“If we can manage to protect others. Protect them from the evil that was created from this place, then our lives will not have been for nothing.”
“That’s deep, Tom. I mean, that’s like soul searching deep, man. But how the hell do you plan to do that and stay alive in the process?”
Tom produced the GPS receiver he’d taken from Major Fleming. “This is how.”
#
Just beyond twelve thousand, four hundred miles above the earth a satellite pinged, relaying a signal back to a GPS receiver. Latitude: 63.946431° N, Longitude: -21.96322° W were the coordinates by which Jef guided the jeep.
The landscape was desolate. Not even so much as a tree in sight to serve as visual markers, as Jef drove along Route 41 to Route 42. At least spotting any wandering creepers would be easy.
“We’re lucky that this thing even works,” Tom noted.
“Don’t be so surprised,” Jef answered. “GPS satellites need constant human adjustment. The ground operations are handled by 2nd Space Operations Squadron with a Master Control Station in Colorado, and monitoring stations and antennas all over the world. It’s what allows the military to fire a cruise missile from a ship and have it fly through a specific window of a building. If you need any more proof that the military is still operating from secret locations until this zombie shit’s all over, this is it.”
Every few miles Tom would spot a stray building or two in the distance. What once were homes are now inhabitable grave sites to the lumbering figures circling their small properties, like dogs trained to not wander off. Could there be some innate programing in the now brain-dead homeowners to stay near familiar places absent the prospect of fresh meat?
Jef slowed when they reached Lake Kleifarvatn, and veered off the main road several yards to the lake’s adjacent lava cliffs.
“There,” Jef pointed to the base of the cliffs without raising his eyes from the GPS tracker. “My guess is what we’re looking for is in a cave. Iceland has lots of caves, some man-made but, from what I hear, most were created by glaciers and volcanoes. This area is actually a wilderness reserve full of lava caves.”
The pair headed toward the opening, volcanic cinders crunching underfoot as they traversed the base of the ridge. Tom was eager to venture onward, but noticeably uneasy about the prospect of entering a cave.
Jef picked up on his hesitation. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think there are any bats.” He lied.
“It’s not that. I’ve just never been in a cave before,” Tom admitted.
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot. You’re a city zombie.” Tom glowered at Jef, the permanent teeth-bared snarl punctuating Tom’s distaste for the bad humor.
Equipped with only flashlights, the pair darted their beams into the cave that led to several narrow lava tubes. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Jef remarked of the reds, yellow-greens, and blues in the walls and stalactite formations.
Tom’s beam suddenly reflected off of something that wasn’t the stunning colors created by an ancient lava flow. Several glowing eyes were agitated by his flashlight. “I thought you said there were no bats,” Tom said, ironically thankful that they were not the menacing eyes of cave zombies.
“So, this stuff were looking for… it really works to ward off zombies?” Jef asked.
“I can tell you first hand that it works. If the major’s stash is here, then we should have enough to keep us in zombie repellent for the duration.”
“I’ll pass.”
“What’er you talking about?”
“I’m not putting that zombie juice into my veins. No sir.” Jef was adamant.
“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. This stuff can help us survive. We can take it back to the states so we can help my daughter and others ride out this shit storm.” Tom insisted.
“Maybe so, and that’s why I agreed to help you, but I’m not putting anything zombie related inside this body.”
Tom didn’t want to argue any more than he wanted to think about the prospect of being Jef’s personal zombie-proof bodyguard. “Well, let’s just find the major’s stash and get the hell outta here. This cave gives me the creeps.”
Jef consulted the GPS once more to pinpoint the exact location of their treasure. “Looks like it’s through here.” Jef led the way through a narrow lava tube, about ten feet long and four feet wide. It opened up into a larger chamber about twenty feet wide and forty feet long. The ceiling rose to approximately twenty feet high, with its crystallized formations hanging down anywhere from two feet up to ten feet in length. Stacked in the center of the lava cave’s chamber was their prize.
“Uh, Tom… I know you had your heart set on the F-15, but we’re gonna need a bigger plane.”
Crates upon crates were stacked seven feet high, covering most of the cave floor. Advancing no more than three steps in to the chamber, the pair felt a resistance against their ankles as if they’d snagged on something.
“It’s a trip wire!” Jef exclaimed, slinging his arm out to the side, thrusting a hand against Tom’s chest, like a mother holding back her child after slamming on the car brakes. They waited, holding their breath.
After a few seconds of nothing swinging down to chop off their heads, no poisoned darts launching through the air, and the walls not closing in on them, they finally exhaled with relief, then stepped over the wire.
Jef whistled in amazement at the amount of crates the major had stashed away. Each wooden crate looked to measure three feet square, and were unmarked. “Maybe we should open up one of these bad boys to make sure it’s what we think it is,” Jef proposed, slapping the side of one of the crates.
“Shh-shh-shh. Listen,” Tom said. “You hear that?” He tried to pinpoint where the faint sound was coming from, finally determining that it was emanating from the narrow passage from which they entered the large chamber.
The scraping rasp that Tom thought might have been rock sliding against rock grew louder, and as it did it was evident that louder meant closer. He backed away from the opening double-quick. The shuffle across the earthen floor, and the eerie echo of raspy breathing and gurgling was now unmistakable — and terrifying. Jef’s wide-eyed expression indicated that he was impatient for a report.
“We triggered a booby trap after all,” Tom had assessed. “Only it wasn’t in here. It was out there.”
“Creepers?” Jef asked, yet knowing he was right. Creepers hidden in a nearby lava tube — released upon some trigger to insure the major’s cache would be protected — now advancing toward Tom and Jef through the narrow passage that’s their only way out. Trapped, they drew their weapons and check their ammo clips. By the increasing volume of the advancing horde, Tom and Jef quickly calculate that they very well may have far less bullets than there are creepers.
Tom turned, aiming his gun at Jef. “Whoa! Whoa!” Jef shouted, startled that his new pal may have decided to shoot him and leave his as zombie bait to save himself.
“Move!” Tom demanded. When Jef quickly obliged — not having to be told twice — Tom blasted the supporting corner of one of the crates and the edge of the row. He pried back the wood, then plucked free one of the little padded cardboard boxes inside that each held six ampules of necromone serum. It was pale like a Saint Patrick’s Day green ale; not nearly as green as what Major Fleming injected into Tom. This was straight zombie necromone extract. The previous concoction that Tom was given contained the additional chemicals and zombie enzymes that allowed for brainwashing.
“Damn! There’s no syringe in this box,” Tom noted in frustration.
The sound of approaching zombies grew louder. Any moment they would swarm through the entryway like ants, quickly closing the six foot gap between the chamber entrance and where Tom and Jef stood against the wall of crates. With no time to waste, Tom snapped the fragile neck of two glass ampules and drank down the serum. “This better work,” Tom said, then handed Jef two ampules. “Your turn.”
“I told you before that there
’s no way I’m putting that zombie shit in my body.”
“Don’t be crazy.”
“I’ll take my chances with bullets.” Jef turned to poise himself, gun in hand, ready to blast the first dead head that popped its ugly mug through the opening.
“Suit yourself,” Tom sighed from behind him.
“Damn straight.”
As the first creature emerged, Jef fired into its eye socket. The echo of the shot in the chamber was deafening. Tom and Jef winced, the ringing lingering in their ears. The zombie fell, blocking the path, slowing the flow of zombies momentarily. Jef felt something wet running through his hair, dripping onto his shoulders, then turned to see Tom dousing him with ampules of serum, splashing the last one on Jef as if he were casting out demons with holy water.
“What the Fu…”
“Relax,” Tom told him. “It’s not inside you.”
Zombies clambered over their fallen comrade, and Jef raised his gun once more, but Tom motioned for Jef to hold his fire. A lump formed in Jef’s throat as more zombies poured in, roaming the space looking for fresh meat that was once there, but had seemingly disappeared into thin air. Swallowing hard, Jef was unsure of what to make of the phenomenon, and was about to praise Tom for his quick thinking when one of the fiends came uncomfortably close — nose to nose. Jef grimaced at the stench, as foul breath was huffed directly into his face. The beast sniffed at Jef, uncertain at first, but its senses promptly identified dead flesh. The necromones had done their job.
Part 8
A Douglas C 117D Skytrooper transport plane was the only option available to handle the cargo they had loaded. It was no small feat fitting all the crates of necromone serum in, but removing some of the jump seats helped. “It’ll be pushing the weight limit,” Jef said when they were done, “but we’ll make it.”
Tom was thrilled that he’ll finally be headed back home. His daughter needed him now more than ever. The necromone serum, along with a supply of syringes from the base hospital, would help. He only wished that he could convince Jef to inject the serum as well. They debated the subject almost the entire time they were making trips to retrieve crates, navigating through the zombies left meandering through the cave — that were now merely obstacles rather than a threat — to the time they finished loading the plane. Jef wouldn’t budge on the issue.
“How about instead of putting that crap into my veins, I just wear it like cologne?” Jef proposed half-jokingly. “They put pheromones in perfumes and cologne. So I can wear necromone cologne. Hey, you saw how well it worked in that cave. As long as I don’t wash it off I’m golden.”
“But it will last longer in your system.” Tom was about to repeat his argument once more when a grand idea materialized. Tom remembered something, and Jef’s logic suddenly became viable. What’s more, it presented a better way of distributing the serum to more people rather than the arduous task of trying to find people to inject one at a time. Injecting it would certainly last longer, but applying it topically, or even breathing it in, would still have benefits and save lives — maybe more lives than they’d originally hoped.
“Jef, you said something about you working for your uncle back in Missouri, right?”
“Awww. You actually were paying attention,” Jef teased.
“It was a crop dusting business, wasn’t it?”
There was a pensive moment as Jef contemplated what Tom was inferring. “Crop dusting, huh? Ya know, that might actually work. If we can pull it off, this might be just be that shot at redemption you were talking about, zombie man. Okay! First stop… Missouri and my uncle’s crop duster.”
It wasn’t long before they were prepared to leave Iceland once and for all. Tom had finished loading the plane with all the weapons he could scrounge, when he spotted Jef crossing the air field chomping on a cigar, and humming The Girl from Ipanema. Jef was wearing vintage World War II fighter pilot gear, complete with leather cap, goggles and bomber jacket.
“Look what I found,” Jef bragged. “I figure if we’re gonna be heroes, we’d better look bad-ass.” He tossed Tom a duffel bag with an outfit of his very own.
#
The neighborhood had become a desolate suburbia compared to the one Holly had left earlier in the day. The lateness of the hour now gave an extra sense of eeriness to the once familiar place.
“Are you sure this is your mum’s place?” Jemma asked Holly.
“Don’t you think I know my own house?” Holly snapped, as the trio stood inside the portentously opened doorway of Paula Dexter’s house. Panic set in. Her mother’s car was still in the driveway, but no sign of her mother anywhere. No lights were on in the house. No frantic phone calls from mother to daughter. Holly even double checked her cell phone to see if there was a missed message, only to discover that her battery had died.
Mark was empathetic and tried to provide some comfort. “She may have gotten a ride from a neighbor… or she and a couple of neighbors are probably traveling as a group… like us. There’s strength in numbers. It’s really a smart idea when you think about it…”
Jemma nudged Mark to stop blathering on.
“Mom?” Holly called, her voice probing the darkened house. “Mom, I’m back. Let’s go to Cousin Sherry’s now, okay?” Her voice was tentative. She took a step toward the staircase that led up to the bedrooms. “Mom?” Her voice now sorrowful and trembling. She didn’t want to think the unthinkable. It was supposed to be simple. All she had to do was get in the damn car and drive. She didn’t have to wait for me. Holly slowly climbed one step.
Jemma spoke calmly to hopefully prevent Holly from climbing any further. “We’ve got enough gas to make it to Rockford straightaway. Let’s go then, love. Alright?” Holly climbed another step. “That’s where you told your dad you’d be so he can find you. He’s probably on his way there now,” Jemma continued, unheard.
Drawing a deep breath, Holly marched up the remaining steps slowly. When she reached the top she flipped on the hall light, and finally let out her breath. She peered down the hall and saw her mother’s suitcase outside her bedroom door. “M…mom?”
A raspy wheeze came from her mother’s room. Holly trembled, more from fear of finding her mother transformed than from the danger. Tears welled up in her eyes. Decisively, yet with hands shaking, she took the makeshift hoodie backpack from her shoulder, and slowly removed the gun. Now that she knew how to use it, a flick of the thumb insured the safety was off. She sniffed to clear her nose, and then once more to draw a bracing breath of conviction before calling loudly, with boldness in her voice this time.“Mom!”
A wretched monstrosity with teeth bared, that was once Paula Dexter, lunged from the bedroom.
Downstairs, Jemma and Mark heard the shot ring out, knowing Holly acted out of mercy rather than fear.
# # #
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
Keflavik Naval Air Station (NAS) in Iceland was evacuated by U.S. military in 2006 and turned over to the Icelandic Defense Agency. The history of the NAS described in this story was drastically altered strictly for fictional and entertainment purposes. No disrespect was intended to the men and women who have served at Keflavik NAS, the proud history of the United States Armed Forces or Iceland.
Any zombies resembling people you may know is purely coincidental.
# # #
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Discover the Tale of Tom Zombie Series
#1 Zombie City
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