Zombie D.O.A. (The Complete Series)

by JJ Zep

  “Anything I can clear up for you, I’d be happy to.”

  “Okay, who is Pendragon? What are you trying to achieve exactly?

  “Are we talking corporate strategy here?”

  “No, we’re talking a no bullshit answer. Are you the good guys, Joe?”

  “I believe so.”

  “And what exactly are you trying to achieve?”

  “We’re trying to restore the world to normality.”

  “How do you propose to do that?”

  Joe whistled through its teeth. “Number of ways. Most importantly we need a zombie clear out. And we need a way of ensuring that there’s no chance of a re-infection. And if there is, we need the means to deal with it. An antidote.”

  “Blueberry Hill.”

  “Yesterday’s news. The new batch is called Strawberry Fields and it’s much more effective.”

  And where does Ruby fit into all this?”

  “That’s a complex question.”

  “Try me.”

  “Ask something else.”

  “Okay, who’s pulling the strings? Who’s behind the Pendragon Corporation?”

  “That’s an easy one. Former US Senator from Rhode Island, Knox Pendragon.”

  “And what’s he get out of all of this?”

  “He gets to see the country he loves strong again. He gets to see us re-unite. Right now there’s a thousand little warlords, like your old friend Chavez in New York, or the late Virgil Pratt of Oklahoma carving out little pieces of the country for themselves, running their own fiefdoms by their own rules. We can’t allow that to continue.”

  “So what about Ruby, Joe? Where does she fit into all this?”

  “I can’t tell you, Chris. I’m going to have to show you. But first we’re going to have to take a little ride first. Follow me.”

  I followed Joe out to the helicopter taking my AK with me. I was just about to get on board when Joe pulled me aside. With the whine of the chopper’s engine and the slap of its rotors masking his voice he shouted directly in my ear, “Hope you didn’t buy that line of bullshit back there.”

  fourteen

  I expected the chopper to follow the coastline south towards Pendleton, but instead it did a wide arc and I was sure we were headed north. When I asked Joe he confirmed my suspicions, “Heading into L.A.,” he said.

  “Isn’t that supposed to be Z central?”

  “Exactly why we’re going there,” he said, but didn’t elaborate.

  Below us, the City of Lights was in darkness, the only illumination coming from the many small fires that dotted the landscape. The spotlights of the chopper arced downwards picking up figures running in the streets among the wrecked cars and debris. Here and there I saw flashes of tracer fire and once a small explosion. We passed between some skyscrapers, now standing as lonely sentinels over the dead city.

  And then our destination came into view, starkly lit against its dark surroundings, and as we moved closer it was easily recognizable.

  I’d seen the Beverly Hills Hotel in a number of movies, and it looked exactly the same now as I remembered it, lawns smartly trimmed, tropical gardens immaculately maintained, the pool sparkling and illuminated by underwater lamps. It even appeared as though the famously pink building had been given a recent coat of paint.

  The helicopter touched down on a driveway and let us off and then ascended again. We walked towards the entrance where we were frisked and made to hand over our weapons. Then we entered the foyer, which, like the exterior of the building, was impeccable. I could hear laughter and the faint tinkle of a piano.

  “You’re probably tired,” Joe said, “and you can bunk down in one of the bungalows, but I’d like you to meet Knox first.”

  “What’s the deal with this place?” I asked.

  “Knox likes to stay here when he’s in town.”

  We walked through the foyer and entered a bar decorated in oak and muted shades of beige and gold. The glass doors to the right opened onto a terrace overlooking the pool, gardens, and further away a row of towering palms.

  The place was brimming with tuxedo clad men, and woman in evening dress. As we made our way through the crowd, several of the men clapped Joe on the back and some called out greetings.

  The crowd parted, and we approached a man in his mid-sixties seated in a wheelchair. To his right stood a younger man, left a slim, middle-aged woman, her graying hair drawn into a severe bun. Behind them stood a couple of guys who looked like extras from a mob movie.

  “Joe,” the older man said as we approached, he extended a hand and Joe shook it.

  “Senator, I’d like you to meet, Chris Collins. I’m trying to convince Chris to join our little operation.”

  The senator took my hand in a limp grip, “A pleasure,” he said. “Joe has told me a lot about you.”

  “And this is Doctor Gish,” Joe said indicating the woman. She stared intently at me for a moment before inclining her head in a nod that was barely perceptible. I noticed also that a look passed between her and Joe Thursday.

  “So this is the famous, Chris Collins,” the younger man said. He sized me up with a look that was part disdain and part disgust.

  “This is Rolly,” Joe said.

  “That’s Roland. Mr. Pendragon to you, dipshit.”

  Joe laughed off the comment and turned towards the senator, “I’m just going to get Chris settled in and then I’ll be back for the meeting.”

  “Good man,” the senator said and gave Joe an affectionate pat on the arm.

  We turned to go and had taken only a few steps, when Roland Pendragon said from behind me, “Hey Collins, that little girl of yours is quite a piece of work. Was her mom a Z or something?”

  I turned to face him and he was wearing a smirk, the kind a bully wears when backed up by his buddies. “What did you just say?” I said and Rolly’s bravado quickly deserted him. He swallowed hard and looked nervously towards his bodyguards.

  “Whoa!” Joe Thursday said, stepping between us and grabbing me in a bear hug. At the same time the bodyguards stepped forward and stood either side of Roland.

  “You ever mention my wife or my daughter again and I will end you. Understand?” I said.

  Now that he had backup Roland’s bluster had returned, “Yeah, well don’t make…”

  “Roland!” the senator said, “that is enough!”

  fifteen

  “Don’t let that prick get to you,” Joe said as we walked towards the bungalows, “He’s a piranha who thinks he’s a Great White, that’s all. You know the type.”

  I did know the type, and I was angry that I’d let him get to me. Still given the opportunity I’d have done the same again, except this time I’d have shrugged Joe off and finished it right there.

  “Yeah, sorry about that, but that settles it for me, Joe. This is not what I’m about. These people, this place, it’s not me. I’m heading out. You can try to stop me if you like, but I’m going to find Ruby on my own. If that means we end up in opposite corners, so be it.”

  “That’s my boy,” Joe said, “Wouldn’t have expected anything less. Walk with me, Chris.” He led me along a darkened pathway between overhanging foliage. We reached a spot that was concealed from the main hotel, and Joe raised a finger to his lips and looked furtively left to right, then beckoned me closer.

  “I’m expected at the meeting soon so I’m going to have to keep this short. You’re likely to have questions, but it will go a lot quicker if you just shut up and listen, got it?

  “Okay.”

  “First off,” Joe said. “I’m not with Pendragon. Well, I am and I’m not. Starting out I believed that there was some good in what they were trying to do, but the old man’s sick. He’s got a year, probably less, and then Rolly will step in and the current shit storm’s going to look like nothing more than a sneaky fart.”

  “You’re not with Pendragon?” I was still trying to digest that bit of information.

  “I’ve been working the in
side, Chris. Sounding out some people, getting the right people swayed. But Rolly’s getting paranoid, and as you saw back there there’s no love lost. He’d like nothing better than to lock me away in his little torture camp down at Pendleton. The minute his old man croaks, I reckon that will be the first thing he does. Now, I’ve been getting some things lined up, but I’m not ready yet, not even close. I figured maybe another six months, but unfortunately, I’m not going to have that luxury. Rolly is pushing his old man to go forward with this half-assed scheme, and I…

  “What scheme?”

  “I haven’t got time now. You’ll see some of it tomorrow. Just wanted you to know we’re still on the same team, compadre. Just like old times.”

  “Never doubted it, Joe,” I lied.

  “Got to be honest, you being here, stirring things up doesn’t help, either, which is why I tried to talk you out of it back in Flagstaff. But hey, you gotta play the cards you’re dealt, as my sainted mother used to say while whipping my ass at poker. I need two weeks. Two weeks and we hit them where it hurts.”

  “Which is?”

  “Which is, we take away their most deadly weapon?”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Ruby.”

  sixteen

  After I left Joe, I found my way to the bungalow, showered and lay on the bed. A black Corporation uniform had been laid out for me, but I tossed it onto a chair, I wasn’t going to be wearing that.

  I’d tried to get Joe to elaborate on what he’d said about Ruby being a weapon, but he wouldn’t, simply saying that I’d see for myself tomorrow. What Joe had said thought was that we were going to take Ruby away from them, and for the first time in a long while I felt positive about the future. We were going to rescue Ruby and I had my old friend back on my side. I was still sketchy on a lot of the details but where I’d been flailing around hoping something might turn up, I suddenly had a purpose and a direction again. I even started to believe that I might get out of this alive, that I might make it back to Kelly.

  If I did sleep that night, it was only in fits and starts and by the time Joe Thursday knocked on my door I was ready to roll. Joe was dressed in the black combat gear of a Corporation soldier and smiled when he saw me in my dirty jeans and t-shirt. “At least take the vest,” he said, and I went back inside and retrieved the black Kevlar vest with the Pendragon logo on it.

  We walked up to hotel where a lavish spread had been laid on with fresh fruit, pastries, oatmeal, granola, eggs, bacon and the other makings of a five star breakfast buffet. Joe tucked in with relish, while I hardly ate at all.

  At about nine thirty a convoy consisting of four Humvees and an armored field ambulance, pulled up to the front of the building. I saw Roland Pendragon, replete in combat gear and designer shades get into the first Humvee, with his two bodyguards close behind. Joe and I got into the last vehicle, just behind the field ambulance.

  We turned right on Sunset Boulevard and then onto Rodeo Drive. Looking left, I could see the entire convoy reflected in the storefronts of the one-time plush boutiques. In the lead Humvee, Roland Pendragon had his head pushed through the firing hatch and his hand resting on the machine gun mounted there. As the first Zs of the day made their appearance, he opened up with the machine gun.

  “Damn fool is going to have every Z for miles around running in this direction before we’re even ready,” Joe said beside me.

  The convoy eventually came to a halt in a parking lot surrounded by several tall buildings. We got out and Joe started directing the Humvees into position towards the rear of the lot, backed up against one of the buildings, but with exits to either side. The field ambulance pulled forward and now stood in a sort of cal-du-sac. Two squads of soldiers, eight to each, rolled out strands of wire and took up positions providing additional protection on the flanks.

  Already, the first Zs had began to show up, emerging from the spaces between the buildings, in that peculiar cursory, almost shy, approach they tend to make before exploding into action. I heard rifles being cocked and did the same with my AK. Then suddenly a burst of heavy machine gun fire erupted to my right.

  “Christ on a bike!” Joe exploded, “Rolly! Cut that shit out! Rolly!”

  Eventually, Rolly stopped firing, looked at Joe and grinned, “Think I got one,” he said and giggled.

  “You fire again without my say so and I’ll send you back to the hotel to sip pina coladas by the pool. You got that?”

  “Whatever you say boss.” Rolly sneered.

  Rolly’s gunfire had attracted even more zombies. They now oozed from between the buildings like some vile effluent, and many had already spilled onto the blacktop of the parking lot. Joe had never fully explained to me what this exercise was about, and I wondered now whose fool idea it was to drive into a zombie-infested city and basically encourage the Zs to attack.

  I heard Joe call out an order and the field ambulance rolled forward. From one of the flanks I heard rifle fire and for the first time I picked up the sound of the massed Zs emitting their maddening humming.

  The door at the rear of the ambulance swung open, and a woman got out. I recognized her as Dr. Gish, who I’d been introduced to at the bar the previous evening. The doctor turned back towards the ambulance and helped a small, blond kid out. The child could not have been more than three years old. He was dressed in shorts and a stripped t-shirt and was carrying a yellow toy truck. The doctor took the boy by the hand and together they walked around to the front of the ambulance.

  The vehicle now reversed back into position, leaving the doctor and the child alone on the tarmac, facing hundreds of zombies.

  I looked anxiously towards Joe, but he was focused on the action out front. When he did look in my direction he gave me the ‘eyes front’ signal and mouthed ‘watch this’.

  The doctor had now retreated a few steps, while the little boy sat on the tarmac, playing a game with his truck, seemingly oblivious to the Zs inching towards him. The sound of humming grew louder, but now I heard the doctor’s voice, gentle, coaxing. “Justin,” she said, “let’s play our game.”

  Justin seemed at first to ignore her, and continued pushing his truck. Then he got up as any toddler would from a sitting position, getting first onto his knees before hoisting himself to his feet. The Zs were now so close that they could have been on him in a few short bounds.

  “Justin,” the doctor repeated, “let’s play our game.”

  The little boy slowly lifted his right arm and pointed towards the Zs, now merely ten feet away from him. Their numbers had swelled, I reckoned there must have been at least five hundred of them in the lot.

  Justin moved his hand in a horizontal sweep, then brought it back towards the center in a movement eerily reminiscent of what I’d seen Bronson Chavez do back in New York. The Zs stopped moving forward and their insane humming ceased.

  Justin did the same maneuver, this time using his left hand and the Zs fell back a few paces. Now he stood with both hands pointed forward, palms pressed together, while the Zs backed away from him. It became very quiet in the parking lot. Then Justin clapped his hands together, a single clap, barely audible, and all hell broke loose.

  The mass of zombies in front of us suddenly turned on each other, and the parking lot became a writhing, ripping, tearing, biting, screeching mass of violence. I saw limbs torn from bodies, heads severed, abdomens torn open, faces shredded, blackened organs devoured. I saw Doctor Gish run from the scene hands pressed to her face and Joe Thursday rush to comfort her. And through it all Justin stood immobile and watched the carnage.

  When it was done, the lot in front of us resembled a slaughterhouse, and the silence was punctuated only by the sobs of Doctor Gish, and the hysterical laughter of Rolly Pendragon.

  seventeen

  “What the hell happened back there?” I asked Joe Thursday. Joe gave me a look that suggested I should save any questions for later and then spun me a line about corporate assets and strategic deployment and mission cri
tical factoring.

  The convoy was now heading back to Beverly Hills, with Roland continuing to take pot shots at any Z’s we encountered. We arrived at the hotel, cleared the checkpoints and had just come to a halt in front of the main entrance when a man in a suit came running towards the lead Humvee. He said something to Roland who vaulted from the vehicle and ran into the hotel foyer.

  “This is not good,” Joe said as we left the Humvee, “not good at all.”

  In front of the hotel, there was a flurry of activity with black clad soldiers disembarking from military transports and being formed up on the tarmac.

  We reached the foyer and were frisked and disarmed. In contrast to the activity going on outside, the interior of the hotel had the ambiance of a mausoleum.

  “What’s going on?” Joe asked the same man who had spoken to Roland earlier.

  “It’s Senator Pendragon,” the man said. “He’s…”

  “My father is dead.” Roland said striding across the room with his bodyguards in close attendance.

  “How?”

  “Does it matter?” Roland said, “We all know he wasn’t well.”

  “Yeah, and we all know he wasn’t exactly at death’s door either.” Joe said.

  “Are you implying something, Thursday?”

  “Just wondering who benefits most from this unexpected little turn of events.”

  “Oh, I think we all know who that is,” Roland said grinning.

  “We’ll need to call a meeting of heads…”

  “We don’t need to do shit. Or at least you don’t. I’m relieving you of your position, effective immediately.”

  Pendragon nodded and I felt myself being grabbed, my arms forced back and cuffs being clipped into place. “You and your little monkey boy are checking out of the Beverley Hills Hotel,” Roland said. “But don’t fret, I’ve reserved a suite for you at the Pendleton Hilton.”

  At the rear of the foyer the lift doors opened with a ‘Ping!’ and Doctor Gish walked purposefully towards us,” “You bastard!” she shouted at Roland, “I told you Justin wasn’t ready! Two months, I told you, two months before he’s ready to go out again. Two months, at least!”