The Day After: A Zombie Apocalypse Thriller

by Bartholomew, K.

  “Let me touch your face. I wanna touch your face,” came the voice again.

  “Shut the fuck up!” The first man grabbed ahold of the bars. “Listen, I’m not crazy! Neither was Hutch, but you say he’s dead. Fuck! Why did I ever volunteer for this?” He shook the bars. “I thought I was gonna become a super-soldier, not this. I just wanted to help my fucking country. They keep trying to drown me. Big guys. They come. Take me away. Plunge my head beneath the water. I black out. Find myself back here. Then the next day they do it all over again. It’s agony. They time it. I can last twenty fucking minutes. Without breathing. I just wanna go home.” He pressed his face between two bars. “Hey! They do all sorts here. Drugs. Electrocutions. Heat. Cold. Sleep, food deprivation. We’re fucking guinea pigs, man.”

  “Hey, why don’t you come just a little bit closer, I won’t hurtcha.”

  “Fuck off, man.” The first guy attempted to pull the bars apart. Futile. “Ugh. Don’t listen to Jim, he’s not been the same since they swapped his head. But you can come here, closer to me, I won’t do anything, I promise. Hey,” he pleaded, “is that TNT you got over there? I can smell it through the plastic, through all Jim’s shit … fucking super-soldier. I remember that smell. Served my fucking country. I’m so fucking hungry. Horny too. Just come a little closer. Maybe give me a look at that sweet ass. Fuck! No. Please. Listen to me, man, hey, I got a wife who thinks I’m dead.”

  “You soon will be.” It was Miles, his large dark outline framed by the light from the corridor behind. “Hey, Gofer, we gotta get outta here. Drake’s just got word a squad of SEALS was flown over specially from Virginia. Sounds like it might be the best they got. They’ve been spending the day on standby with Black Hawks a little over the border, just waiting on the order. Shit’s about to get real.”

  Archie and Durrant were also plodding inside, coughing and covering their faces.

  Jeff gestured to the explosives. “What about…”

  “I got them on a radio signal, it’s done, and there’s more than enough here to do the job twenty times over. Ten minutes and we need to bunker. Gather up the tools. I don’t want to lose that drill, it’s a Dewalt.”

  Jeff began backing out.

  “Hey!” Came the voice again as he attempted to pull apart the bars. “He’s gonna blow those fucking explosives. I can read your minds, man, the fat disgusting slob’s a fucking communist. Heart as black as death. And you, Jeff…”

  That stopped him.

  “See? It’s the fucking drugs, electric, I can help you. I know everything. You had a son, right? Yes! See, I know it. You wanna fuck everything up. Let me help. Together, we’ll tear them a new one. I just need food. Hey, fatty, come here, you’ve got plenty to spare, I’ll just take one roll. Maybe a piece of that fat pussy.”

  Durrant was taking small, wary steps into the gloom, spreading around a few cans. Not bothering with the exertion, Archie just gave the trolley a kick and sent it spinning away with at least three of the cans tumbling from it. By now, many of the prisoners were screeching and Jeff was astonished by how little he gave a shit for their plight. They were his fellow vets, he ought to have cared more than what he did.

  Miles stepped closer to the wall of cages, much closer than Jeff had dared and held up a small radio device. “Don’t worry, when this thing gets my thumbprint, your hunger will be over. I’d like to thank you for your service,” he said sarcastically. What Miles wasn’t counting on was the several dozen turds, of all size and consistencies, being flung from the hands of halfway super-soldiers. He took a battering. “You motherfuckers!”

  Jeff left with the screams and sardonic laughter ringing in his ears as Miles fell to his hands and knees and began retching.

  In the foyer, he caught the back of Drake’s head just as he was leaving the building carrying tools and a ladder slung over a shoulder. Baker was applying some last minute tape to block access to the rigged section of the building. He winked at Jeff before falling in at his side. All kinds of people were leaving now, the day over, and Jeff was glad to see the receptionist had already finished. There were, however, others arriving, and a big black night security guard was only now taking the vacated seat at reception. Poor fucker, Jeff used to have that job. An elderly cleaner was sweeping the floor while an office junior refilled the vending machine.

  “Not my fucking problem,” Jeff told himself as he hurried outside. Somebody had to die for the cause and those wretched men in cages didn’t count. No, they weren’t even there and no matter what was about to happen, either side would cover up their existence.

  Drake beckoned Jeff and Baker to enter the van through the side hatch and when they were inside, he slid the door shut.

  “What about the other three?” Jeff enquired as he pushed aside a tonne of crap to make a place to lie down.

  “Idiots better be quick.” Drake waved his cell. “The prof says they’re fucking coming, they’re literally fucking coming. That means we now have less than fifteen minutes and those fat fuckers have disappeared with the device.”

  Baker was having to hunch and held up his hands in an effort to calm his excitable comrade. “Relax, knowing Durrant he’s probably just relieving the place of the petty cash tin, and I bet the others are robbing the vending machines.”

  Drake punched the inside wall, which was paneled wood. “Well, I ain’t waiting to drive this thing to a safer distance.”

  For a moment Jeff thought Baker would object but he just nodded. Drake clambered between the two front seats, ignited the engine and screeched to the back end of the parking lot in as unassuming a position as existed beneath some low hanging branches and far from where any flying debris would likely reach. More importantly, if a couple dozen of the world’s best soldiers were about to rain down from a Black Hawk, they’d be at enough of a distance to have time to react, and would do so by hightailing as fast as possible, irrespective of whether the rest made it back. Drake reversed against the tree so that the laboratory was visible through the front window. He pulled up the handbrake and clambered back through the gap.

  “What now?” His hand was shaking and he couldn’t take his eye from his cell screen.

  Baker shrugged. “We’ve done our part. All we can do is sit back, wait and listen.”

  It was an agonizing wait where time barely seemed to budge, every sound was augmented and distorted to take the form of some serious enemy hardware flying overhead, and Drake planted several more punches into the wood paneling that his fist became bloodied. Jeff was surprised by how calm he felt, aided in part because he was lying on his back whilst concentrating on his breathing, though the truth was that as far as the recent bullshit in his life went, this ranked only somewhere in the middle.

  “I swear, if those fuckers make me go back in there just to find them…” Drake got so close to Baker that the latter’s stretched and deformed earlobes were dangling right beside his nose.

  Baker brought up his hands and had to gently push Drake away. “Calm down. They’re probably hiding in the trees. All that work, it’d be a shame to be shut in a van so far away that you miss the show, and you know what those two are like. They’ll want to see the fruits of their work.”

  That seemed to pacify Drake. He didn’t respond but his nod, Jeff knew, was just as good and the next few minutes elapsed in silence save for the footsteps of his old friend moving from one side of the van to the other, occasionally stooping to glance through the front window at the sky above the lab whilst incessantly checking his screen for updates. What more was there for Graft to say?

  It came from nowhere, which meant they were flying low, and the van shuddered from the propeller blast as the noise, like a gale slamming against a wall, caused a momentary disorientation. Something thudded and then Drake hit the deck like a sack of spanners, Jeff sucked in air but was too late to react to Baker’s boot coming down on his skull.

  “Wakey, wakey.” Jeff heard through the dark as he felt the repeated slaps against his cheeks
, not hard, but definitely enough to bring him out of unconsciousness.

  “Ugh, fuck, my head.” It was Drake’s voice. “What the fuck happened?”

  “You’ll soon find out. Open your eyes.” It sounded like Durrant. “Jeff, open your eyes.”

  He felt another slap and then a bottle of water was poured slowly over his head, which brought him to, barely. He opened his eyes, instinctively attempted to touch his throbbing head but couldn’t. He tensed his arms but they were tied behind his back, no, behind a chair, in fact. Jeff glanced right. Drake was beside him, also bound to a wooden chair.

  Durrant was there, also Baker. They were hunching just inside the van, the door was open. It was dark out. Hadn’t it been daylight when…

  What the fuck happened? “The chopper, did they land on us, or something?” As soon as he said it, he knew how stupid it sounded. Jeff glanced about the faces for an answer.

  “No chopper,” Drake shook his head, evidently, he already had things at least partially figured out, and he jerked his jaw at Baker, “that son-of-a-bitch clobbered me with the fucking fire extinguisher.”

  Baker sighed. “What can I say? Perhaps in a few minutes you’ll understand what’s going on and maybe then you’ll accept my apology.” It sounded too sincere considering their two victims were presently tied to chairs they’d obviously filched from somewhere during a long period of insentience. The bastard didn’t even sound the same as before or rather, he sounded the same but different somehow. Definitely the same accent, with the short nasally pronunciation of certain vowels common to the Rust Belt, Ohio perhaps, but he sounded more assured than before, cocky, and not like he’d spent his life like a whipped dog.

  Durrant had taken off his bandana to once again reveal the black hair tied into a bun and a not unhandsome aspect, which should have been the first warning heeded the day before. In fairness, he’d fooled others too. “You’re doing better than our other two friends so remember that when we’re joined by our guest, alright?”

  “Archie and Miles?” Jeff croaked, his head hurt like fucking hell. “What did you do to them?”

  Durrant folded his arms so that his biceps filled his shirt sleeves. “Dangerous job diddling with TNT. Got their bellies ripped out.” He shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll be missed. Two commies like that? There’s no redeeming people who’re that far gone.” He leaned forward and Jeff wondered if he’d had his age all wrong too because he looked a decade older than previously assumed. “The two of you, on the other hand…” he almost managed to make it sound promising.

  “I’ve got him.” Baker had been outside the van but now stepped back inside and held a cell in front of Jeff and Drake’s faces.

  There was a man sitting behind a large wooden desk. Behind him on the wall was the plaque of The Pentagon. It was the fucking Secretary of Defense, no less. “Mister Harper, Mister Drake. Clearly, by your expressions, you’re aware of who I am.”

  Jeff shuffled uncomfortably and needed a second to recall the name, not aided by the pain coursing through his head. All he’d wanted was a quiet life. No chance was he in a fit state of mind to deal with this shit. The man went by the name Blake Hester, Jeff finally recalled. He nodded.

  “Good, so let’s cut to the chase, because I’m sure you can appreciate I’m a busy man.” He sat stern, hands clasped in front, with a face few had ever seen smile. “You have, some might say, a number of perhaps not totally unjustified grievances against the United States. I’m aware of what they are. Work with us, gentlemen, and we can have your alimonies extinguished.” He said it as though it was nothing to him, which it wasn’t, even though Hester himself had a reputation for extramarital affairs and there was little doubt his own salary was being garnished to pay for several love children, as well as one ex-wife at least.

  “You want us to work with you?” Drake hissed with incredulity.

  Hester made a display of checking his watch, probably a gold Rolex, though there was little doubting it was a busy night for the man. “That’s correct, Mister Drake, work with us.”

  Drake shook his head, prompting Jeff to glance anxiously across at his friend. “Killing my alimony’s not good enough, asswipe,” Drake spat and Durrant coughed into a closed fist in a way that came across threatening. Drake wasn’t unsettled. “What about everything I’ve already paid, huh? Loss of income from downgrading jobs. Living in a cupboard. The injustice I’ve suffered. And last but not least, I want compensation for being struck on the head with a fucking fire extinguisher.”

  Hester would have expected to haggle some. “What do you want?”

  The corner of Drake’s mouth curled just enough to notice. “I want my ex-wife placed in a padded cell until I say otherwise. I want the judge brought to me on a spit-roast with an onion crammed up his ass. And I want a billion dollars.”

  Hester’s face clenched. “Don’t play hardball with me. You’re being beyond irrational.”

  “You sure you got the President’s authority? Maybe I should speak with him.”

  Baker’s pained sigh came from over the top of the cell. Hester appeared to be consciously clasping his hands tight together, attempting to give the appearance of calm, when he was anything but. “Be realistic, would you? Mister Harper, why don’t we give your friend a moment to consider his demands while you tell me what you want?”

  Jeff didn’t even have to think. “I want my son alive again, preferably with all his pieces intact.”

  For a moment, the man in charge of the United States of America’s entire armed forces was stumped. After a few seconds, he made a concessionary nod, totally genuine, which showed he understood. The man was a father. “And is there anything I have within my power to grant?”

  Jeff nodded. “Failing the before mentioned, I’ll take the judge, the lawyer and the ex-wife, all tied to chairs, like how we are right now.” Jeff grinned. “I’d gesture to myself if I could. Now, don’t you dare deny that it’s within the bounds of what the United States does.” Durrant gasped.

  Hester unclasped his hands briefly to scratch his head. “The United States does not serve up members of the judiciary on silver platters.” He chewed his lip. “But we can have them removed from their positions. It’s not an easy process, especially if they’ve merely been following the law, but it’s been known to happen. We can look into the two in question here.” It was unclear from his tone whether he was hinting that America would turn its back and play dumb whilst the two judges disappeared and were handed over. “Show me the man, and I’ll show you the crime. Do either of you know who said that?”

  Jeff and Drake shook their heads.

  Hester almost appeared to smile. “That you don’t proves to me that the two of you can indeed be reasoned with. The money isn’t an issue…”

  “Yeah,” Drake interrupted, “because you can just print more of it. What the heck do you want from us anyway?”

  “What do you think?” He thumped his desk. “We want an end to all this treason bullshit. No more talk of war between countrymen. You both served the United States with distinction. Well, now we’re calling upon you again. The moment this conversation ends, Agent Durrant will detonate the building in which you’ve spent all day making mischief.”

  That was a stunning revelation. Blowing the lab was meant to be the trigger for starting a war, yet here was the Secretary of State for Defense, with the single aim of maintaining the peace, instead ordering its destruction to go ahead. Espionage was far above Jeff’s pay grade.

  “After a desperate battle against a strong force of SEALS attempting to steal research and key personnel, which unfortunately resulted in the deaths of your four accomplices, Mister Drake and Mister Harper singlehandedly eliminated the threat, emerging as the sole survivors, though not before sustaining a number of wounds escaping the inferno.” That sounded ominous. “Do you catch my drift?” Durrant was holding what appeared to be a fucking blowtorch. “The two of you shall assume full credit for a miraculous victory and a complete
d mission. Your illegitimate government in waiting will want to reward you, I’ve no doubt, and they will wish to build you into heroes, to be used as a source of pride for your new nation. Do you follow?” After a short pause, in which Jeff had absolutely no idea what the fuck was going on, Hester continued. “Of course, we could take out Weiner whenever we want, but if we were to do that it would only cause problems, arguably even greater problems than what we already have, and the United States would be blamed and tarred for murdering a political leader whilst proving to the world, not to mention the people of California, that we are in fact as bad as that despot says we are. Besides, he’d only be replaced by Steiner, who’s an even greater tyrant in waiting.”

  Karl Steiner was the Lieutenant Governor of California, a man who was long rumored to be a necrophiliac. If there were many who thought the stories to be bullshit, that Hester was now stating his concerns suggested that maybe there was something to them.

  “Why do you want to make us heroes for your enemy?” Jeff was almost too afraid to ask.

  Hester stared deliberately down the lens and waited a few beats to add gravity to his coming words. “Because I need you to kill Governor Weiner.”

  “Us?” Drake barked, glaring over the screen at Baker, who remained straight-faced. They were fucking serious.

  “The United States cannot end California’s eventual descent towards secession and totalitarianism.” Hester continued. “Communism is a cancer. From then on, it will only be a matter of time before it spreads to other states, which means the inevitable end of America. We cannot make a martyr out of Weiner, doing such a thing would only hasten our demise but,” he leaned forwards and his voice became excited, “if one of his own were to do it… if a disillusioned communist, one who’d seen the light were to twist the knife then that would be something entirely different.” He tugged his chair closer. “Even better, what if Weiner’s killer happened to be an anointed Californian hero, a man who’d tried in vain to save your cancer research facility and everyone inside before eventually, and at much physical cost to himself, seeing off the SEAL team who’d committed the terrible act. Now that, gentlemen, would demoralize the entire shit show. That would very well change everything, perhaps even enough to force some of even the most hardened Marxist nutcases to reconsider their views.”