The Good, the Dead, and the Lawless: The Undoing

by Archer, Angelique

  THE UNDOING

  THE GOOD, THE DEAD, AND THE LAWLESS, BOOK 1

  Angelique Archer

  THE UNDOING

  THE GOOD, THE DEAD, AND THE LAWLESS, BOOK 1

  Copyright © 2014 by Angelique Archer. All rights reserved.

  Cover design © by Stephanie Mooney. All rights reserved. http://mooneygraphics.com/

  Formatting by Kody Boye.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Thank you to those who have supported my dream of publishing a book since I was that eleven year-old kid writing giant manuscripts about alternate universes after school. I am so happy and blessed to have completed and published The Undoing, and your encouragement helped make that possible.

  To my readers, I hope you enjoy Book 1 in The Good, The Dead, and The Lawless series as much as I did. I can’t wait for the other books to be released; the characters are in for a wild ride, and you’ll be with them every step of the way.

  Finally, this book is dedicated to one particularly awesome grandmother. May we all aspire to live life the way you do.

  Prologue:

  Six months after the United States conducted weapons of mass destruction searches in Iran…

  “What better way to destroy our enemies than to simply allow them to destroy themselves?”

  It was the beginning of an idea that, unbeknownst to those in the room, would not only crumble the empire they sought to eradicate, but also eliminate the vast majority of the world’s population.

  “And how do you propose to carry this out, General?” one of the officers demanded.

  General Farhad smiled. “I’ve been conducting… experiments. Specifically, my scientists have been working on a new strain of virus that will be perhaps the most destructive force in the history of mankind.”

  The officers in the room visibly stiffened. It was clear everyone present wanted to learn more, but such knowledge also carried with it a slew of ominous implications.

  The General sensed this and continued. “Within days, Strain Z23, also known as the ‘Vengeance Virus,’ will rear its ugly head in every metropolitan area across the United States.” He paused for effect. “What is Z23, you may ask? It is a virus that transmits itself through the saliva or infected tissue of the host. It eliminates its victim by systematically attacking the immune system of the body. Eventually, the host succumbs to a violent, painful death, whereby in a matter of moments, reanimates into something... sinister. It is my most prized concoction, one that has taken countless attempts to perfect and many... sacrifices... to ensure such perfection.”

  One of the officers cleared his throat. “General, you said ‘reanimates.’ What exactly do you mean?”

  The General smiled again, his eyes narrowing to tiny slits. “Zombies, Sergeant. Have you heard of them? They are quite popular in many films of the West. But...” He pressed a finger to his lips and paused. “... perhaps the most effective way to convey to you the real force, the sheer horror of my creation, is for you to look upon this... zombie... with your own eyes.”

  He turned from them, his broad shoulders proud and straight. The General walked to the entrance of the conference room, whispered to the two guards stationed at the door, and turned back to his captivated audience. The guards exchanged fleeting expressions of what could only be interpreted as fear and subsequently disappeared from the room.

  One could have heard a pin drop as the seconds painfully ticked away. General Farhad placed his hands together as he waited, his fingertips touching. Arrogance oozed from every pore.

  Finally, Farhad glanced at his watch and cleared his throat. “Gentlemen,” he began, his voice as smooth as honey, “I want you to know that this creation is not only the beginning of a new future, a new world, but it also marks the end of a corrupt and power-hungry nation.” His tone became gnarled and bitter. “Its people are swine, dogs… They have polluted our world with perversion and dominance.”

  There was a struggle outside of the door, and the guards burst in. A unanimous gasp echoed across the room as the prisoner entered.

  What was once a tall, thin man stood before them, around its neck, two metal catch poles. Its hands were tightly bound together with yellow zip ties. Dressed in dirty blue scrubs, the man struggled furiously against the guards. Like a trapped animal, it hissed and growled, lunging for them at every opportunity. Although it appeared to be a young man, what little was left of its hair hung in two greasy, matted clumps along the side of its face. Yellowed, crusty teeth gnashed through lips that had been chewed off to just below the nose, the flesh that remained around its maw raw and puckered. Most terrifying, however, were its eyes. Clouded and gray with the irises reduced to tiny black pinpricks, they shifted to each person in the room with a hint of something... a yearning, a dark craving... hunger? The guards forgotten, the man began to charge the officers. Everyone stumbled backwards hastily, save for the General, who held his hands in front of himself smugly. The prisoner was then roughly yanked back by the guards.

  “May I present test subject number 138, the first successful attempt to create what will someday mark history books as a true, unrivaled weapon of mass destruction.”

  “What’s wrong with... it?” someone in the back murmured fearfully.

  “‘Wrong’ with it?” the General repeated angrily. “It’s perfect. It represents a rebirth for this ravaged world. A new beginning that is not only more cost-efficient in its development than the nuclear weapons we have developed in the past, but one that is also considerably more effective. We do not need to deploy one soldier of our own into hostile territory. Perhaps best of all, we will not leave any fingerprints of our involvement. We send several infected into the most populated cities in the United States and let them do their worst. You are looking at an undead man, one who has no memory, feels no pain. Its only desire is to kill. It won’t be long before their great nation is toppled.”

  “But this is madness! You can’t do this! Do you know what’s at stake here? Do you realize what you’ve done?” an officer in the front of the room exclaimed, his rotund form stiff as he shook his fist at the General and headed towards the doors. “Yes, the West is corrupt, and that corruption must be stopped. But I will not be a part of something like this... This is filth, garbage, twisted evil. You are raising the dead. I’m going to report you at once!”

  General Farhad looked at him calmly for a moment. He nodded to a guard near the entrance. The officer was abruptly cut short as the doors closed before him. He turned to glare at him.

  “Let me out, Farhad. Let me out this minute!” he exclaimed furiously.

  The other officers watched nervously in silence, all huddled to the back of the room away from the rotting abomination before them.

  The General snapped his fingers at the two guards holding the prisoner and pointed at the officer at the doors.

  The guards looked at each other questioningly for the briefest of seconds, a moment of humanity reflected in their eyes. As quickly as it came, it was just as soon forgotten when they pushed the prisoner forward.

  The officer stared at Farhad in astonishment, his eyes agape with fear.

  “What are you doing?” he stammered.


  When the General didn’t respond, the officer began to shuffle backwards until he was pressed against the doors.

  Sensing a new proximity to fresh, live prey, the tethered man opened its blank eyes wildly, stumbling forward and tripping without use of its hands for balance. Instead of rising to its feet, it began to shift towards the retreating officer on his knees, edging forward at a surprisingly fast speed, its head and limbs bending at unnatural angles as it moved.

  The guards held the rods passively, letting the prisoner lead them where it wished. Pounding on the doors, the officer threw panicked looks behind him as the monster approached. He began kicking at it with desperation, his heavy boot slipping across the slick, oily scalp of the zombie.

  In seconds, it leaned forward on its tied hands to take a hearty bite out of the man’s calf. He shrieked in shock and agony as the flesh eater pulled the meat with its teeth until it tore free. The zombie barely swallowed the chunk, almost as though it was a mere morsel, before opening its jaws wide and sinking its teeth into the man’s ankle, its milky eyes wide and feral as it struggled to chew through the Achilles tendon.

  The middle-aged man collapsed to the floor, weakly kicking with his other leg at the zombie who had given up on his ankle and now rose and moved to the fallen man’s torso.

  As the officer feebly lifted one hand to stop the prisoner from an inevitable descent to his chest, the zombie bit down on his fingers with such a force that they broke off entirely. He screeched as the ravenous creature reared back, three chubby fingers protruding from its mouth. The zombie swallowed them whole, then looked back to the officer expectantly.

  It lunged forward and with jaws agape, fastened its teeth into the tender skin of the officer’s chest. This time, the zombie didn’t pull away. It just kept chewing through blood, tissue, fat, and bones, burrowing its face into the ever-growing hole of flesh. He screamed unintelligible words at the General as his body was greedily consumed by the prisoner. The other officers in the room turned away in disgust and horror as his screams died down to soft gurgles.

  General Farhad didn’t flinch throughout the entire feasting. In fact, he seemed amused and curious as the zombie devoured his fellow comrade.

  Finally, he looked at the remaining officers.

  “Any questions?”

  Chapter 1:

  Washington, D.C.

  Haven Janero tucked her long dark brown hair behind her ears, tiny silver earrings catching the light. She smoothed out her black suit and glanced up at the train times on the display. Only five more minutes until the blue line train arrived.

  It was rush hour at the Metro Center stop in downtown D.C. People crowded the platforms, checking their watches, talking on their cell phones, reading from their Kindles. Most everyone looked stressed and haggard, yet Haven felt energized, optimistic, and excited. And with due cause.

  She had just finished a lengthy interview before a panel of FBI agents for a Special Agent position. Becoming part of the agency, particularly in the organized crime division, had always been a dream of hers. She had applied to the program a year before, and after months of waiting for them to process her application, she had finally gotten a call one evening asking her to come in for a series of tests and interviews at the field office closest to her location. Successfully progressing through the first stage of the testing process, a computer exam, Haven was asked to return again for step two, only this time she chose to test in D.C., her favorite city in the world.

  From what she could tell, the interview had gone well, and if everything continued to go according to plan, she would move forward in the process to complete Phase II, which also included a physical fitness test. Haven was strong and healthy and was confident that she would pass this phase with flying colors. After so many years of hard work and planning, she was hopeful that she was finally getting that much closer to her dream of putting criminals behind bars.

  Her interest in federal law enforcement was long-standing. The last time she had been in the nation’s capital just after graduation, Haven had been waiting for the train in the Gallery Place/Chinatown stop when some punk in the station thought it would be a great idea to rob an unsuspecting pregnant woman of her purse. He had used the element of surprise to swipe the strap off of her shoulder with ease, then shoved the expectant mother to the ground, knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to chase him. While many rushed to her aid after he ran away, no one even bothered trying to get the purse back. Haven couldn’t imagine letting him get away with his crime. Stubbornly unfazed by a potentially dangerous situation, she had quickly taken off her heels and bounded after him.

  A soccer player during college, Haven was fast. She narrowly dodged stunned passersby, pivoting around them as though she was on a soccer field. As the thief tried to escape up an escalator, Haven had leaned over the hand rail and grabbed him by the hood of his jacket, yanking him backwards so that he fell roughly on the moving steps. He landed on his tailbone so hard that she heard it crack. She then leaned over him, pinning him in place with her knees, and started to pry the purse out of his hands.

  After recovering from the initial shock of having a girl stop him from carrying out his crime, he’d attempted to fight back.

  Haven was prepared for that. On her key ring, she had a nifty little plastic weapon that if held correctly between the index and middle finger could smash bones just as effectively as a pair of brass knuckles. The best part about it was that it was legal and discrete, perfect to carry in a weapons-conservative place like D.C.

  When he tried to punch her in the face, Haven ducked in time to miss his fist and landed a decent blow to his groin, one that was magnified ten-fold by the weapon in her grasp. Horrified and bewildered, he’d collapsed to his knees clutching himself as he moaned in pain.

  Haven had straightened her pantsuit and returned the purse to the very grateful woman. Metro security arrived moments later to hand the thief over to the police. She’d had to answer some questions, fill out a report or two, but at the end of it all, she had been pulled aside and asked by the sergeant if she would be interested in a spot at the academy.

  When her family and boyfriend found out about how she’d fought a criminal who could have possibly had a knife or gun on him, they were appalled. To this day, they still chastised her for her lack of rationale and consideration for her own safety. Only her grandmother, Rosemary, had waited until they were done to silently pat her on the back with an approving smile.

  She shifted uncomfortably in her heels, bemoaning their impracticality. Feet were rounded at the toes, not pointy and narrow; there was no way high heels were developed by a woman. She felt a little better knowing that she had a comfy pair of jeans and flip-flops waiting for her when she arrived. Her grandmother always packed her a snack and a fresh change of clothes whenever she picked her up from the airport.

  Thinking about all of the niceties her grandmother afforded her to show her love caused Haven to want to go home even more. The city was so different from her small hometown of Green Acres, Georgia. Everything from the traffic to the metro to the impressive architecture and formidable government buildings oozing with power seemed so foreign to her.

  She cringed slightly when she thought about parallel parking. This was easily on her list of least favorite things to do in life. Where she was from, parking was never an issue. Spaces were always plentiful. She had never parallel parked until she had driven to D.C. from Georgia during college. Driving around for nearly a half an hour to find street parking because she didn’t want to pay twenty dollars a day to park in a garage, she had been forced to parallel park for the first time. Other drivers had been rushed and impatient, honking behind her while she tried to align her side mirrors with that of the other car before attempting to back into a spot. Haven was certain she had lost ten years of her life that day. From there on out, she opted to fly in and take the metro to get around.

  Still, she didn’t feel intimidated by big city living. Before
she started her Master’s program, she had traveled throughout parts of Western Europe and Asia as an English teacher. With her boyfriend, Houston, they had lived the gypsy lifestyle, and it had been incredible. To get paid to see the world simply by teaching their native tongue had allotted them countless unforgettable opportunities. The adventures they shared, the friends they made, the snippets of the languages they learned, and the cultures they had become immersed in had been a once-in-a-lifetime, priceless experience.

  Now that she was done with her Master’s, it was time to put down some roots and find a decently paying job so that she wouldn’t drown in debt from her student loans. Moving to D.C. was an exhilarating prospect, but she would miss the simple, cozy, uneventful town of Green Acres.

  And she would dearly miss her family, namely her grandmother. The death of her parents when Haven was only thirteen had been traumatic and had nearly devastated her and her younger siblings. When her grandparents took them in without even a second thought, her grandmother became Haven’s rock. Rosemary was a strong woman with a fierce spirit and loving heart. Even in her old age, she managed to provide all three of them with a solid upbringing and a good moral foundation so that they would enter the world with a sense of honor, humility, and perseverance to surmount even the most challenging of obstacles.

  While it was nearing time for her to leave Green Acres, Haven felt incredibly blessed for the precious years she’d spent with her grandmother. She knew that she had aged considerably in the past few years since the passing of her grandfather, and frequently, they all worried that she might not be around for much longer. Haven loved her more than life itself and had difficulty imagining life without her. Rosemary had played such a monumental role in all of their lives. She had guided them with gentle wisdom and had the uncanny ability to turn an everyday situation into an important life lesson. Even through a casual afternoon hike in the forest behind her home, Rosemary managed to teach them which plants to eat in the woods if one was stranded in the wilderness to how to track various animals. She had even participated in a rodeo with Haven when she was seventy years-old. Haven was beaming with pride as they rode as a team, herding cattle, barrel racing, and pole bending in record time. She had framed their first place ribbons above her bed, and not a day passed where she didn’t glance at them fondly.