“You have been selected for positions in a covert ops unit, codenamed AEGIS. You all come from various units and services. We’ve got SEALs, Marine Force Recon, Airborne, Delta Force, Air Force Pararescue, Rangers and Green Berets. Warrant officers, sergeants and chiefs. You all have one thing in common: you are the best at what you do. But let me tell you right now, nothing you have been through has adequately prepared you for this assignment.
“This will be a unique assignment for all of you, gentlemen. As you may have noticed, it’s not just every branch represented here; you’re also a mixed-gender team. We need the absolute best, and we cannot afford to ignore quality talent simply because their plumbing is on the inside. This is the one and only time I will say this, so listen up: I expect each and every member of this team to work with the others without regard to their sex. Hooah?”
“Hooah!” shouted the operators.
This was going to take some getting used to.
“AEGIS — known as the Advanced Experimental Genetics Intelligence Service — and its members are the front-line defense against the most fearsome enemy that our country, indeed our world, has ever known,” continued Maxwell.
I shuddered as the colonel spoke, recalling why I was there and what I had seen. I can’t believe I volunteered for this, I thought. It was a refrain I was going to repeat over and over in the weeks and years ahead.
“What I’m about to show you is classified above Top Secret.” Maxwell paused to reinforce the seriousness of his statement. “Let me be absolutely clear, gentlemen. If there is any evidence that you have shared what you learn here today with anyone, you will disappear. Permanently.” He stood back, crossing his arms over his chest. “There will be zero leaks in my unit.
“If any of you have a problem with that, leave now, and I’ll personally put in your transfer back to your former unit.” I glanced at the others, and none of them moved so much as a muscle. The colonel grunted in approval and nodded. “Very well. The briefing materials on your desk will provide you with additional detail, and you’ll be meeting someone in a moment who can answer any detailed questions you have, but what we’re dealing with here can be summed up in one word. Officially, they’re known as walkers. Unofficially, you know them better as zombies.”
A cough from the other side of the room snapped Maxwell’s head around. “This ain’t a video game, and it ain’t a movie. This is as real as it gets, soldier.” He pressed a button on the remote, and the screen showed a photo of a nightmare: a long-distance shot of three walkers attacking some hapless soul, another in the background chewing on the arm it had just ripped from the man’s body.
It was far too real a photo; too detailed and visceral to be a fake. I swallowed and looked away, only to see the faces of those soldiers around me barely flinch. These hardened career military men and women weren’t used to this sort of thing but they’d been ‘in the shit,’ as they said, and it must’ve helped them get through it.
If they can do it, then so can I. Maxwell said this was going to be tough… I might as well start getting used to it now.
I noticed one of the female soldiers at the back, a tall redhead with long hair and the most intense green eyes I’d ever seen. She looked angry. I wondered why. What was it in her past or her psychological makeup that pissed her off about walkers? It was more than a little nerve-wracking that she didn’t look surprised, not even a little. As if horror movies coming to life were just another day for her.
Spooky.
Maxwell continued with more gruesome pictures. “These were taken just prior to the decision to train our own AEGIS forces.” He paused, pointing to a small town map now displayed by the projector. “This was what Fall Creek, Colorado — not even 125 miles from here — looked like before the walkers got to it.” A few images went by of a pleasant mountain town, obviously culled from some sort of tourist publication. Maxwell pressed another button, and a video started playing. “This is what it looked like when it was all over.”
The devastation was tremendous. The soldiers watched as the video shot from a helicopter played out on the screen. Burning buildings, bodies littering the streets, blood absolutely everywhere. Military vehicles surrounding the city as the picture zoomed out to an overview of the small town. Nothing moved, except the flames. No noise, except the occasional crash as a burning wall fell in. Silence reigned in Fall Creek.
I didn’t watch the whole thing; I didn’t want to. Of all people, I thought, I should watch this. They deserve that much. But I couldn’t bring myself to see it again. Not now; maybe not ever. I took in the view of the Rockies out of the briefing room window, and thought about those I had known for so long, and would never see again. Even the deep blue of the Colorado skies couldn’t soothe my anguish this time, and I realized I was looking in the direction of what had once been my home town. I sighed and turned back to the video.
The true horror was revealed as the helicopter landed in the park near the town hall. Some of the bodies were whole and appeared to be mostly unharmed; most weren’t. Covered in bite marks and with gore everywhere, these few were all that remained after the town tore itself apart. For most of the victims, this was the literal truth.
As I closed my eyes, remembering the sounds and the panic of those days, I heard a clatter as one of the men on the other side of the room exploded out of his desk and ran to the garbage can near the door, vomiting. I sympathized with him, but I found myself growing cold, almost numb. I stared at the wall and was only somewhat conscious of the soldiers all turning toward me minutes later as the colonel paused the video.
I glanced around at the soldiers looking at me, wondering what was going on, and noticed the video again. There I was, freeze-framed for all eternity as I walked toward a squad of soldiers, my rifle on the ground behind me, my arms raised and hands folded atop my head. I jumped as Maxwell broke the silence.
“Mr. Blake here was the only survivor of the massacre. Fall Creek was once home to nearly fifteen hundred men, women and children. Now, it’s empty. Nothing lives there, and the whole area has been quarantined by us for the foreseeable future due to a ‘toxic spill.’ This was followed by an unfortunate fire that raged out of control and destroyed the town completely.” Colonel Maxwell realized that most of his team was staring at me, and gave me another look — this time one of pity — as he shouted. “Eyes front!
“When the town first fell off the grid and someone from outside finally noticed, several state troopers were sent in to investigate. We found their bodies and vehicles near the town hall. They had no idea what they were walking into, and were clearly outmatched and overwhelmed. When they didn’t report back, their commander talked to the Governor, who dispatched the Colorado Army National Guard’s 157th Infantry out of Denver.
“You have all been chosen because you are the best at what you do. So were these guys.” The colonel stepped to one side as he started another video. This one was from a helmet camera. I noticed that some of the soldiers — operators, not soldiers — began taking notes and talking in quiet whispers, critiquing the performance and methods of the unit on the screen. I was impressed that they would be able to focus after what they had just seen, and resolved to train myself to be just as good.
“We believe that the initial infection was spread by a bitten hunter returning to town,” Maxwell continued. I turned back to the screen, as hard as it was. I had a general idea of what had happened to start the whole thing, but I hadn’t been filled in on any detail. At the time, I hadn’t cared to learn and wanted merely to put it behind me. Now, things were different. “After it was all over, we had search teams scouring the mountains for weeks as far out as 20 miles, but we only found three of the bastards outside the city; they’d probably gone after animals or fleeing people. Where we realized the real magnitude of what we were up against, and just how unprepared we were, was when we discovered this video, taken sometime after the National Guard arrived in the town, likely during the second day.”
&nb
sp; On the screen, a small squad of soldiers walked through the afternoon light and moved into a small cafe. I realized I was looking at the same squad I’d seen from the roof across the street, and knew what was coming next. As usual, blood and broken bodies were everywhere, and the soldiers were taking their time carefully clearing the way as they moved forward. I saw a flyer posted on the glass by the entrance announcing Friday’s high-school football game against neighboring Ranger Canyon; a game that would never be played. Go Ravens, I sighed.
Suddenly everyone jumped as a zombie came moaning through the kitchen door.
“Halt! Freeze or we will open fire,” yelled one of the soldiers. When the moaning just continued, the unit suited actions to words and fired. I shook my head as I watched the well-trained but ignorant men aim for and hit the zombie’s chests and legs, which didn’t even slow them down. More moans were heard from around a corner and two more walkers shambled towards the team. The sound of breaking glass from the front of the restaurant caused the camera to swing around, showing another walker moving in.
The squad fell apart and was overcome within moments, one of them running screaming out into the street, clutching an arm that had been bitten and mangled beyond repair. The camera fell to the ground as the soldier’s helmet came off, sparing us the view — though not the sounds — of his squad being torn apart by the walkers left inside.
What the camera’s unfeeling lens didn’t spare us was the view out the front of the restaurant, and we watched as the wounded soldier called for help on his radio, not realizing he was also calling every remaining walker in the area straight towards him. I turned away. I knew what was coming.
There was the sound of a suppressed pistol shot, then another, and two loud thuds followed by the panicking soldier’s voice. “Oh, thank God. You’re not one of them, are you? Help me, I’ve been bitten…”
Another voice answered. “I know. I’m sorry.” Another shot and a final thud. The video went silent as Maxwell paused it once more. I knew what I would see when I turned back, and there it was: 12 pairs of eyes, all staring straight at me, most in anger, none in fear. Only Maxwell’s showed any sign of compassion as he looked at me.
It was my voice on the video; my apology to the soldier. My likeness on the screen holding a pistol in its hand, staring down at the body of the soldier I’d just killed.
I looked down for a moment then raised my eyes once more and met their glares with neither confidence nor pride, but acceptance. “I did what I had to do. I’d seen it before. He was bitten, and he was going to turn. There is no cure. It’s as simple as that.” I looked at the colonel.
The accusing, angry looks changed to reluctant understanding as they looked back at the screen, and at Maxwell, who resumed playback. I watched myself look around carefully for more walkers, then take a knee next to the now-peaceful soldier. On the screen, I bowed my head. I’m not a particularly religious man, but sometimes, what’s right is right, regardless.
May the road rise up to meet you;
may the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face
and may the rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
may God hold you in the hollow of His hand.
I murmured these words along with the video, then watched as I strode into the restaurant, pistol at the ready, and moved out of the camera’s view. Several more of the shots, and the view swung around to show me in extreme close-up as I looked straight into the camera. I had no idea when it had happened that I might be watching the video later. In fact, I had been almost certain that I was going to be dead in hours, if not minutes. Watching myself in that video, I experienced a very strong sense of déjà vu.
“What I did, I did because there was no other choice. I hope that you can understand that.” The video went dark, and the colonel turned the projector off, the briefing room’s overhead lighting coming back on automatically.
“Those guardsmen had no idea what they were walking into. No one had briefed them on walkers, or how to take them down. No one knew that that was what they would be facing. When their squads didn’t return, the Guard cordoned off the town and called the Army, which is where AEGIS comes in.
“When we arrived, we found more than six hundred active walkers in a small town that had once held well over twice that number of uninfected people. Walkers ranging in estimated age from four to eighty-five. Most of those who weren’t killed or turned by the others died through accidental trauma or self-inflicted wounds when they realized there was nowhere for them to go.
“We lost nearly two full teams of operators cleaning up the town, many of whom were bitten, subsequently turned, and then attacked their own squads and fellows. Our operators for that mission were briefed with everything we could tell them; they knew to go for head-shots and to stay quiet. And they still died. Even with some knowledge of what’s going on, things can get hairy. You’ve all seen it.
“What Blake did was necessary. He survived, despite every conceivable likelihood that he would end up as one of them. We know that bitten people turn into zombies. There is no cure, and there is no stopping or delaying it; there is merely an excruciating death and the knowledge that you will turn on your friends, your family and your neighbors.
“What you’ve all got on the desk in front of you is the sum total of what we know right now about the walkers. How to kill them, how to destroy the corpses, what to do and what not to do.” He picked up one of the thick binders.
“This has been compiled over the last 130 years, and is invaluable. Mr. Blake has volunteered to teach us what he knows to add to this, and how to deal with these things on a more personal level. We’ve never before had the chance to learn from a civilian survivor. He offers us a unique perspective and you will all pay attention to what he teaches you.
“Now, I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet. AEGIS isn’t just about killing zombies; an equally important part of our mission is to find out how to stop them from being created in the first place, as well as give us new tech to fight them and/or protect us better. We have a group of scientists working hard on that, and I’d like you to meet their head researcher, Dr. Mary Adamsdóttir.”
We took our cue from Maxwell and took our feet as he stood and extended a hand towards the tall and skinny woman that stood up and moved to the lectern.
“Thank you, colonel,” she said, taking up the remote and plunging us into darkness again. “Please, take your seats. This, ladies and gentlemen, is our enemy.”
A complicated medical drawing of some sort appeared on the screen, and I knew I wasn’t the only one left wondering what I was looking at.
“On the left, you see a normal protein. On the right, a ‘misfolded’ protein, called a prion,” she said. “It can’t be seen with a microscope. It’s not a virus, but it does lead to bovine spongiform encephalopathy, Crutzfeld-Jakob Disease…”
“Bovine spongi-what?” asked a soldier in the back.
Dr. Adamsdóttir turned and looked out at the soldiers. “Bovine spongiform encephalopathy.” Seeing the blank stares on all of the faces looking at her, she chuckled and took off her glasses. “Sorry. I sometimes forget that not everyone I talk to is a geneticist or biological environmentalist, or… never mind. To answer your question, BSE. More commonly known as ‘Mad Cow’ disease.”
The comprehension was instant. “Thanks, doc,” said the soldier, and Mary turned back to the screen.
“BSE — Mad Cow — and CJD are just two variants of the several diseases that we’ve linked to these prions. You all know how easy it is to catch ‘Mad Cow’ — all you have to do is eat the infected beef.”
“I thought zombies — sorry, walkers — were caused by a virus or something,” I said, looking on with interest. “If prions are spread by eating infected meat, wouldn’t someone have to eat a walker to become one themselves?”
“Normally, yes, but this infection is like nothing we’ve ever se
en before.” She hit a button on the remote, and the screen displayed a new slide — this one of the rapid deterioration of cells. “This shows the speed at which this prion causes reanimation. You can see clearly here with the marked samples that normal function ceases around eight to twelve hours after infection, with complete reanimation occurring in roughly double that, 16 to 24.”
The lights came back up, and she began pacing the stage. “There are many, many things we don’t know about this prion. Hell, prions weren’t even theorized until the early 80’s. At that point, we were still trying to isolate the virus that caused the spread, never realizing it wasn’t a virus at all.”
“So where does it come from?” asked another soldier.
The doctor threw up her hands and shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. We’ve been working on it for nearly 25 years, and have only recently figured out the specifics of what it does. We still don’t know where it comes from. We may never know where it originated, but in the end, it really makes no difference. It’s here now, and isn’t going anywhere.
“The process goes like this: A victim is bitten and the prions enter the bloodstream. From there the prion attaches itself to a certain molecule in the bloodstream, eventually making its way to the pre-frontal cortex where it replicates itself in extraordinary numbers, using just about every bit of bio-mass it can find there. This leads to a very painful death, of a sort. The prion changes the chemistry of the brain to such a large degree that regular body functions — breathing, for example — cease completely. The victim then expires, re-animating approximately eight to twelve hours after death. The reanimation occurs due to the new electrical signals being sent by the brain after death.”
The Dying of the Light (Book 1): End Page 5