Ultimate Undead Collection: The Zombie Apocalypse Best Sellers Boxed Set (10 Books)

by Joe McKinney

  “I just got up and ran. That’s when I almost collided with Dr. Lang, who looked the same as the others. I didn’t notice at first, I was so in shock from what had just happened. I started to say something to him, but it was clear he was gone. He grabbed my shirt and I tried to pull his arm off me, and his skin . . . it was mushy or something. His eyes were vapid, nothing there, but I got the impression he could still see me. I was able to fight my way free of him, and I just ran in here and activated the lock.”

  Hemp looked worried. “Max, how long has the generator been running?”

  Click. “About sixteen hours now. But it feeds from multiple huge underground LP tanks, so it can literally run for a couple of weeks.”

  “Good,” Hemp said. “If it shuts down, the door locks release. Max, when’s the last time you heard noise from outside the lab where you are?”

  “Not since about six hours ago. There’s a small refrigerator in here, so I’ve got some food and water, but no weapons. I wasn’t willing to venture outside here and check the status.”

  I spoke. “There’s evidence that some of the abnormals made it outside, but we don’t know where they came from. Hemp? Do you think you have everything you need for now?”

  He nodded. “Yes, I believe so. Max, we’re going to come in now, so activate the lock release. Which lab are you in? We’ll try to get to you first.”

  “Second level, lab 202. I don’t think I’d recommend taking the elevator. You won’t know what you’ll be facing when the doors open, but I’ll leave that to you. Top of the stairs, right hallway, 2 door on the left.”

  “Okay, hit it. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

  The solenoid hummed and the bolt retracted. We pulled the door open and went inside.

  *****

  We stepped inside and looked in both directions. I felt better with a death grip on one of the several Daewoo K7s we’d confiscated, and Hemp was trying out one of the three Heckler and Koch MP5s we’d nabbed.

  The H&K was the most widely used submachine gun among law enforcement, and looked pretty badass besides. Nice and compact, with a 30-round magazine and a 2-round burst setting, Hemp had a full magazine installed and two jammed in his belt.

  Gem brought up the rear with Trina in her arms. She looked exhausted, and I knew she’d never say anything. I knew from experience that Trina, despite weighing only about 40 pounds, could start to feel very heavy after hauling her around for just a short while.

  “Baby, are you okay with carrying her?” I asked.

  Gem nodded, but pulled back and looked at Trina. “Trini, baby, do you think you’d like to walk and hold Gemmy’s hand for a little while?”

  “Uh huh,” she said. “I can walk. Where are we?”

  “We’re in a big building, and we’re going to a laboratory to see friend of Hemp’s.” Gem put her down and she looked up at us and held out her hand. Gem took it.

  “I’m not tired,” she said, yawning.

  “I know you’re not, baby. You don’t get tired because you’re a big girl.”

  I smiled at Gem. “Stay about eight to ten feet behind us. If anything’s up here, we’ll dispatch it before you two know what happened.”

  “Stairwell’s on the left here. Or do you want to take the elevator?” asked Hemp.

  Unlike most buildings with backup power systems, this facility had a large generator capable of running nearly every piece of powered equipment that might ordinarily operate, with the exception of some minor, non-essential devices. As Hemp told us on the road, they could have to survive in this building for some time, and the capability to continue the experiments necessary to find an antidote to any given virus or infection was crucial.

  “I think your friend might be right,” I said. “Let’s forget the elevator. We can push the doors open and get the lay of the land. That way we can avoid the ‘Here’s Johnny!’ factor and enter at our own speed.”

  “Stairwell’s here,” Hemp said. He pulled open the door to the left of the entry. Steel corrugated steps led up to the second level in two flights. Hemp craned his neck, pointing his gun up the well. We could see through the steel stair treads, and it appeared to be deserted. Hemp confirmed it and waved us onward.

  “Hemp, you go first. I’m bringing up the rear. Gem, you and Trina between us.”

  We got organized and headed up. It was a quick trip up the 20 steps to the second floor landing. Hemp held his MP5 pointed upward, and his hand on the door. “Everyone ready?” he asked.

  We nodded. He pulled. It didn’t move. Our eyes fell on the card reader mounted on the wall to the left of the door and all of us groaned at once.

  “Fuck. I forgot about this.” Hemp looked guilty.

  “I see our vernacular is catching on. Don’t worry about it. We’ll just take the elevator,” I said.

  “That won’t work, either. We’re going to have to get a card off . . . well, a body, if we can find one. The elevator will open, but you won’t be able to make it go anywhere unless you’ve got a swipe card.”

  “Well, to be fair, Max might have reminded us of that,” I said.

  Gem sighed. “I think we can chalk it up to a bit of stress and give him a pass on that oversight.”

  “I’ll go back down and find something somewhere,” I said. Hemp waved his hand.

  “Nope. Me. I know where to look, I know how to handle this weapon, and I should’ve thought about it. You three stay here, and I’ll be right back. I don’t think this will take too long.”

  “Okay, buddy. Be careful,” I said. “If you’re not back in ten, we’re coming after you.”

  “I’ll be back in five,” he said, smiling. He trotted down the stairs with more energy that I was feeling, and Gem and I watched him disappear down the stairwell and around the corner.

  “Bollocks!”

  I looked at Gem and shrugged. She smiled at me.

  “What’s wrong, Hemp,” she called.

  “I can’t get out.” His voice echoed up the concrete and steel stairwell.

  “That door’s locked too? I thought this was a fire escape.” Gem looked confused.

  “Hold on,” Hemp called up. “Okay, okay. I got it. The doors to the interior levels lock automatically. There’s another door down here that leads outside, so I just have to go out and have Max let me in again. Sit tight. Start your ten minute counter.”

  But I didn’t have to wait ten minutes. We heard the door click open and Hemp screamed. Just as we heard the first rounds explode out of the barrel of his MP5, the door clicked closed and we heard nothing but silence again.

  “Hemp!” I yelled. Nothing. He was outside with whatever had caused him to discharge his weapon.

  “Stay here, Gem,” I yelled as I started down the metal stairs, taking them two at a time. “Keep your Glock ready.”

  I reached the first floor landing and pushed the door bar slowly. The door opened, and smoky, fuel-enriched oxygen and sunlight poured through. I saw nothing straight ahead, but as I stepped completely out, the wall behind my head exploded, a diagonal zipper pattern appearing on the surface just above me. I dove to the ground, landing on my elbow and hip and swung my rifle in the direction of the incoming rounds, and fired off a two second burst that put twenty rounds in the direction of what I hoped was the source.

  I was apparently pretty close, because the gunfire stopped long enough for me to jump back to my feet and run for a small alcove in the building’s wall to the right of the door. “Hemp!” I shouted.

  “Over here,” he said, and it sounded like he was just on the other side of the outcropping behind which I was concealed.

  “Cover me!” I called, and it was followed by machine gun fire. I dove around the outcropping and back to the solid brick wall, and he was beside me, crouched down, slamming another magazine into his Heckler and Koch.

  “Where are they?” I asked, trying to keep my voice as low as possible.

  “In one of the patrol Jeeps,” Hemp said. “I’m not sure why the
y’re shooting at me, except maybe they’re a tad on edge about now.”

  “Did you try to identify yourself?”

  “They can’t hear anything over their own gunfire, unfortunately. We’re just going to have to –”

  His words were cut off when the open-cab Jeep drove past again and two uniformed men, one brandishing a machine gun of his own, came back into view. Hemp and I said nothing. We both raised our weapons and sent a continuous barrage of lead at the vehicle and its occupants.

  The driver was clearly hit. Crimson spray erupted from his head and his body flew out and rolled as the small truck spun sharply toward us, and onto two wheels. My gun was empty, but Hemp had deftly ejected his magazine and slammed another one in. As the jeep’s undercarriage and fuel tank were exposed, Hemp fired into it, turning it into an instantaneous fireball.

  We watched it for a moment, hoping there wasn’t another vehicle behind it. After two minutes of no movement or activity, we approached the body of the man who had flown free of the burning four-wheeler. Hemp knelt beside the man.

  “We’ve got our key card,” he said. “I just hate that we had to kill more uninfecteds to get it.”

  “They didn’t give us a choice,” Hemp. “You know that.”

  “I know. But I’ve a feeling we’re going to be alone enough in this world. I can’t stand making it more so.”

  I patted him on the back and he stood. The key card Hemp held in his hand had the metallic strip intact, but a clean 9mm bullet hole ran right through the man’s photograph. His name was Louis Franklin, he looked to be about 24 years old, and thankfully, Hemp did not know him or his family.

  Chapter 7

  We went back to the truck, checked on the dog, who was lost in what was apparently a pretty good dream when we arrived, and loaded up on ammo again. We’d not intended on using so much in one fell swoop, which just served to remind us that you never knew what you were going to encounter, so better to be over prepared, even if it meant carrying a little extra weight.

  We closed the door and started back toward Building #2’s entry door.

  “You going to name the dog?” Hemp asked.

  “I think we’ll let Trina do that,” I said. “She needs something to occupy that little mind of hers besides her family. She’s never going to see them again – at least from what it looks like now.”

  Hemp put a hand on my shoulder as we approached the entrance door. We wouldn’t need to be buzzed in this time. Hemp swiped the card. “Flex, I know we’re all clinging to a bit of hope here, but you do realize your sister’s condition is unlikely to ever be reversed, don’t you?”

  I pulled the door open about an inch and looked at him. “I know that. In my heart I know that holding on to this particle of hope is foolish, but meeting you and learning your background has given me that much more hope,” I said, holding my thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “Just that much, but it’s enough. I can’t even tell you what she means to me.”

  “Let’s go find Max,” Hemp said, nodding at the door. “He may be able to give us more, which might further our ability to make a game plan.”

  I pulled it open and we went inside, and back into the stairwell.

  When we got back to the second floor landing, Gem was sitting on the floor, her back against the wall, and Trina curled up against her. The Glock was in her hand, resting against her knee.

  “Finally,” she said, getting to her feet. “What happened out there?”

  “Couple of guards just started shooting at us. Had some pretty high-powered guns themselves, but we got the jump on them, because one was driving and only one was shooting.”

  Hemp swiped the card to the second level and the door latch clicked. He pulled it open and poked his head into the hallway. “Clear,” he said.

  We moved out into the hallway as a unit, same formation as before with Hemp in the lead, Gem pulling Trina along by her hand, and me bringing up the rear. The level was clear. The lab in which Max was locked was just 50 yards down the hall, and we made it there without incident. Hemp rapped on the door.

  A round face peered through the wire-reinforced glass, then smiled. A moment later the lock clicked, and the door swung in.

  “Dr. Chatsworth!” shouted Max, as though he had found a long-lost friend. He took Hemp’s hand and clasped it with both of his. “I can’t tell you what a relief it is to see you!”

  Max Romero was a short man, around five-and-a-half feet tall, bald with hair on both sides of his head. He wore wire framed round glasses, and his skin was a medium brown tone as a result of his Mexican heritage.

  “Max, please meet Gem, Flex and little Trina here. We’ve got a dog in the car, but no name for her yet.”

  Max took everyone’s hand and shook them as introductions were made, except for Trina, whom he patted on top of the head, letting his hand pause on her cheek. “It’s so good to meet all of you. It’s been harrowing here all by myself. I’ve kept my eye on that camera, but you’re the only ones to show up so far.”

  “We met a couple of your guards downstairs just now,” I said. “Unfortunately, they tried to kill me and Hemp, and we had to turn it around on them.”

  Max looked confused for a moment. “Hemp? Oh, Hemp! Sorry, Dr. Chatsworth. I knew you went by that, but our relationship has always been on more of a professional level.”

  “Please,” Hemp said. “Just call me Hemp at this point. Max, what have you learned about this thing? Anything?”

  Max shook his head slowly. “Not much, I’m afraid. The headaches that precede the main symptoms, which can drive you crazy on their own, are powerful. A couple of colleagues I was speaking with had the headaches, and trying to ask them questions about it was like trying to get a 2-month old puppy to focus on learning a trick. The pain was intense and completely distracting. At that time, I had no idea what it would become.”

  “Did they say anything about dreams?”

  Max’s eyes went round. “Yes, they did, as a matter of fact. Horrible dreams the night before. Then they woke up with the headache, and . . . well, we know what comes next.”

  “Do you have a plan, Max?” Gem asked the question. Her eyes were intense. “What you’re going to do?”

  He nodded. “I made a commitment to the CDC, and as an extension of that, to the American people. So, if you can help me secure at least this building, I’d be content staying here and helping direct anyone else who might come this way looking for help.”

  “It is the most logical place,” I said. “It’s the first place I considered coming. Even before I ran into Hemp, here.”

  “I’ve got what’s basically a Ham radio here, and I’ve set it to automatically scan the frequencies. I’ve heard a few snippets of people talking. As far away as Texas. So there are others out there.”

  “Have you spoken to any of them?” I asked.

  Max nodded. “Only so far as to tell them that the infection is here in Georgia, too. And that for all intents and purposes, the CDC is out of commission. If they stop by, I can direct them to where I know the uninfecteds are located, but there’s no sense in them coming here if we’re unable to offer any real assistance.”

  I nodded, knowing he was right. It would be good for people to know what frequency the CDC was on, so that Max could give out any information he was able, but as for them coming here, it wasn’t helpful. The living, uninfected needed to get together with others. Safety in numbers.

  “I’m concerned about your generator, Max. You’re not going to be able to stay here long if that runs out. You said a couple of weeks. Is there enough food here to hold you?

  “Absolutely. I could eat here for a couple of months, since the generator also keeps our main freezer going. But that gen is going to have about another 11 days before it shuts down hard, and for good.”

  “How do you refuel it?” Gem asked.

  “We have some huge above-ground LP tanks here, as well. Not feeding to the generator supply tanks, but we keep the additional
LP gas on hand for many other uses. Burners, heaters, torches. Behind this building.”

  “How far from the generator tanks?” Hemp asked.

  “I have no idea where the gen tanks are buried, but I assume they’re close to the gens themselves. Northeast corner of the building. And the above-ground tanks are on the same side of the building, but about a hundred or so yards away.”

  “Okay,” Hemp said. “Max, are you staying here? Or do you want to join us?”

  Max didn’t hesitate. “I have to stay, Dr. Chatsworth. I feel an obligation.”

  “Okay, then. I thought you’d feel that way,” Hemp nodded. “But here’s what we’re going to try to do.” He turned to me. “Flex, if we can find enough black pipe, I want to run it from the spare tanks to the feed for the underground LP tanks. Depending on the size and how full they are, that ought to keep Max here up and running for up to a month or more if power draw is minimized.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “And in a month, we never know what course this thing might take. The infecteds might all be dead, and at that point Max could leave the building safely.”

  “It could go the other way, too.” Max looked at Hemp with concern in his eyes.

  “Let’s hope not,” Hemp said. “Max, are there any of the mobile labs downstairs? Those converted motor homes?”

  Max nodded. “We have six of them down there. One is brand new. A 2011 that we just took delivery on. Nice 40 foot with four slide-outs.”

  “I know this might go against your grain, but would you mind if we took one?” Hemp looked directly into Max’s eyes.

  Max laughed. “Dr. Chatsworth, if you’re going to take the time to increase my lifeline here, then of course you can take what you need! Having you out there working on this thing is about all I can ask for. I know you’ll do what you can to find a cure or a way to stop this thing. Don’t ask, just take.”

  “I think I’ve got an idea,” Gem said. “Trina, I want you to stay here with Dr. Romero, okay? He’s going to give you a soda.” She looked at Max and nodded, and he nodded back. “We’re going to go out and clear the rest of this building of anything we find.”