Die Zombie Die (I Zombie Book 3)

by Jack Wallen

I was thigh-high deep in this mess.

  For the moment, Jean was resting peacefully. How long that would last, I had no idea. The Heizer Sequence had only been tested on a small cross-section of patients and the reactions and results varied tremendously. At any moment the man could jerk up, rip out of his bed, and destroy every living being in the room. Just as easily, Jean could remain in bed, purring like a cat in a strip of sun after a long meal.

  For the moment, we had purr.

  I slipped out the door and casually strolled back to my office. Had my feet taken after my heart, I would have sprinted back, but since inconspicuous was the order of the day, stroll it was.

  There was a small stash of virus-laden blood in a hidden panel in one of my desk drawers. So Bond-ian, but I couldn’t resist. What I was about to do went way beyond ethics, but something had to stop that junior staff member from informing The Board that Patient Number Two had somehow amplified. This was a bit of a stumbling block. I couldn’t just stab a syringe in the man’s neck and call it a day. The infection had to be subtle, but effective.

  An idea popped into my thoughts that made me as sick as it did relieved. But the idea would work. It had to work, otherwise I would most certainly be suspected of some form of treasonous behavior against The Zero Day Collective. The results of that verdict would be far worse than death.

  I called the young man into my office. When he arrived I had already prepared for the deed.

  The soft knock at my office door came much sooner than I had expected. But the plan was ready. The door swung open and the youthful doctor bounced into my office like a puppy about to be scratched on the belly.

  “You wanted to see me, Professor?” The man had a youthful glow to his face that promised tall tales for his fellow boyish friends.

  “I wanted to thank you for catching the patient’s changed state. That man would certainly be in a far worse condition had it not been for you. For that, I wanted to toast your excellence.” I offered up a tainted drink to the man, filled with enough sedative to knock out a cow. He had to be out long enough to suspect foul play – but not from me. That meant I would be drinking a bit of the sedative myself. Why? Should The Board become suspicious, I would have the sedative in my system to prove I was drugged as well. There are precautions that seem crazy, but must be taken.

  My dosage however would be lighter, and taken after he had given into the good graces of goodnight in order for me to do the necessary deed. If everything was timed just right, we would revive around the same time. The only difference was that his life would have taken a turn for the undead.

  “How thoughtful of you. But isn’t it a bit early to… you know –”

  Who would have thought, a doctor with the morals of a priest? A shift in scheme was necessary.

  I placed the glass on my desk and sat on the edge. Slowly my fingers undid the top button of my lab coat.

  The second button.

  The third.

  The boy finally began to catch on. He smiled. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead and upper lip.

  I wanted to drop every cliché I could think of, just to see how far I could take this hay ride. Instead, the subtle card was played.

  A finger to the lips.

  Brush the hair back over the ear.

  Uncross the legs.

  Re-cross the legs.

  The temperature in the room raised ever so noticeably. The kill shot was mine to take. My fingers found purchase around the glass, the glass found its way into the air.

  And the young stud took the bait. With a ‘come fuck me’ smile splashed across his face, he lifted the glass, winked, and tossed back the tainted liquor.

  As the young doctor pulled my face near his own, hoping to plant the first of many passionate kisses on my lips, he dropped. Like a wet sack of shame, the young man was out and sprawled across my floor.

  The syringe came out, shortly followed by my conscience. Guilt had the most amazing timing. So many questions bounced around my brain.

  Was it moral?

  Was it right?

  Would it work?

  There was little that could be done at this point. The man knew something was amiss with Jean and my plan hinged on complete and utter secrecy. Should a single member of The Board find out I had been plotting against The ZDC, I would soon find myself sleeping with the undead fishes.

  That would not do. Not if the human race had any hope of surviving.

  Without the work Bethany had done and my own Heizer Sequence, there was no hope. But without thorough testing, nothing could move forward.

  And with that thought in mind, I stabbed the young man and let chaos loose into his system. Before my heart could wrack itself with guilt, I downed my own glass of liquid slumber and waited for bliss to take over.

  Chapter 21

  Undisclosed Location

  February, 2015

  The computer screen was filled with static and silence, like a ghost had been caught in the Hadron Collider and split into a million billion bits of light.

  Static.

  “Danielle…”

  Static.

  “Can you hear…”

  Doctor Godwin’s disembodied voice crackled over the speakers.

  “Yes, Lindsay, I can.”

  “Danielle, I do not have much time, so just listen. What I have been ordered to create will have unknown, untold effects on the very biology of our species. But all is not without hope. Our… no, your sequence might be the only safety net we have. But you must not let anyone know this. Keep the Heizer Sequence a secret or everything you have worked so hard for will be lost. Danielle, there are machinations at work here I never knew existed. Somehow my work has been caught up in a political war between nationalities which I cannot stop.”

  “Lindsay, please –”

  “Danielle, I am sorry, but I have precious little time. The device is set to be unveiled this December, in Munich. By then I am confident you will have the sequence fully tested. I am going to send you an encryption matrix I developed in order for us to be able to communicate safely. Do not send anything to me unless it is encrypted with this matrix. Do not trust anyone. And, above all, no matter what you may hear or see, do not think ill of me. What I do, I do under duress.”

  “But Lindsay –”

  “Danielle, I must go. I miss you terribly. I love you.”

  The static-filled image of Doctor Godwin blinked out. Not even a ghost remained. The voice was silent, but his words floated gently in the air surrounding Professor Michaels’ head. She wanted so desperately to reach into the monitor and pull her colleague, her lover, through the ether to her side of the world.

  Professor Danielle Joy Michaels was unaccustomed to fear. Having such a grasp on the purely logical precluded a need for an irrational fear of the unknown. Because something could not be quantified did not mean that something should be feared. After all, to the scientific mind, the unquantified was nothing more than a challenge to be met, to be bested.

  Still… with her standard rationale failing her, Godwin’s words left the taste of fear in her mouth.

  Something very bad was about to happen.

  Chapter 22

  Streets of New York

  December, 2015

  “I’ve always wanted to know what the U.N. Building looked like,” Dom’s voice carried to each ear of the group. Soon after silence fell, all eyes were locked on the young man.

  “What? Just because I’m a football player I’m pegged as ignorant? I was a Rhodes Scholar, thank you very much,” Dom huffed.

  Silence fell again, the only sound was the hum of the car’s tires against the pavement. The white fluff of winter mixed with the gray ash of death made a surreal landscape that could have been painted by a depressed Monet.

  “How do we get in?” Sellers broke the mood.

  “You never pay attention, do you Sellers?” Sam chewed his words in frustration.

  Courtney glared at Sam. “Like I can remember every fucking detai
l with the shit storm around us. Let’s go through the plan again. Fuck you very much.”

  There was a sense of hesitation shared between the group. This was the moment most soldiers lived for – the fight, the thrill, the scent of death hanging in the air. The problem was the uncertainty of whose death they were smelling. Each soldier knew they were about to head into what might be the only piece of land more hostile than the streets. Outside the U.N. the danger was the walking dead. Inside? Corporate corruption and political evil. There was no way a horde of zombies could top that.

  “What do we do once we’re inside that death trap?” Dirt Bag chimed in with the ten million dollar question.

  “Look out!” Dom screamed, but too late for Sam to dodge the Moaner.

  The car smacked the undead pedestrian at roughly forty-five miles per hour. The body must have been somewhere in the midst of some serious decomposition, because it exploded on contact. A confetti of flesh and bone went airborne; brown, rotten ooze coated the windshield, making the glass opaque enough that Sam could no longer see the road.

  “Wipers! Wipers!” Sellers screamed.

  The windshield wipers did nothing more than smear the thick death-smoothie over the glass. Even the washers couldn’t put a dent in the zombie sludge.

  Before anything tragic happened, Sam pulled the car over and stepped out.

  “What in the hell are you doing, Leamy?” Dirt Bag barked from within the car.

  Sam’s intention was to locate something to clean off the windshield. After a quick scan of the area he determined the best, fastest route to clear vision was to rip the shirt off of any given still-dead human on the street.

  Out of respect (and a need for a heavier material), Sam opted to disrobe a random, middle-aged male. The shirt was a holdover flannel from the ‘90s grunge area (either that or the man was a lumberjack), so it would do a fine job of getting rid of the goo.

  The owner of the shirt had been dead for some time, so removing the clothing was made a challenge thanks to rigor mortis. The freezing temperature did little to help.

  The gray ash and white snow easily shook from the clothing and Sam went to work on the glass of the car. With the steady, circular motion of an old pro, Sam scrubbed off the gore. As he was cleaning the wiper blades he heard the warning screams issuing from inside the car.

  Too late.

  The Screamer had Sam on the ground before he was even cognizant of what was going on. The piercing screech threatened to deafen the soldier, the gnashing jaw to eat him alive – or at least a certain portion of him.

  With all of the strength he could muster, Sam pushed up against the undead attacker… but to no avail. The maw of the monster drew dreadfully close to Sam’s neck. With another thrust upward, Sam attempted to dislodge the zombie before the thing tried to make the beast with two backs with him.

  Undead lovin’ was not something in Leamy’s boudoir repertoire.

  Desperation began to overpower Sam. With every ounce of strength he had remaining, he heaved at the zombie in one last attempt at removing the monster.

  The thing wouldn’t budge.

  The rotten breath of the beast escaped and poured down over Sam’s face. Another scream was loosed upon the area.

  Before the bullet left Sellers’s weapon, the beast’s teeth broke the skin of Sam’s neck. The wound itself wasn’t fatal, just missing the carotid artery. The infection, however, was a different story.

  Sellers’s usual, dead-on aim struck the zombie behind the left ear and exploded, in a gush of gore, out of the right side of the head. Thick, sour human gravy splashed Sam’s shoulder and arm.

  When the undead assailant went limp, Sam pushed the body off and slowly stood. All eyes, wide with fear, were locked on Sam’s bleeding neck.

  “Shit, Sam.” Dom broke the silence.

  “That sucks,” Ronald added.

  Dirt Bag’s eyebrows shrunk together. “What are we going to do?”

  Sellers moped on about shooting one of the zombies sooner.

  Sam let the moment extend as long as he could. His conscience finally got the best of him.

  “It’s okay. I was vaccinated against the sons a bitches. I’ll be fine.”

  Shock and awe.

  Every jaw simultaneously dropped to the ground, landing with a surprised and hollow ‘thud’. The word ‘vaccine’ had never been mentioned in the group – especially in the present tense, as in, it is viable now.

  “What the fuck? A vaccine? One exists?” Sellers, ever-brazen, was the one to speak the obvious. “Why did we not know this and why have we not been vaccinated?”

  Sam immediately understood his mistake, only seconds before he realized there might not be a way to undo said mistake.

  “Yes, there is, or was, a vaccine. It was experimental. Bethany and Jean were developing it before The Zero Day Collective took them prisoner. We were all given a dose before we came to the States. I don’t really know if I’m safe from the virus or not. I only know I was vaccinated with the same medicine that saved the others,” Sam explained.

  “Others? What others?” Dom stepped forward.

  “Bethany and Jean, primarily. Look, we really don’t have time for an interrogation. If we make it in and out of the U.N., I can pretty much guarantee you’ll receive the same inoculation. If this rescue fails, so do your chances of avoiding the plague.” Sam let his words sink in as deeply as possible.

  The moment could have been revealing – each of the soldiers weighed the pros and cons of their present situation. Trust had become an issue, what with Sam holding back such a bomb as the existence of a vaccination. Fortunately Sam was not dealing with philosophers, moralists, or religious zealots. What he had at his side were soldiers, and when ordered on a mission, soldiers followed – even blindly at times.

  “Dibs on the first needle!” Sellers proclaimed, making sure her cohorts knew she was first in line. Everyone knew their softer bits would be in danger, should they try to pry her from that shotgun position.

  “Perfect, we can watch and see if Sellers’s balls finally drop and her chest grows hair,” Dirt Bag lobbed out the insult through a deep guffaw.

  “I got more balls than you’ll ever have Douche Bag.” Sellers, always the lady.

  With the windshield finally clear enough, Sam herded those animals that stepped out for a stretch back into the car. After situating himself back into the driver’s seat, he tore off toward the center of the city.

  “So, Sam, who was the suit referring to when he said we had someone on the inside? Was it one of your guys?” Dom broke the silence.

  Sam had to think back for a moment. Three people had gone into that building: Bethany, Jean, and Michelle. As far as he knew, none of them were trained to escape a hostile situation. But then, the world itself was a hostile situation and they’d all three made it so far. Each of the captives had survived some serious shit on the streets of Paris. The one advantage they had was knowing how to reach beyond the inhumanity of the undead – the inhumanity of the living was a different story.

  “Holy shit!” Sam yelped through a smile that dare outshine the sun. “I know what we need to do. Ladies, we have to level the playing field on the ZDC.” Leamy gave the steering wheel a few good whacks in celebration of his idea.

  Chapter 23

  U.N. Building New York, NY

  December, 2015

  I woke in a fog – or at least I believed I was awake. There was no way to be sure, but all around me were gravestones. Each stone was engraved with the name of someone I had either loved, worked with… or both. In the center of the swirling fog was a sizable mausoleum. Chiseled in the stone over the door was the name GODWIN, only the letters were laid out strangely. Instead of each letter running next to one another, the letters were arranged to spell out GOD WIN.

  The tomb doors opened with a shuddering creak to shame the best Crypt Keeper horror film. A blast of cold, dark air rushed by, gracing my skin with a goose-flesh kiss.

  The
entryway greeted me with a veil of cobwebs. The entire scene was a carnival funhouse dedicated to cheap scares, killer clowns, and masked madmen chasing their victims into corners with chain-less chainsaws.

  The stone floors chilled my bare feet, and the air grew even colder as I descended into the Earth below. When the stairs ended a strobe light nearly blinded my eyes. Between violent flashes I could make out a crucified zombie in a bloodstained lab coat and glasses.

  “Kneel before me. Drop your flesh bag to its knees and offer your soul to me,” the zombie moaned, its jaw desperately trying to remain intact with the skull.

  Some unknown power forced me to my knees.

  “Gaze into my eyes, and see your truth.” The undead specter’s voice reverberated in my skull.

  When our eyes met, a wash of sorrow flooded over my body. Blood tears began uncontrollably pouring from my eyes. I wept openly.

  “Yes, my child, release your sins to Godwin, the patron saint of the undead. I am your guide into this new life of pain and fear. Offer up to me that which I require.” The ghostly voice cut through my skull and vibrated my brain.

  A scalpel appeared in my right hand. Puppet-like, my hand moved of its own accord, controlled by another master. The scalpel went straight for the skin on my head and sliced around the occipital ridge. With my left hand I slowly peeled back my skin like that of an orange. Blood rained down over my eyes.

  A bone saw replaced the scalpel in my hand. My eyes rolled up into my skull as the toothy blade bit into the bone of my head. The sound was like nothing I had ever heard – a giant, robotic mosquito trapped inside my cranium, fighting to escape. The vibrations shook fluids from my nose, mouth, and eyes. This was certainly going to kill me.

  After the saw chewed through the entire circumference of my head, I pulled off the top of the brain pan and stood.

  “Yes, my child, come and confess your sins so that they may be forgiven,” Zombie Jesus beckoned me from his cross.

  I stood and slowly stepped forward until my exposed brain was near enough for Zombie Jesus to reach down and pull out a lobe like it was nothing more than monkey bread. Even without a human au jus, Zombie Jesus put the brain in his mouth and chewed, his milk-white eyes rolling around uselessly in their sockets.