The Day After: A Zombie Apocalypse Thriller

by Bartholomew, K.

  Miles snorted and then fired mucus out his nose.

  Drake had been in the process of grabbing another can of TNT, but slammed it back down and turned on Archie. “Don’t you talk to him like that, we’re all here to do a fucking job. The Americans,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “if they decide to send a few troops over early, you’ll be glad to have a man like Suds around.”

  “Is that a fact?” Archie stated, turning red whilst attempting to pull the leggings up his thighs. “And what’s he gonna do without a gun, huh?” Drake didn’t have an answer so Archie grinned in triumph, which quickly turned to anger when he realized the garment was about a hog too small. He yelled, “and the next time you slam down one of those fucking cans containing five pounds of extremely unstable explosive, you’d better make sure I’m not within five hundred feet, you got that?”

  Jeff failed to contain his smirk but managed to hide it by turning towards the van hatch and sifting through the bag of overalls. There was also an envelope containing high-access keycards, which he passed around. “Don’t worry. I don’t mind putting in the work.”

  It took thirty minutes to make the repeated trips for all the cans, placing them in the corridor in the stone-built section of the building that contained the research facility. Drake made a few trips with him and used the opportunity to spout venom against the two fat brothers.

  “I’m telling you, man, I’m having to bite my fucking tongue today, those two are about as insufferable as it gets.” He walked once around the vehicle. They weren’t around, which meant they’d left a van filled with explosives and nobody to watch over them. The hatch was still wide open. “Jackasses. Finally, found a pair that fits, did they?”

  They didn’t appear for another thirty minutes after that, by which time all the heavy lifting had already been done and since there was nobody else who knew how the fuck to rig a building for an explosion, there was nothing to do but stand around drinking coffee from the vending machines.

  The thing about denim is that it doesn’t stretch and since, as it transpired, there was no way Archie and Miles were ever about to squeeze their hams through the openings, it soon became apparent they’d spent the interim tailoring their uniforms. Baker’s mouth fell open at the sight of them attempting to walk in, their every step hampered by the denim’s painful restriction. It looked as though they’d copied each other, slicing off the entire length of both legs from the crotch and using the castoffs as any normal person might a pair of socks. They’d cut some holes through those and used string to tie it all together so that the suspenders were now suspended down there too. It meant leaving no material to cover the upper portions so that now there were four pasty white thighs uncovered completely. Above, it looked like they’d made incisions at several points to allow their asses room to flare out and the material at the crotch, it seemed, had been removed completely so that both garments now pretty much resembled two exceptionally tight-fitting halter necked dresses with suspended denim socks. Apparently, they’d been unable to think of a time efficient way of alleviating the strain around the torso, and it was the pressure there that was causing them both considerable pain with every small movement.

  “Christ,” Drake pinched at the skin atop his nose and turned away in disgust.

  Durrant laughed far too loudly. “I bet you’re regretting that second McMuffin now, huh?”

  Miles kicked at one of the cans and risked turning all six of them into red paint, flipping the mood in an instant. “Get to fucking work, you bastards, there’s shit to do. You,” he pointed at Drake, “you and your special friend are meant to be painting the place. Act as fucking cover, put on a fucking show for the cameras. Now get to it.”

  That was pretty much what Jeff and Drake spent the best part of the morning doing. They set up the ladders in the corridor that led toward the labs, placed a ‘Do Not Enter’ sign in the way and completely blocked off all access whilst carrying out the world’s most pointless ever paint job. If anything, it was relaxing, although these days, any activity that allowed Jeff’s mind to wander was seldom ever welcome.

  Generally, he blotted it out, as much as he was able, mostly by keeping occupied on cognitive tasks like reading. By the end of his second spell in prison, six months, he'd read about two hundred books, almost one a day, not that much of it had remained in his brain. He’d read enough books on accounting and bookkeeping that he quite liked the idea of one day retraining as an accountant, a good, honest reliable profession that paid, but most important of all, crunching numbers would keep his mind off his demons better than just about anything else he could think of. Certainly, sitting behind a monitor working night security or this, moving a brush up and down a wall as he applied emulsion could only lead back to the same very dark thoughts. What was there left to live for? Was there anything he could have done to stop things? Could he have done more?

  Those were all questions he’d asked himself a million times.

  He’d done all he could, he knew that, and if there had been anything else, he would have sold a kidney to do it. But the fact still remained, he was alive and Daniel was dead.

  This whole thing, everything, what he was presently involved with left a rancid taste in the mouth but if it was the only way he could ever hope to find peace then what choice was there. He’d blow the fucking building and many more besides just for a chance at feeling human again, for the nightmares to stop.

  “I brought you some coffee.”

  Jeff was wrenched from his thoughts by a feminine voice up close. “What?” He said, maybe a little too aggressively.

  “Coffee, I’ll put it down here.” It was the receptionist, who now stooped to place two paper cups down on a closed can of paint, and doing so in a way that definitely looked like she wanted her ass noticed. She walked away, high heels, legs, dress, brunette, probably forty, same age as Jeff, maybe a bit younger. Her phone was ringing and people were now standing around her desk.

  Jeff turned away. Thought nothing.

  “Starts with coffee, ends with bankruptcy.” Drake had never even bothered looking.

  They repositioned the ladders, moved a few feet further along the corridor and then the drilling commenced. At least shit was getting done now. The next hour saw Baker and Durrant carrying the explosives into different rooms and making several trips to the canteen for food.

  “I envy your positions as defacto watchmen,” Baker said, holding a tray with several burger wraps, “we’re mostly their bag boys or gofers, as Archie likes to call us. Makes me question whether engineering was the right path, oh, and they never stop farting and complaining. Suds,” he tapped Jeff’s knee atop the ladder, “looks like you upset Archie, dude. Something about you not finding what he did to that fascist funny enough. He’s questioning whether you can be trusted.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what he thinks,” Jeff snarled.

  Baker stepped back. “I’m just letting you know, man, and maybe stay outta his way if you can. His brother too.”

  “It will be my pleasure.” Jeff watched him walk away and then said to Drake, “I’m off to take a piss.”

  He needed the keycard to enter the bathroom, though not before walking past a half dozen windows that looked into various labs resembling something from a sci-fi movie. After he’d emptied his bladder he wanted a better look. Curiosity. He didn’t expect to learn much but they were making fucking super-soldiers, which summoned fantastic images of muscle-bound warriors hanging in suspended animation. However they were doing it, soon enough the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity would be gone forever. Besides, the chance to walk around a state-of-the-art science lab unaccompanied was too great to pass. And why should the other four have all the fun.

  He chose a random door and pressed his card against the sensor. It slid open. It was the smell of ethanol that hit first and then there was a large open plan room. Very bright even with the lights off. He stepped inside, wandered between tables, units, desks. Lots of jars filled wit
h liquids. Basins. Microscopes. What had to be an electron microscope. Centrifuges. All kinds of machinery.

  Built into the far wall was a large pane of glass the size of a small truck. The glass was tinted. If Jeff had his bearings right then through the other side had to be the pre-fab section of the building, a later modification. He went to the door and pressed his keycard against the sensor. A red light flashed. No movement. He was supposed to have access to the entire laboratory. But the card would not open this door. He pressed his face against the tinted glass and felt his jaw slowly drop.

  It was a warehouse type space, expansive with various sets of dim lights spread about the interior that did almost nothing to illuminate the room at large. Jeff had to squint to gain better clarity and even then he didn’t believe what he was seeing.

  The dim lights were, in fact, inside what looked like large aquarium tanks, more vertical than horizontal, and easily large enough to completely submerge a fully grown man. Indeed, the tanks did contain human-like figures, dozens, if not, hundreds of them, one after the other, as far as the angle of the glass permitted Jeff to see. Dim lights just barely revealing human shapes. Some stood, their feet apparently chained to the base, their heads fully covered in liquid. Others floated, either vertical, horizontal or in a ball. One or two appeared to levitate.

  And then he saw it.

  It!

  Whatever it was, it fucking moved. Its face was pressing against the glass, the orange light just barely revealing teeth that futilely attempted biting its way out.

  Was it watching him?

  Surely not.

  There was another that moved now, thrusting its arms through the liquid, trying to heave itself up, maybe to pull itself out from the tank but a chain attached to its foot sprang taut, keeping it submerged.

  Why wasn’t it drowning?

  “What the fuck?” Jeff stepped away, his belly clenching, and he hurried back into the corridor, feeling the need to visit the bathroom again, quick.

  The reception woman was lingering. “Oh, hey, how’s your day going?”

  “What?” Jeff looked behind him and then beyond her, to where he could just make out Drake dipping his brush into a can of paint.

  Her eyebrows furrowed. “I noticed you didn’t go for lunch and was wondering … you know … if you have a break coming up, if you wanted to grab a panini?”

  He twisted back around to the lab he’d just left, the door was sliding shut. “You’re asking me out?”

  Her eyes widened and by now she was probably regretting doing this. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab a panini.”

  “Why aren’t you women ever honest about your fucking intentions,” he barged past her, thought he heard a gasp, and stamped towards Drake. “Hey, do you have any idea what the fuck these people are…”

  “Gofer!” It was Archie. He’d removed both suspenders so that now his belly was dripping out over his waistband. “How about making a trip back out to the van and finding a spare battery for this drill?” He made to move but turned back. “And if you’re passing by the canteen, I’ll take another one of those cheese and bacon melts, extra onion, hey, you fucking listening?”

  Jeff clenched his teeth together. “I fucking heard you.”

  “Get to it then.”

  For a moment, a very brief moment, Jeff almost threw a can of paint at him, he very nearly ran at him, tackled him to the ground and began offloading a limitless stream of blows into that pudgy face but no…

  What stopped him was the image of his son. It didn’t always prevent him doing stupid shit, like showing up outside his ex-wife’s property with a concealed hammer, but it worked more times than not. Jeff took a breath and strode outside. The fresh air was certainly welcome.

  He took his time. Didn’t bother heading to the canteen for that fat fucker. Just found a spare battery. When he returned, the reception woman caught his eye briefly. Her face was red and puffy. He felt bad about that. She’d caught him in a bad moment. He thought about apologizing but didn’t.

  The brothers were in a boiler room hunching over a tonne of wires. Jeff handed the battery to Baker and left. Returned to Drake, who was putting his cell back in the pocket of his overalls.

  “Graft seems worried.” His face was flecked with white paint. “He says his man at the Pentagon’s nervous. Disappears for long periods,” he shrugged, “dunno, maybe that’s to be expected today considering.” He nodded down the corridor to where the sound of drilling had restarted. “They need to be quick because the order to leave might come earlier than expected.”

  “Did Graft say that?” Jeff asked.

  Drake shook his head. “Just a feeling.”

  It was now halfway through the afternoon. People were still coming and going. Business as usual.

  “This place gives me bad feelings. I don’t think California will miss it.” Jeff glanced over at the woman but could only see the back of her head as she leaned forwards. “Shit.” He exhaled a slow breath and walked towards the reception desk. “What time tonight do you get out of here?”

  She looked up surprised. Her expression changed almost to disgust. “You think I’m that kind of a girl?”

  Jeff jerked, “no, I’m not asking for…” he shook his head, “you need to get out of here when your shift is done. You hear me? Don’t…”

  “You made it absolutely clear.”

  Jeff slammed his fist down. “Listen to me. I couldn’t care less about eating a fucking…”

  “Gofer!” The shout came from across the lobby. “Stop hitting on the receptionist and get your lazy ass over here. I got a job for you.”

  Jeff shuddered, ignored him and spoke directly to the woman. “Look, all I’m asking is that you don’t linger about after you’re done. You’re too close to where we’re working. Some of this paint contains nasty inhalants.” Her eyes narrowed but she gave a small nod. Jeff’s face softened. If he still considered himself human, he might have been tempted. “I’m sorry about before. My name’s Jeff Harper. Google me and maybe you’ll understand.” He left and immediately regretted giving up his anonymity, he might need that.

  “We need to hurry the fuck up.” Miles was standing beside his brother, sweating. A stack of cans were piled by the wall. “These need taking to the Carrington Room, wherever the fuck that is. We have an instruction to ensure no trace of it remains, so we’ve got an extra few pounds of prime chili all lubed up and ready to go. Find the place and we’ll be right behind with the rest of the junk.” It sounded reasonable, if ominous.

  Jeff found a cart in a nearby storeroom and placed all six cans on the bed. The corridors in this part of the building had been built in a T-shape design. Jeff pushed the cart along the vertical of that T, glancing left and right, reading the room names on the plates; Smith, Johnson, Lopez, Uzmanov, possibly the names of the scientists who led each team. Nearly all the rooms now had a ‘Do Not Enter’ sign placed there by Durrant.

  Jeff reached the horizontal of the T, which was where he’d entered the lab earlier. That lab had been large and open plan, and there was only one door that led into it. To the left, at the far end, the doorplate read ‘Carrington.’ Jeff pushed the cart toward the door. It was different from the rest. Most of the others were high-grade plastic with a steel interior but this was solid steel with no windows. He recalled the dark room through the lab that his card would not allow access and he doubted now that he’d be able to enter this place.

  He placed the card against the plate.

  It pinged green and with a loud click, the mechanism shunted the door open.

  The stench of must struck immediately through the crack. Jeff pushed against the steel and was amazed at its weight, the door was thick like a bank vault. He pushed the cart through, must phased to shit, almost overpowering in intensity, and then the automatic lights came on.

  Cages. Lots of cages. Men inside them. Sleeping. Curled up. Leaning against bars. All were naked but for their underwear, uniform gray.


  “Hey, you’re not one of the usual guys,” a voice called out.

  The cages were stacked three high, column after column, row after row until what had to be the steel pre-fab section of the building angled around the inner laboratories to fade into gloom where Jeff’s movement hadn’t turned the lights on.

  “What the fuck?” Jeff muttered.

  Incredibly, the wretch in one of the closest cages heard. “Hey, man, you’re not one of them, are you.” He made a beckoning motion that Jeff barely noticed. “Hey, can you come closer?” He pointed upwards. “Can you see if Hutchins is alive? He’s not spoken in … I don’t know … days?” More of them were rousing now. Calling out. Not all were friendly.

  But the stink was incredible. The man who’d spoken was standing in a puddle of his own piss and shit, as were most the others. The floor was covered in it too, because those in the second and third tiers were aiming it out the cages, some considerable distance.

  Jeff wandered closer, but only a little, and his boots slushed through a rancid puddle. “I can’t see him.”

  “Hutch? Hey, Hutch? You there? Answer me!” He wailed. “Fuck, man, can you get him some help? We served … we served in Baghdad, he’s a war hero.”

  Jeff sighed, his eyes began to sting, and he wasn’t sure if it was the stink or because of what was happening here. “I think Hutchins is at peace now.”

  “Oh, Jesus.” He wasn’t here. “Hey, you are different, aren’t you, you gotta … hey, quiet a minute” he called out suddenly to the men in the nearby cages, “you gotta do something about all of us.”

  Jeff stepped back, his mouth widening. What the fuck was he supposed to do?

  “Come here, I just wanna touch ya,” came a voice from somewhere in the gloom.

  “Don’t!” The first guy warned. “They’re feeding us shit. Insane shit. Half … half these people have already lost their fucking minds. Not me though. Maybe you could find your way to helping just me? Somewhere, there’s gotta be a button that releases these doors.”