Jurassic Dead 2: Z-Volution

by Rick Chesler

  Into the East Wing lobby, where three zombies—former secret service by the look of their suits and the dark glasses one of them still wore—feasted on the body of what might have been the press secretary. They looked up from their meal, snarling with bloody lips, and leapt onto the dining room table. Remington aimed, but never fired, as the radar tech let loose with a hail of bullets from his procured M5, raking the fiends wildly from neck to torso, a few shots in the barrage hitting home, splitting their heads and puncturing brains.

  All three zombies went down, and as Remington, with newfound respect for the radar tech, led the men around the table to the far hall, he fired a mercy shot into the brain of the still-twitching secretary.

  Wordlessly, grouped in a tight circle, heads on a swivel and covering every angle, they moved into the hallway, through a door and to the elevator leading down to the bunker.

  #

  When the doors opened and he and his soldiers filed into the hallway, Remington’s worst suspicions were confirmed. The door to the command center, the massive entrance to the unbreakable bunker, was open. Ajar like someone had just left the back door open.

  First, he locked and held the elevator at this level so it wouldn’t rise again for anybody or anything else, then he led his men down the darkened corridor, stepping over bodies as they went. The marines and secret service had certainly put up a fight, he thought, admiring a multitude of headshot kills, the zombie bodies piling up as they approached the open door and the flickering light within.

  Something sparked inside, and a wet shuffling sound filtered out. Remington held up a fist, then scanned the faces of his men. He saw their desperation, their fear, as he heard that sound again from inside, chilling like a throaty rattle, like an animal having difficulty swallowing a still-twitching meal.

  Remington turned sideways and eased inside the command center bunker. A light above the main oblong table flickered as another one sparked in a regular rhythm. Bodies were everywhere, draped over tables and chairs, but not as many as Remington would have expected. Did they not have time to evacuate enough of the senior staff and officers? Did the president even make it down here?

  Someone bumped him from behind, then pointed behind a section of shattered monitors and a hanging screen with dangling wires. A hunched form on the ground, someone in a dark blue suit, slicked back grey hair. Face… face down in the neck of a female form. A white blouse stained crimson. Narrow legs, one foot still in a black high heel, the other bare—and partially chewed, the white bones sticking out.

  “Is that…?” The radar tech stepped forward, craning his neck.

  Remington reached out to hold him back.

  “Sir?”

  “Quiet,” Remington hissed. He tried to pull him back, but he was already moving.

  “Mr. President?”

  Remington leveled his gun, trying to get a shot. He didn’t know if it was the Commander-in-Chief or not, but there was no way anybody here was still human.

  “This was a mistake,” someone said at his back.

  “We’re screwed,” another spoke, echoing the voice in Remington’s head. This was indeed quite probably a one-way trip, but Remington had hoped at least they could hold out in the bunker, support the president and perhaps mount a counter-offensive from this command center. Now…

  Now the former president raised his head, and a mass of stringy flesh—that had just been part of his wife’s throat—hung from his teeth before he wildly sucked the grizzled strips into his mouth and down his throat.

  A meaty snarl as those yellow eyes scanned the company.

  “Mr. President!” shouted the radar tech, and Remington had the sense that despite everything he’d just been through, the tech was somehow in awe of meeting his ultimate commander, and it was clouding all reason.

  Remington aimed. “Get down, son.”

  He turned, then stepped in the path of the president, like a secret service agent having spotted an assassin.

  “No, I can’t let you take that shot. He’s—”

  “Not your president, idiot! Get down.”

  For an instant, he had a shot, just as President Zombie stood, and his neck lolled to one side so Remington got a clear look down his sights, right between those yellow eyes—eyes that only hours earlier had been privy to the nation’s deepest secrets…

  But just then the rubble to their left exploded with two forms that scrambled out from the debris and launched themselves across the room. One slammed into the man behind Remington, catching him completely off-guard, while the other, a little slower, running on a stump that had been blown off in a grenade blast—stumbled right into a barrage of bullets from the others.

  Remington spun and fired into the shadows, seeing more movement near the back, toward the adjoining room and the connecting facilities, the kitchen and restrooms that they hadn’t had a chance yet to clear out.

  How many back there?

  A scream and the radar tech went down, toppled and nearly bent in half. Remington heard a crack as loud as another gunshot, the man’s spine snapping as the president leapt on him, broke him backwards and fastened his jaws on the soft tissue of his neck.

  “Damn it!” Remington spun back around and aimed, trying to get a clear shot through the mayhem of the other men running and firing and trying to stay away from the zombies, the former president’s staff. A man just barely recognizable as the vice president lurched across his field of vision, and this time Remington didn’t hesitate.

  One shot to the temple, and that annoying prick who'd killed the last defense spending bill went down in a bloody heap. Remington stepped over the body, just as one of his commandos shot down a zombie attacking from his back. He sighted at the blurry crimson mess of the president and the radar tech, trying to get a clear head shot, but then—as the president looked up at him through a haze of insatiable hunger—Remington realized it didn’t matter. They were both gone.

  Lost, just like everyone upstairs and in the Capitol. Like everyone out there on the avenue. Like all his friends and mates he trained with, flew with and ate and drank with. Like everyone he had ever known and…God help them all… everyone he had ever loved.

  He shut his eyes.

  And held down the trigger, steeling against the recoil, feeling every cartridge loosed by his weapon firing out, finding its mark or not, he didn’t care. Enough of the rounds would, and that’s all that mattered.

  Because really, nothing mattered. It didn’t matter that he was killing a man who had only moments earlier been fighting not just for his life, but for a very way of life, holding on to an existence grounded in logic and safety and the pursuit of peace. It didn’t matter that he was destroying another man who had earlier been the leader of the free world, the sole person who could rally a nation in defense, order a wholesale retaliation and lead other world powers into some sort of counter-offensive.

  It didn’t matter because now everything was lost.

  Remington opened his eyes to gaze with no satisfaction whatsoever upon the results of his work.

  The two bodies cut to ribbons, holes torn through skulls and chests, brains and gore streaked across the tiled floor to the concrete wall.

  Breathing calmly (because nothing mattered anymore, no need to get upset), Remington stepped over the remnants of the president. He walked through the remaining three commandos, all either still firing or locked in hand-to-hand combat with zombies. He made his way to the far edge of the room, where a TV screen hung more or less still intact, if a bit spattered with blood.

  He approached the screen, dimly hearing two final gunshots behind him and the sound of bodies falling in a squishy heap. Approached the visual of a gray-haired man sitting calmly at a table, with several other distinguished men and women, who appeared to be calm and in control, if not a bit shell-shocked. The gray-haired man, a little-wild eyed, had a contented smile on his face that Remington thought more than out of place, given the general tone of the unfolding apocalypse.

/>   “Hello there, major,” said the man in a calm, assured voice as his eyes glanced around the bunker behind Remington. “Did I just witness you shooting the president in the head?”

  “Former president,” Remington said hollowly. “Who are you?”

  The man grinned, licked his lips and Remington saw behind him the seal of the United States, along with a pair of U.S. flags at the back of the room, a room which seemed to have experienced its own share of mayhem.

  “Quite right you are about that being the former president. You’ll find I’ve been transferred all necessary codes, authority and security clearances, and as of…” He glanced at his watch. “…oh, about ten minutes ago, I’m your new Commander-in-Chief. I’m sending you verification of the transfer of power now.”

  Remington’s eyes opened wide in surprise. Things were even more severe than he’d thought if the succession of government plan had already been enacted. He glanced over at his communication specialist and saw that he was already on his hand-held device, busy tapping the screen to verify that the incoming stream of encrypted codes matched what they had been given. Remington would not let his guard down and would have asked for the authentication string had DeKirk not offered it, but he was glad he did.

  He heard a series of tones out of the technician’s device and then the specialist gave him the thumbs up. “Authentication verified, sir. It’s legit.”

  Remington nodded to the new commander. “Verification codes received and authenticated. I wish it were under better circumstances but I look forward to serving under your command all the same, President?…”

  Remington swallowed hard and followed his three surviving men a moment later in standing to attention and saluting.

  “President William DeKirk,” the man said, standing and straightening his suit coat. “Now, kindly debrief me on the situation there at the White House. Because from where I’m standing…”

  Remington narrowed his eyes, trying to see anything that would give an indication of where exactly these men and women were situated. Raven Rock? That would be Pennsylvania, but maybe it was the alternate bunker, rumored to be somewhere in Missouri. Or else Colorado, possibly?

  “…it seems things aren’t going too well there.”

  Remington put his hand down at his side, lifting the M5. “No sir, they are not. The Capitol is in flames, and the White House…severely compromised. The whole city…”

  “I understand,” the new president said. He leaned in until his face—and those oddly-tinted eyes loomed large on the screen.

  “Now listen close, I’ll tell you what I’d like you to do.”

  29.

  Atlanta, CDC Headquarters

  Alex ran up to the outside of the curved glass and steel building with Veronica a few steps behind him, wheeling on her heels as she swept the barrel of her gun across the landscape behind her. He pulled on the big handles of the double glass doors but they didn’t budge. Locked.

  He pressed his face up against the glass and looked inside to the lobby. The receptionist desk was unstaffed, potted plants knocked over, their dirt marring the white tile floor. A dead security guard, bullet hole smack in the middle of his forehead, lay sprawled in the middle of the room. Alex saw no one…or no thing…living. He took a step back and looked up at the towering facade.

  Dr. Arcadia Grey was in there somewhere and it was his and Veronica’s job to find her and bring her to the secret lab in Colorado. She was the best chance anyone had at developing an antidote. But how to get in?

  “Intercom panel, over there!” Veronica pointed before spinning back around to fire a couple of shots at a distant zombie. Alex ran to the panel. He ran a finger along the directory that accompanied the buttons, seeking Grey’s name…not there, but the Inquiries option was available.

  He depressed the button and heard a ridiculously pleasant-sounding chime given the circumstances. Waited for an answer. After nearly a minute during which he hit the button several times, he was about to give up and try some other buttons to see if he could reach anyone, when a tired-sounding female voice issued from the speaker.

  “Yes?”

  Alex didn’t think that was a proper government employee greeting, but it just went to show how far everything normal had been tossed out the window. He leaned in close to the speaker.

  “Doctor Grey?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  He looked back at Veronica, who paused her lookout duties to monitor the conversation. He waved her over and then turned back to the speaker while she ran over to join him.

  “My name is Alex Ramirez. I’m here with CIA Agent Veronica Winters. We were ordered here by the president to take you to a research lab in Co—“

  “Alex!” Veronica put a finger across her lips, warning him not to divulge the location of the clandestine laboratory. She pulled his finger from the intercom button.

  “Who knows who’s listening in or if that’s even her?”

  The voice on the other end seemed to sense their concerns.

  “Yes, it’s me, Dr. Grey, and I was told to expect you. I know your plans for me, but listen, I can’t leave.”

  “Why not?” Alex frowned. Other than the obvious: that maybe she was trapped in there, why else would she fight extraction?

  “There’s no point. If I don’t figure this out fast, by the time we get to Colorado and start all over again there, it might be too late. For all of us. The things I need…they’re all here.”

  Veronica stepped up to the intercom. “Doctor Grey, this is Agent Winters. I was told you’d have everything you needed with you in your lab, and you could transport them with us. Is that not the case?”

  “That is indeed not the case. I need something else, there’s a chance with the right specimen that I could figure this out here and now.”

  “What specimen?”

  A pause ensued during which Alex wondered if the researcher was either afraid to say, or not allowed. “A live zombie. Or as alive as that term implies.” She let that sink in for a moment while Alex and Veronica exchanged bewildered stares.

  Dr. Grey continued. “Human or dinosaur, whichever you can get. Although I imagine the former would be easier to procure.”

  Alex spoke into the microphone while mentally picturing wrestling a crylopholosaur into submission. “Yeah, I vote for the human variety.” But no sooner had he said it than he realized that, too, was extremely problematic.

  “Hold on just a minute.” Veronica’s features were twisted into an angry mask. “You expect us to capture one of those disease carrying things and bring it back here?”

  Dr. Grey’s reply was quick in coming and earnest in tone. “My research is at a dead end without a live specimen. Believe me, I’m not looking forward to spending time in close proximity to one of them in the lab myself, but that’s what has to be done if I’m put a stop to this thing one and for all. You want in to this place? Come back with a zombie.”

  #

  “I can’t believe she wouldn’t give us so much as a tranquilizer dart,” Veronica complained. “Or a net-gun, or just a net…something! How are we supposed to catch one of these things?”

  She and Alex stood on a downtown street some distance from the CDC building, looking for a zombie to catch alive.

  Alex put a hand on her shoulder, an attempt to calm her fraying nerves. “Maybe she doesn’t have any, or maybe drugs would mess up her research. Who knows if tranqs would even work on their messed up physiology? She told us what we have to do. Let’s do it and get out of here.”

  Veronica took a deep breath and held his gaze. “Okay. But how? How do we get one of those things back to the CDC building without it being able to bite or scratch?”

  Alex took in their surroundings. They stood in a business area with office buildings behind them and in front of them what looked like a retail district with stores and shops. He pointed that way. “Think there’s some stores up ahead. Let’s see if we can find anything useful.”

  They
set off down the block. It was deserted until they reached the beginning of the storefront section, where they were immediately confronted with four zombies stepping out of an alcove entrance to a woman’s clothing boutique. Veronica gave the first two double-taps to the forehead with her pistol, but one of the other two leapt on her, seeking purchase with its teeth. At the same time, the other one attacked Alex. He gave it a violent kick and it flew back into the alcove where it slumped on the ground, legs at a weird angle. It stayed there, trying to move but unable for the moment to get up.

  By the time he could turn his attention to Veronica, she was flat on her back on the ground, kicking the living dead woman off of her. As it stumbled backwards and then steadied itself, preparing for another assault, Alex took aim and put a shot between its eyes. The she-zombie dropped, dead for real. Veronica got to her feet and dusted herself off. Alex wasted no time.

  “C’mon, let’s see what’s up here.”

  Alex and Veronica made their way down the row of stores. Most of them were clothing, one specializing only in hats. Finally, nearing the end of the block, they found some different types of shops. A now useless Sprint store. A frozen yogurt shop.

  “Here we go!” Alex pointed at the last business on the block, a sporting goods franchise.

  “Hardly the time for fun and games.”

  “Let’s just see what’s in there. I have an idea.”

  The store was closed and by the looks of things with no one inside. Alex tried the door. Locked. Peering inside the display window which featured mannequins in various athletic dress, swinging bats and holding footballs, it looked to Alex like the place was left in a hurry but hadn’t yet been looted or the scene of a major battle.

  He held his pistol by the barrel and smashed the window with the butt. He kicked away some more of the glass until they could easily pass through. Stepping inside the store, he told Veronica, “Look for anything we might use to keep one from biting and to contain its hands.”