Insurgent Z: A Zombie Novel

by Scioneaux, Mark C.

  Hart glared at him with the eyes of an eagle on the attack. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Gottlieb’s mouth opened without uttering a sound as his head slowly shook. It reminded Hart of a fish gasping for air outside of water. The scientist had long, thinning hair that had frizzed in the hot humid air of Louisiana. Funny thing about stereotypes, they were usually based more on truth than prejudice. Gottlieb looked like a clone of the typical mad scientist, swirling test tubes filled with florescent wonders, and boiling beakers of mystery in a lab. His white lab coat was dirty, stained with remnants of food, and ink blotches. Sometimes, the geniuses of men were also the sloppiest. Hart figured the messy appearance had unfortunately carried over to Gottlieb’s work.

  “This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been in the Army long enough to know how information is dealt out. Each group tells the other just enough to work together in order to reach a common objective. That’s all fine and good until the train jumps the tracks. I know something’s churning inside that melon on your shoulders. It’s written all over your face.”

  It had been a long time since Hart had struck a civilian. Gottlieb was a private contractor. If Hart had to punch a confession out of the scientist, all witnesses present were military, and not any chance for Hart to be held accountable.

  Gottlieb went to speak three different times and stopped. Was he choosing the most believable lie to tell? Hart would give him only two times to tell the truth, or he would beat it out of him. This gasping fish was about to get put into a barrel.

  “Not long before we parted for Paradis, I learned of a new objective. The computer models showed that humans could tolerate a stronger dose of the immunization serum than the ape test subjects. The original program was going to take weeks—maybe months—to complete. The vaccine delivered to the prison is in concentrated form. It was to accelerate the transformation, cutting the experiment time to twenty-five percent. The Army was concerned with the budget. They did it to save money,” Gottlieb said. He removed his glasses from his face and wiped them clear on his soiled coat.

  Hart quivered like a volcano ready to blow. “I’m in charge of this operation. That’s information I should have been aware of from the beginning. I would have handled things differently. Been more involved. Gave more of a shit. I would have been at the prison today with a watchful eye on things. Now the pot has boiled over, and I can’t do jack shit about it.”

  “This reaction was totally unexpected. None of the models had the prisoners dying, much less reanimating into savage killers. There’s nothing you could have done to prevent it.”

  “I might not have been able to prevent it from going helter skelter, but I could have had my men and the guards at Paradis on full alert. We would have had a better chance at containing the problem. Hell, we could have put bullets in all of them and ended it. Now we’re just fucked.” Hart rubbed the back of his neck and walked in a small circle.

  Gottlieb took the opportunity to move away from the wall. No longer blocked by the Colonel, he had an open path to run.

  “Is there something you can do? An antidote to arrest, or reverse, whatever it is you’ve done to them?” Hart said.

  “No, Colonel. The vaccine wasn’t designed to work that way. Advancements in bioengineering gave us the ability to integrate changes on a molecular level. We use RNA and DNA in the body to replicate the engineered changes, at a controlled rate of course. I can’t explain what went wrong, or what has happened for the prisoners to respond the way they did. Nothing of this type showed up inside the model. Given enough time, we’ll figure it out, though.”

  Hart fretted. “Time. Yes, time. One of the few things in life we can do nothing to control. We can spend time, buy time—to an extent, lose time, run out of time, but it’s all an illusion. The only time we really have is what fate gives us.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “It’s time to learn anything you can about the situation. There’s going to be a ton of initial questions, and the investigation’s going to be as invasive as your mother hand picking hairs from around your asshole. Get back in that lab of yours and get to work, or else,” Hart patted his sidearm, making sure Gottlieb caught full view of his intentions, “I’ll find someone else to get the job done.”

  The scientist wasted no time in turning on his heels and streaking away.

  “Private, let me know when the troops reach Paradis. We’ll set up a situation room and communicate real time.”

  The Private stiffened to attention, and said, “Yes, sir,” and then returned to his post.

  Hart’s back cracked like dried chicken bones as he leaned back and stretched. “This is bullshit. I’m getting too old for this. Why can’t anything ever go as planned?”

  Two medics waited stoically for orders.

  “What are you two dogfaces waiting for? Get in there and make sure Gottlieb’s not fucking off playing Angry Birds!”

  ***

  “We’re coming up to the prison now . . . looks like the gates breached . . . 18 wheeler either busted out or stalled. Over,” the sergeant said.

  The makeshift situation room had a radio operator at the desk wearing headphones that only covered his right ear. Hart and Reid sat on the other side of the desk, with the Colonel leaning on an elbow toward the radio’s speaker.

  Hart keyed the microphone. “How many insurgents can you see? Over,” he asked.

  “I count three. Near the entrance. Over.”

  Hart turned to Reid. “Three? I was hoping most had stayed around the prison. This is worse than I thought if they’re wandering about the area. Botte may have a small populace but it’s a large land area. The damn swamps and lack of roads doesn’t help matters either.” He keyed the microphone. “Proceed with caution. Over.”

  “Roger. Making exit now. Over.”

  “Keep your mic hot. I want instant communication. Over.”

  “Roger. Targets in sight. Act like they’re sick. Showing us teeth like animals. Over.”

  Automatic gunfire answered the action taken.

  “Approaching gate . . . area clear . . . wait . . .”

  A distance voice shouted in the background.

  “We have a survivor. In the tower. Over.”

  Another voice, closer, apparently one of the other soldiers, shouted something. The distant voice responded.

  “One survivor . . . another needing a medic. Over”

  “Only two? That’s all? Over,” Hart said.

  “Roger. Warns more insurgents inside prison. Over.”

  “Get him out, and get him back here ASAP. Don’t take any chances with the insurgents. Over,” Hart said.

  “Roger. Moving forward.” The Sergeant paused for several seconds. “Past the gate . . . see a few at 50 meters . . .” Three round bursts from M16s filled in the silence. “Shit! Engaging enemy—”

  Reid and Hart both leaned closer to the radio. Hart opened and closed his left hand. Reid scratched at a blemish on his chin.

  Rifles spat ordinance in rapid succession. Muffled screams and cries of surprise colored the battle’s narrative.

  “Enemy pouring out of cracks . . . Perry! Behind you! Shit! Shit! Shit!”

  “Good God . . .” Hart closed his eyes and rubbed his brow. Reid shook his head and moved his hand from his chin to the side of his face.

  “Fuck! There are more over there!” A chainsaw of gunfire erupted. “Holding our own . . . Take ’em down! Forward! Move! Move! Move!”

  Hart turned to Reid, his eyes pleaded for hope. A cacophony of chaos ensued over the radio as orders were barked, and warnings flew. Time slowed. Hart’s insides twisted like a rope caught in a propeller. He prayed the battle would end—that his men would retreat and return unharmed. His future depended on a successful mission.

  Two blasts, obviously not from an automatic weapon, thundered over the chaotic melee. A faint voice yelled, “I’m out of ammo.” Three more blasts boomed from the unknown gun.

  The Serge
ant uttered a shriek so unnerving Hart gasped and sprang from his seat.

  Reid looked up at the Colonel, his chin dropped to his chest.

  One by one, the roar of rifles and handguns dwindled. Screams of agonizing torture in their place, until the only sounds coming over the radio were slurps, grunts, and the smacking of lips.

  The radio operator heaved his guts out in the trash can. Reid’s face contorted like he had bitten into a skunk’s ass. Hart’s face soured until his mouth looked like it had been sewn shut.

  ***

  “Yes, I’m still holding for General Krueger . . . Hart, H a r t . . . Jonathan . . . Yes, I’ll continue to hold.” Hart’s ear ached from pressing the satellite phone too hard against his head. The wait for the general approached an hour. He had lit a Churchill before calling. The cigar did little to calm his nerves, and the acrid smoke made his tired eyes water and burn.

  “Krueger.” The General’s voice didn’t sound welcoming.

  “It’s Hart. In fucking Botte, Louisiana. I have an urgent matter at hand.”

  “What seems to be the problem, Colonel?”

  “I’ll tell you what the damn problem is. It’s those geeks from the bioengineering branch. Someone handed them the keys to the mission and left me standing at the front door with my dick in my hand.”

  “Could you be a little more specific?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. Ground rules for the immunization experiment were changed without my knowledge.”

  “So?”

  Hart didn’t like the casual acknowledge of the general. “So, the whole damn thing turned into a powder keg and exploded.”

  “Problems? So soon?”

  “More than just problems. Because a decision was made to speed up the experiment, it backfired. Instead of creating an army of super soldiers, I’ve got a prison full of crazed inmates.”

  “Wha—?”

  “It’s more complicated than that. If I told you what was really going on, you’d think I’m crazy.”

  Three burst rounds from automatic rifles rattled somewhere from outside. Hart paused to listen. A few more single shots sounded, and then silence.

  “Wasn’t expecting that. Keep them locked up until we can follow up what went wrong,” the General said.

  “Too late. They’ve escaped. Got a call from the prison several hours ago.”

  “Several hours? Did you send a containment force?”

  “Yeah. All I could spare. They didn’t make it back.”

  “The prisoners must have gotten into the armory.”

  “No. That’s not the problem. The vaccine we used to immunize them . . . it changed them . . . turned them into something . . . wild.”

  “I don’t care how bad ass they are. If they’re not armed, you ought to be able to keep them in line. Christ, man. We’re talking guns against handcuffs.”

  “General Krueger, I don’t believe you understand the urgency of our situation.” Hart smashed the butt of his cigar in a saucer, spilling ashes on the desk. He bit his lower lip and tried to think of the right words to say.

  “Really? I’ll tell you what this four star General does understand. A highly decorated officer in the U.S. Army can’t maintain order in a two-bit town where the main footwear is white rubber shrimping boots. I’ve been faced with far bigger challenges than this situation when I was a hall monitor in grade school!”

  Hart groaned. “Forgive me, sir. I was out of line. I simply find myself in a predicament far worse than anticipated. We’re outnumbered here, twenty, or thirty, to one.”

  “The only squad I have with the security clearance to handle your circumstances is in Afghanistan. Do you want me to put the lives of American soldiers over there at risk to make your sorry ass look good?”

  “No, no I don’t, but, of the 30 men I have, ten went into the prison. That only leaves me with 20 men to protect the compound and man the checkpoint.”

  “You’re just going to have to do the best you can until I can free up some resources. We’ll get the Coast Guard patrolling the shoreline with shoot to kill orders on anything that moves.”

  Hart felt like he just got slapped in the face. “Shoot to kill? I don’t think those infected prisoners have enough sense to pilot a boat. What about innocent citizens?”

  “Doesn’t matter who it is. We can’t let anyone escape. There will be additional orders coming down soon. We’ll modify the directive.”

  “But, General—”

  “No buts. Protect the compound. Keep the checkpoint secure at any cost. The secrecy of this mission is more important than all the lives in Botte, including yours. Have I made myself clear, Colonel?”

  “Yes, General, you have.” The satellite phone went silent. There was nothing that he could do but wait out the storm and see what the future held.

  Mason’s face, from the time they met in Iraq, haunted him. The tiny scars where Mason’s nails had dug into his flesh remained to this day. Hart remembered how easy it was to take the high-road during that rescue. How rank gave him the privilege, no, the duty to remind those he commanded that their only purpose was to serve the greater good of the United States of America. Damn individual feelings and rights. Damn the wife and children back at home—and the life they hoped to build one day.

  Hart had never expected to be in this position. Not at this rank and certainly not at this time in his career.

  Lieutenant Reid stepped in the open office door with an envelope in his hand and stood at attention. Hart felt some relief in the formality, letting him pull away from the tormenting memories.

  “What is it, Lieutenant? Good news, I hope.”

  “For your eyes only, sir. New orders.” Reid handed him the envelope and relaxed.

  Hart opened the envelope and read the letter. The new orders held the same amount of hope as his conversation with the General. “Alert the men that we are in survival mode. At this time, it is not known when relief will come. The directive is clear. Under no circumstances will anybody, living or otherwise, leave Botte. We need to hunker down and protect the compound at any cost. Refugees will be treated as prisoners and held until their point of debriefing. Shoot to kill any resisters, or any infected that come within range. These are our orders.”

  Reid’s expression softened, and then snapped back to that of a determined commander. “Yes, sir.” He turned to leave the office.

  Hart rose from his chair and followed. When he caught up, he put his hand on Reid’s shoulder. “I heard some shots while I was on the phone with the General. Some of the Paradis inmates make it over here?”

  “No. It was two of the locals. Big guys wearing overalls. They had blood on their faces and hands. They were definitely infected. This way, I’ll show you.”

  Near the gate, two soldiers stood watch while a medical team hovered over the bodies. Hart was taken aback at the sight of the dead men. Lips curled away from teeth, and dead, frozen scowls looked more horrifying than any Halloween mask he had seen.

  “We shot them several times in the chest, but they kept coming. They didn’t drop until we shot them in the head. Honestly, sir,” one of the soldiers said, as if trying to convince himself.

  “How do you think they got infected?” Hart asked, to no one in particular. “Do you know if they worked at Paradis?”

  “I don’t think so. One had a wallet on him. We did a quick search and believe the two were brothers who live a few miles away. Farmers. There’s no immediate explanation how they became infected,” Reid said.

  Hart rubbed his hand on his chin. “The Mayor told us that Paradis had its own water well. What if he was wrong? What if that well was somehow connected to the towns?”

  “Wouldn’t the mayor of a town this size know that?” Reid said.

  “Maybe, yes. Maybe, no. Paradis’ water system was probably built decades ago. I’ve seen small towns take that route, jerry rigging the whole damned thing to keep things running on the cheap. What if Botte’s water piping had been pieced together over the years t
o a point where even the guy over public works doesn’t know what’s tied into what? You know how records can get lost, and repairs and connections are made by work crews and then forgotten about.”

  “I guess that’s possible, sir.”

  Hart put his fists on his hips. “Send a few men over to the nearest house to get a sample of water, and get it tested. If that stuff’s in the town reservoir, we’ve got a real disaster on our hands. Hell, if it’s in the water system, and the whole town is infected, we’re fucked big time!”

  The two arrived at the radio room. Reid went inside to transmit the new orders. Hart remained outside and lit a cigar. The wind shifted toward him as he puffed to get the cigar’s end to burn. The smoke wafting up irritated his eyes and nose, making him cough.

  Everything he had his hand in lately seemed to backfire in his face.

  Chapter 12

  No Way Out

  Rosella stared down at her watch, and the time crawled. Seconds turned to minutes, which then turned to hours. She and Barry had barely moved since taking refuge in the small utility closet. Afraid to do so much as breathe, they held each other close, and waited for what could be their inevitable and violent end.

  Dying in the diner was the last thing on Rosella’s mind when she went into work that morning. Things like this just didn’t happen in a small town like Botte. In the past, they had a few incidents with fisherman who would drink a little too much, but it never escalated to murder, much less… eating another person. The longer Rosella stayed trapped in the dark closet, the more she tried to convince herself what she had witnessed wasn’t real. She hadn’t seen people ripped apart by others. That just wasn’t possible.

  As the minutes ticked by, it was not only possible, but the chilling reality. For that first hour, Rosella and Barry were forced to listen to every noise coming from the diner. Every groan, cry, and scream could be heard, almost as if they were in the same room. After the first hour had passed, the shouts of pain and torment quieted. They held each other for a few more minutes, on edge, and ready to detect the slightest noise, letting them know that things were not all right.