Zombie Botnet Bundle: Books 1 - 3: #zombie, Zombie 2.0, Alpha Zombie

by Al K. Line

  "Um, zombies?" ventured Al, more concerned with how they were going to deal with the infected than if he could open up a Facebook account. He really didn't get the attraction at all. "What would we be doing now? We should be going back down the stairs and getting on Basil bus is what I am now wanting to do." He was getting jittery again, he began counting the steps down he could see, a frown of concentration on his face.

  "Al. Al. AL!" shouted Kyle. "Have a sandwich dude, and a drink, you need it."

  "Yes, I was forgetting this," said the big guy, his belly growling viciously. He delved in his backpack greedily, pulling out a large fistful of sustenance like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. He sat down happily on a deep leather sofa and began to refuel.

  No prizes for guessing where Bos Bos was right now. Zombie hordes or not, sandwiches came first.

  Joe raised an eyebrow at Kyle.

  "The big guy needs to keep his blood sugars in check, it doesn't help with the autism, sends his brain all mushy. Or summit like that anyway," Kyle responded, waving his hand in the air like that explained such a complex condition.

  "Um. Right," said Joe.

  Bloody hell, how have this lot survived so long?

  Thwack, thwack, THWACK.

  "Well, here we go again then guys and gals. Party time. The door is re-enforced so they shouldn't be able to get in, not unless zombies know how to use keycards, and have one," said Joe confidently.

  "I dunno, that dude in the skirt looked like he wasn't quite as brain-dead as the rest. He looked different," said Kyle.

  "Never mind, he still won't have a bloody keycard will he? Look, let's get organized and sort out what we are going to do. First things first, let's go over how to use the guns again shall we?"

  "Good idea," said Ven. "I still haven't got a clue."

  "I can use a shotgun, and you saw me hit that dude just now didn't you? Bullseye," reminded a proud Kyle.

  "Mmmble, tooble usuul—"

  "Al, finish your sarnie before you speak. I can't understand a word," interrupted Ven. "And look at the carpet! There are crumbs everywhere."

  Al finished his mouthful of carb based delight. "I did say I am using the shotgun too."

  "Right, well that's a start I suppose," said Joe kindly. He didn't mention the carpet, but he probably hated mess as much as Ven, if not more.

  Fuck, seriously? They made it this far? There's hope for me and Nopad yet.

  With howls and crashes a constant background noise Joe tried his best to explain the intricacies of the various weapons in the bags once again. Kyle and Al seemed to get it a lot better the second go around. Joe felt it imperative they were up to speed now that his life may depend on it. It was no longer a leaving gesture of goodwill, it was for much higher stakes. Ven still glazed over, no matter how hard she tried to understand the different ways the various pistols and the sub-machine gun worked.

  In the end he came up with a special set of instructions for Ven.

  "Look, if a zombie is close then just point the gun at its face and pull the trigger, okay? Any problems then chop it's fucking head off with your sword. Deal?"

  A nod of assent.

  "Still think I prefer my mace."

  "Yeah, I prefer my sword," said Ven.

  "I have these," said Al raising his giant fists in the air.

  "You'll get used to it, just keep them ready to fire and you will be good to go. It's not like we have a lack of them, is it?"

  Each had a bag with various weapons, they just had to try not to shoot themselves before they pointed them at a zombie.

  Twisted Fire Starter

  "Dum, dum, instigator. Dum, dum firestarter," sang Alfred happily. Prodigy were one of his fave bands. He thought his selection of tune rather apt as he set fire to a huge pile of furniture he had stacked against the door outside the human-infested room. A corridor full of drooling zombies waited behind him, fury building as the scent of human flesh became more and more tantalizing as it occupied additional molecular space.

  "This will teach those fucking sadists," muttered Alfred, talking mostly to himself just so he could hear the spoken word. "Think they can hide from their wrong-doing? They don't know what they let themselves in for. Now they have me to contend with, not just poor innocent infected that haven't got a conscious thought between them. I know right from wrong and I know..."

  And on and on his raspy, rambling monotone went. Sometimes more coherent than others, he found talking out loud kept the worst of the demonic cravings at bay. Kept him cognizant and able to function properly.

  The Alpha had to feed his tribe.

  "Here we come motherfuckers," he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Time to pay the piper shitheads. It's supper time. And guess what's on the menu? Brains, you sick fucks. Yours!" Alfred cackled wildly, lighting a basket full of paper at the base of the wobbling tower.

  "Dum, dum, twisted animator," Alfred sang on, walking away. Shepherding his gruesome flock backward as the flames licked ever higher.

  "Looks like we're having roast for supper guys and gals. Hahaha."

  ###

  "Um, I hope I'm not the only one that heard that? That can't be a zombie can it? I mean, they can't talk, let alone get it together to build a bloody bonfire. At least I hope not. Not that it makes it any better if it's just a normal person who wants to eat our roast brains for his dinner. Actually, it kind of makes it worse..." Ven was freaking out somewhat.

  "Ven, Ven."

  "What?"

  "You're rambling love, time to chill out a little and let's get the hell out of dodge," said Joe, slinging bags over his shoulder, heading towards the stairs.

  "Wait, wait. What, we're leaving here? Um, what about the Web?" said Ven.

  "Web? You mean the Internet connection? What the fuck about it? Who cares? Let's get out of here. I for one am not being roast dinner for a bunch of rabid fucking zombies led by a man in a skirt, no way." Joe carried on walking. "It's now or never peeps, the room may be bomb proof but it ain't smoke proof."

  Smoke was already seeping under the door, forming a thick mist across the carpet. The temperature was rising.

  "Damn, can't we put the bloody thing out? Aren't there sprinkler systems or something?" asked Kyle.

  "There were. I had to turn them off. We already had a mishap on the first floor and everything got soaked," said Nopad.

  "By we, what he means is he dicked about with trying to make a fire to cook some toast and nearly burned the bloody building down." Joe shot daggers at Nopad. "So, no, there are no sprinklers any more. So. Let's. Go. Now."

  Joe disappeared down the stairs, long shadows playing up the narrow passage, smoke following him, sucked down by the cooler air below.

  "Well, better luck next time Ven. There are bound to be more places with a connection if this place has one. But look, it's best to forget about that life now, it's over. No going back. We need to forget about the Web from now on," said Kyle.

  "I wish I could, you know I've tried, I really have. It's just when they said there was a connection it all came back to me and I really felt the need, you know?"

  "I know, I really miss it. I still find it weird not going Online every day, but what can you do?"

  "Run, I am thinking," said Al, pointing at the oblong of red hot metal the door had now become.

  "Woof, woof."

  "Okay Bos Bos, we're going."

  Bos Bos was wheezing, eyes watering. He sneezed repeatedly as the smoke tickled his delicate nostrils. Scampering to the stairs, he looked back, wagging his tail vigorously.

  "Okay, okay, let's go," said Ven. They descended into the blue light, down to the first floor.

  Joe had given up on visiting the first floor, it was the one place in the building he no longer came. It messed with his head and he couldn't stand the sight of it. Thanks to Nopad and his idiots guide to making toast.

  Twat.

  "Wow, you weren't kidding about the water, were you?" said Ven, squelching through the sodden
carpet along with the rest of them.

  "Shame you didn't pack your wellies eh?" smirked Kyle.

  "What? They are on the bus," said Ven, not getting the sarcastic tone. She didn't find it odd to always have appropriate footwear, unlike some other people she could think of.

  "Guys, can we please focus? This level is nowhere near as secure as the top floor, so let's keep our wits about us, alright? You have done this before, right?"

  "Joe, we have seen more action than you dude, a lot more," said Kyle.

  "I doubt that very much, you don't know what I have seen little man."

  "Hey, no need for that Joe, just sayin' is all. We aren't total noobs you know."

  "Fine. So let's point our guns at the monsters and try to clean up this mess then shall we?"

  "We're leaving aren't we?" said Ven.

  "I told you already, I'm staying here. There's nowhere else to go yet, not until we hear about the army, or something, getting their shit together and there is somewhere controlled to actually run to. We check the radio every day and so far nothing. But when there is something set up then we will hear about it. Until then I'm staying put. So you lot can help me clear up this damn zombie mess while you're here, in repayment for the weapons. Then you can be on your way. Fair?"

  "Fair is right," agreed Al.

  A plan was discussed quickly. It mostly involved killing zombies, strong bias toward the one that was definitely in charge.

  "I am needing to say something now, you are listening," said Al. "If the zombie that talks is a zombie, and he is lighting things and is talking, then he is a zombie?" Al was fidgeting and he was growing concerned about the man wearing the dress. Al had no problem dealing with anyone trying to kill him, but he was also unsettled by the fact that the man wasn't what they had agreed was an actual zombie.

  "Al, I wish I knew, honest I do. It could just be that he wasn't as infected as the real zombies, or that something happens after a while. But we haven't seen anyone else that has been anything but a mindless zombie once infected, so I don't know big guy. I just don't really know what the deal is with him." Ven was as confused as Al, and had the additional burden of knowing that whatever happened to the man in the skirt it was all her fault. It made every decision so much harder when you knew that whatever the outcome the blood was on your hands.

  Ven couldn't think clearly, it was impossible to try to imagine what could have happened to the insane looking man wearing nothing but a skirt when their own lives were at risk.

  "Hey, hey!" Joe clicked his fingers in front of Ven's face. She was totally sparked out.

  "Sorry, having a hacker moment."

  "Whatever. Can we please do this thing."

  "Fine, let me just, erm, um, ah, that's better. Good boy Tomas." Ven adjusted baby Tomas in his sling, getting him low and tight, better lining up the protection mats she had stuffed in.

  Everyone zipped up their new gear, adjusted bits and pieces, wrapped protective scarves, finger pulled gloves. With weapons at the ready they advanced down the soggy corridor.

  "Oh, Joe, one more thing?" said Kyle.

  "What," said an exasperated Joe.

  "Exactly how many zombies did you lock in the cupboard, I mean room?"

  "Abut fifty or so, maybe more?" He looked over at Nopad, the distraught teenager had been keeping count.

  "Sixty seven in total," said Nopad. "Although some will be dead by now."

  "Dead, how do you mean? They have already been dead."

  "I mean they will have died in the room, some have been in there for weeks. And some weren't in great condition to start with."

  "Guys, that's kind of intense isn't it? You mean they have been starving all this time. All in there together, some alive, some dead from hunger?" asked Kyle.

  "What! What could we do? Feed them bits of body or something? I know it's gross but we were at kind of a loss guys, you know, this being our first zombie apocalypse an' all. You got any better solutions?"

  "Kill 'em and not lock them up in a room to starve maybe? It's seriously heartless Joe, pretty intense dude," said Kyle. "We've done some nasty shit ourselves, I'm not saying different, but still..."

  "I know, I know. I just didn't know what to do. I thought it would be worse to kill them if there was a chance they would come back from wherever they are when infected, but when they didn't... Well, it was too late then, we couldn't get in the bloody roo—"

  Joe was interrupted by a raw scratchy scream coming from down the corridor. Five rabid zombies hurtling towards them, arms spiraling, clawing the air, disease and deprivation hanging off them like tattered clothes.

  "Here we go then," said Joe, raising his SIG, firing fast.

  Two went down dead in their tracks, bullets hitting their mark square in the forehead. The remaining three were now almost upon them, Al and Nopad were in the front of the group. They took the brunt of the assault.

  Al snapped a fist out at an overweight supervisor, the force sending him flying into a window to their right, glass breaking as the zombie caught on the bottom of the pane, pinned, struggling to right itself. Al grabbed it by slick greasy hair, almost losing his grip as he pulled the zombie upright and smashed its head into the floor with a wrestling slam he learned from the TV.

  There was a sickening squelch, the zombie's nose splatted as it hit the sodden carpet, the cushioning insufficient to curtail Al's strength. He grabbed a tattered collar, pulling it upright. He pushed the zombie back to arms length and with his left hand he gave a blow to its windpipe that halted the fury instantly. The once quite amenable supervisor struggled and failed to take its last breath before it crumpled to the ground, dead for a second, final time.

  Nopad wasn't quite as efficient. The two remaining infected flung themselves at him in a frenzy beyond anything hitherto witnessed. They had been in the room for weeks, their bodies slowing to survive. The freedom and super-oxygenated blood they now had sent them manic, arms flailing, teeth gnashing, searching for flesh like a baby searching for milk.

  They overpowered Nopad in a heartbeat, his one arm next to useless. Limbs flying at incredible speeds, biting repeatedly at anything they could, sensing raw flesh mere millimeters away, the Alpha spurring on the hivemind, offering freely an increased strength and purpose.

  Kyle shot one, point-blank. It convulsed wildly, white foam spluttering from its mouth, limbs jerking as if controlled by a drunken puppeteer. Joe wasn't as generous with the remaining zombie, he took a slimline blade from its sheath and slowly and methodically pushed it through the zombie's ear until it simply stopped thrashing and went limp. A slim trickle of thick blood oozed out as he claimed his knife, nothing more.

  "Wow, thanks guys. These freaks are more manic than ever, did you see that one trying to get through the armor at the neck, they know the weak spots alright." Nopad was breathing hard, trying not to come undone — trying to not show himself up in front of company. If truth be told Joe was always there to protect him and usually dealt with any problems before they got as far as they just had.

  "Let's keep moving," said Joe. "And Nopad?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Please will you shoot the fucking zombies before they jump you for a second time. There's a dear."

  "Fuck you Joe, I'm doing my best here man. Did you see the speed of those guys?" Nopad flushed red at the effeminate insult from Joe, he was trying his best and there was no need for Joe to take the piss like that.

  "Onward and downward, and a zombie hunting we do go," sang out Al, happy to be doing something other than shopping.

  "He always like this?" Joe asked Ven.

  "Pretty much, yeah. And you don't even want to know what it's like when he gets going with the bus song," sighed Ven.

  "There's a bus song? What do you mean?"

  "Another time Joe, let's deal with the zombies so we can all get on with our lives shall we?" Ven followed the others down the corridor, heading for the main stairwell and elevator area.

  "So much for a quick sh
opping trip," she muttered quietly. "They had the Internet too, can't believe I missed a chance to try to get clearer on what the hell is going on in the world."

  She squelched onward, glad she wasn't wearing suede.

  Abecedary Al

  When Al was nineteen he learned a valuable lesson about himself — he came to understand the depths of the emotions he was capable of feeling. For the first time he truly, deeply understood just how different he was to other people. Growing up he knew about his condition from a surprisingly early age. His parents had been very open about autism, and its many variables, as soon as he was old enough to understand. It meant that Al was actually fairly comfortable with it, he didn't find it unduly depressing, he didn't dwell on it, and in fact he often enjoyed the attention he got because of his size, the funny way he spoke and the many obsessions he worked his way through during his youth. He just wished people didn't keep asking him if he was Dutch or something.

  But in his nineteenth year on the planet his father died, and Al finally accepted that he was nothing at all like a lot of other people. Either that, or they simply wouldn't admit the truth about themselves as they felt the need to conform to social standards — Al had no such compunction.

  Al's dad had been out on the roof trying to fix the TV aerial — it had gone wonky after some of the worst storms the United Kingdom had seen since records began. Although they said that about everything when it was bad: worst rain since records began, worst storms, most sun since records began etc. It seemed a constant whenever you watched the weather on the telly. But it had been very stormy, and the signal on the television was nothing but static. So Mr. Gladson, for that was Al's family name, had got out the ladders and gone up on the roof to fix the reception. No way was he going to pay someone to do something he could do himself for free.