower spinal column, violently lurching him forward, his arms flailing as the momentum of the chase sent him slamming hard into a fully loaded filing cabinet. The collapsed Vatutan opened his eyes and saw the ceiling spiraling above him. The asbestos ceiling tiles moved across his vision like clouds. Some were light, and others were dark and thunderous as if a storm was coming. Then he heard it --- the thunder. It was coming toward him, for him. Closer and closer it came. He could sense the storm above him, very high a
bove him. Oh, my... Is that God? he thought.

  Shapinkov stood over the twitching man and looked down at his pale distorted face without compassion. The general then turned and walked away. He isn’t going anywhere, he thought.

  “Is it my turn now, Aleksandr? I promise I won’t run as he did, just make it clean,” said the Doctor.

  “Not yet, old friend, I want you to show me your creations in the flesh,” Shapinkov said as he reached out with a steady hand and placed it on the Doctor’s shoulder.

  “But first I need you to show me how this wonder of yours works. We’ll use subject number?” said Shapinkov as he pointed at Vatutan.

  The Doctor slowly rose and wandered over to where Vatutan lay.

  He was still alive, barely --- but that was all they needed.

  LABORATORY FOUR

  The Doctor dragged Vatutan by his ankles as Shapinkov held the door open to laboratory four. “We’ll have to suit up,” the Doctor said.

  “It won’t be necessary,” answered Shapinkov.

  The Doctor shrugged, and then continued to drag his apprentice through the door as the bloodied man moaned and groaned. “I don’t see how this solves anything. It won’t replace Georgi.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” answered Shapinkov. “Not now.” Shapinkov surveyed the laboratory with the eyes of a seasoned veteran. “Very nice.”

  The Doctor grunted. Then the Doctor heard it, the gasp of surprise --- the shock and awe, that moment when someone sees it for the first time, and truly understands. Shapinkov was struck dumb, and sent spiraling. No one ever understood until they saw one in the flesh. After that, they understood they were not like us.

  “My God!”

  “I wouldn’t say he has anything to do with it,” said the Doctor under his breath.

  Shapinkov stepped closer as the Doctor looked the other way and let Vatutan’s feet fall to the floor with an uneven thud, clud-clud!

  It stood, shackled and naked. Its skin was a pale, almost blue-gray --- inhuman. Blue-black veins tracked over its body, converging and separating in all directions like a road map drawn by an asylum lunatic, its head cleanly shaven with nick marks that hadn’t healed.

  Replacing the ghoul’s hands were two, large, blue, rubber cups shaped like thimbles that had been roughly stitched to the creature’s forearms. It’s mouth remained trapped behind a transparent mask, screwed into place from both under the jaw line and from the top of the cheek bones --- the screws sat high on their mounts like horns.

  The creature’s eyes looked almost alive, but soulless, leaving Shapinkov with a sense of its naked aggression. A pure to the touch hate that radiated from the creature’s mutilated and discolored face. It had the look of a predator desperate to taste blood. The thing was a monster.

  Another transparent barrier held the remains of the creature’s stomach inside of its body and acted like a macabre picture window, like at a carnival --- a freak show.

  Shapinkov felt sick as he saw its dead heart, which didn’t twitch or shudder. Its lungs, which hung motionless and drooping above its long digestive tract, weaved back and forth inside the ghoul’s gut like an anaconda waiting for a meal.

  “They don’t feel pain like we do, Aleksandr, in fact they don’t feel anything, nor do they understand fear as we know it, but they can get excited or at least agitated. These creatures can withstand almost anything you can throw at them. I could have even removed this specimen’s heart, and it would still be alive, or Undead, in a manner of speaking. However, if you destroy its brain, it ceases to exist. It doesn’t die, Aleksandr, it just ceases to act. They predominantly prey on other human beings and have not much interest in devouring animals; it seems as if they only exist for the hunt --- that’s their primary purpose. Once the hunt is over, and they make a kill, they move on to the next victim. They’re slow when mobile and have a very limited intelligence probably due to brain death.”

  The Doctor sounded as if he was reading from a script. “It was all there in the permafrost, Aleksandr, completely hidden from the last Ice Age until we found it, or it found us.” The Doctor walked over to Shapinkov and placed his hand on his shoulder. “They’re really quite amazing, Aleksandr. A miracle of nature, yet unnatural; to think that such a thing could exist boggles the mind. I have no real concept of what they are, or what the virus truly is. Even so, I’ve kept trying to understand. I had no other choice other than to create a weapon using the virus so that I could keep control over my specimens. I’m a weapon’s man, Aleksandr. Without finding a use for the Dead things, they’d have taken them away from me and given them to some fool like Vatutan. I did what I thought I had to do, what needed being done to keep them, to keep them mine.”

  Shapinkov stepped away from his friend.

  “So I made a weapon, one that’s worse than anything dropped on Hiroshima or Nagasaki. This weapon doesn’t just destroy cities and vaporize enemies in their hundreds of thousands. It creates a completely new breed of human beings driven by instinct and blood lust. I have created a killing machine. I packaged and delivered a totally soulless creature.”

  “You had a choice. We’ve always got a choice,” said Shapinkov.

  “I wish your son hadn’t become one of the infected, but I had to use him, to help me --- to help us understand. He was already infected and when I first saw him, I thought of you and our friendship, but I could not let that stop me. Either way, you’re too late to save what remains of him. He’s already been moved to the new research facility. However, I will help you find him. I promise, if that’s what you want, I could authorize him to be euthanized right now with a few calls if you don’t wish to wait --- just tell me what you want, and we can walk away from this.”

  Shapinkov turned and walked away from the Doctor as if to consider what his friend had said. “I want you to know, Doctor, your work won’t be forgotten, and I guarantee that Georgi’s suffering will have a meaning. What’s been done in this place is abominable, a forfeiture of being a civilized human being. This is not only my judgement. It is also a judgement made by others who helped me find the truth of what happened here --- of what you made my son a part of.”

  Shapinkov raised his Desert Eagle and fired it into the Doctor’s face; he then turned the gun on Vatutan and fired again. General Aleksandr Shapinkov stared at the creature whose brothers and sisters would inherit the earth and offered it one last prayer.

  TURKEY

  They had crossed the border with their prize, half a dozen vials that the general referred to as liquid gold. The general had refused to leave with them, he’d said he had to stay behind to finish what he had started, Sergei wasn’t sure what he had meant by those words, but he had an idea.

  Sergei’s smart phone began to beep, it was time. Pulling over to the side of a dry and dusty road, Sergei along with his men looked back toward the border. “Get ready, boys.”

  FLASH

  Their general had said his final goodbyes with a two kiloton nuclear blast.

  FBI HEADQUARTERS

  Special Agent Cornelius Ambrose slammed his phone down with a clunk, and it was for that reason he preferred a solid piece of plastic on his desk, and not the now more familiar hands-free version. For what seemed the one hundredth time that morning, Ambrose spun his leather chair around so he could stare outside his window, which overlooked Pennsylvania Avenue and as he did his phone rang again. Fuck it.

  He ignored the incessant ringing as best he could and attempted to place everything he had learned from the past few hours into some semblance of order, but the need to close his eyes for a few moments was beginning to win. He lifted the phone from its cradle hoping for a few minutes of silence.

  Tilting his chair back, Ambrose shut his eyes. Just a few minutes will do.

  He had only just shut them when his direct line to Harris began to ring. Ambrose answered the phone. “I’ll come right up,” he said.

  Harris didn’t move as Ambrose entered the room. “I have an update for you,” Ambrose s
aid.

  “A friend of mine in the NSA contacted me earlier about the incident in Georgia; he told me a name, one that you might be interested in.”

  Harris didn’t answer him.

  “General Shapinkov. He was in Batumi without authorization, and is presumed dead.”

  It was a while before Harris decided to answer. “Aleksandr was a great man and a good friend. The last time I spoke to him was during a conference in Israel. You attended, but I don’t believe you had the good luck to meet him. It was during that conference that I presented him with a gift, a Desert Eagle; a simple gesture for all the good will he has shown over the many years.” Harris turned to Ambrose. “He loved his guns; all Russians do. He told me he felt like John Wayne with it hanging off his hip.” Harris chuckled to himself. “He was good man. If Aleksandr was in Georgia, he would have been there for a reason. He was a slippery son-of-a-bitch, so maybe it’s best you leave this one to me.”

  “I’m happy to continue to ---” Ambrose started when Harris’s phone suddenly began to ring.

  “Leave it to me,” Harris said before he answered the phone. “Gibson, let me guess what this is about.”

  Ambrose walked out of Harris’s office suspicious and determined to find out all he could.

  ISTANBUL

  SULTANAHMET NEIGHBORHOOD

  EMINÖNÜ DISTRICT

  Istanbul was a city balancing on the edge of two worlds, linked by the Bosporus, the natural border between Europe and Asia.

  The ancient metropolis, originally founded by Greek colonists, had eventually become the capital of the Eastern Roman Emperors Nova Roma. The city had a perpetually turbulent history, just like the river that passed through it. Change had never been a stranger, and agents of change were never far from her heart.

  The sun beat down on Sergei’s exposed head. He could feel it penetrating his skull from the outside- in, as he sat quietly with his legs crossed. He hadn’t been sleeping well; he’d been having dreams --- strange dreams, dreams he couldn’t shake.