Insurgent Z: A Zombie Novel

by Scioneaux, Mark C.

  The rage passed. Mason felt a little nauseated over his outburst. “I’m worried about, Sky, too. And you. And Ruth, and everyone at the station, the diner, and the rest of the town. We’ve got to stick together. We can’t leave survivors to fend for themselves.” An enormous belch bellowed out of Mason.

  “Gross, Mason. That smells like baloney and sour beer. Open a window,” Skylar said. “We get your point. Let’s get to where we’re going and get this over with, one way or the other.”

  “Dig in that bag on the floor and find a box of 9mm and .45 ammo. You know how to handle a pistol, don’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Here,” Mason handed her his .45.

  She passed a box of 9mm rounds over to Troy.

  “Black Talon hollow points. Where in the hell did you find these?” Troy said.

  “It’s a long story. I’ll have to tell you about it one day.” Mason finished the beer and crushed the can before throwing it out the window. “There are two .45s in the bag, Sky. Take one for yourself and some spare magazines. Load the shotgun, too, when you’re finished.”

  What Mason thought were rain clouds gathering in the distance, was really smoke from a fire, or fires. There were people on the road ahead, all moving in the same mechanical fashion. “Hold on, you two. The moment of truth is just about upon us. Sky, hand me my gun. Windows down. Keep as much of your arm in the cab as you can. Fire the gun from the inside if you have to. It’ll be loud, but just deal with it. Don’t get bit whatever you do.”

  A zombie lurched out of the tall grass by the side of the road, and tripped on the edge where the dirt and asphalt met. It landed on its face right in front of the truck. Mason didn’t even have time to swerve out of the way. The truck bounced twice as the front and rear tire ran across its chest. Guts squirted onto the road. The torso looked as if it were completely flattened.

  A quick glance in the review mirror was all Mason had time for. He slowed his speed to maintain control of the vehicle. There was no way to avoid all the bodies coming at them.

  He put the wheels between the centerline and swerved at the last minute to the left side of the road to avoid a small cluster of zombies. Another stepped from the weeds and caught the full impact of the Road Armor Grill Guard. The zombie’s legs flew in the air and turned a 360. It landed with a crash in the bed of the truck.

  Mason jerked the wheel and had the truck back on asphalt. Two more were knocked down when his side mirror crashed into them. The mirror broke on contact and hung by electrical wires, slapping against the door as Mason drove.

  The path cleared just as they entered the business district. There were dead bodies strewn here and there. It was easy to tell which bodies had been shot. Headshots leave nasty wounds. The other bodies were nothing but mostly-eaten carcasses, unrecognizable. Mason’s stomach churned.

  Not far ahead, the police station loomed. So did the diner. Mason slowed to a stop. A good number of zombies patrolled the area in front. Every now and then, a human scream announced that a hiding place had been compromised. Some of the zombies still fed on their victims. The scene was more unnerving than any battle he remembered from his time in the Middle East.

  “You got a plan, Sheriff?” Troy asked.

  “Sure. We kill them before they kill us.”

  “How?”

  “Give me a minute. I’ll think of something.”

  Chapter 14

  A Gathering of Dunces

  Mayor Cotton Woods sipped his second mint julep and enjoyed the warm, caressing breeze from the bayou. It carried with it hints of grass, plant decay, and marsh. The smells made him smile. The strong whiskey mixed with the aromatic mint felt good running down his throat. Ever since the military had moved their plan into action, he’d worried that something bad would happen. It had been a few days now, and he figured, if anything was to occur, it would have occurred already. It appeared he could now just sit back, enjoy his drink, and start counting the massive amount of money that was in his bank account.

  He watched his trophy wife, Joyce, float around the pool. Her tanned, oiled body glistened in the sun, and he knew he was a lucky man. Sure, he knew she was with him because of his money. She was 20 years his junior, but he still got to sleep with her whenever he pleased. That was much better than some of the toothless fish wives living in the area that were more appropriate for his age. He wondered what his son, Beaux, was up to. He had come home with some girl he’d been seeing, a cute girl with brown hair and tan skin. Cotton hadn’t bothered to remember her name. Teenagers, he thought, and remembered being that age at one point. They were probably upstairs, fooling around, pausing like frogs with a flashlight shone on them if they heard the slightest noise. Ah, let the boy have his fun. With the amount of cash he had made, and would continue to make, he couldn’t care less.

  “Come get in, honey,” Joyce called.

  “I will, just let me finish my drink.” Cotton took another sip, and then almost dropped his glass at the clamor coming from the kitchen.

  He heard it. The sound he was dreading. The shrill chirp of a military issue satellite phone had been the last thing he wanted to hear.

  Beads of sweat formed on his face, and it felt like a fist slammed into his gut. Hart’s words popped into his mind: “If that phone goes off, the shit has hit the fan.”

  Cotton stumbled off his lawn chair and slid open the patio door. He walked inside, paying no attention to the blast of cool air that greeted him, or the rhythmic sounds of a headboard hitting the bedroom wall. He looked at the phone, and sure enough, the red light was flashing. He took a deep breath, picked it up, and held it to his ear.

  “This is Cotton.” The words almost caught in his throat.

  “Mayor Cotton, what’s your four number pin?” the hurried voice demanded.

  “3-2-0-7,” Cotton said, wanting to cry.

  “Correct. I am calling to inform you that there has been a major breach of security. You and your family are not safe at home and must get to a secure location immediately.”

  “A secure location? Like where? Where the fuck should I go?” Cotton screamed.

  “That’s your problem. My orders were only to inform you of the situation.”

  The phone went silent on the other end.

  “Hello? Hello? God fucking dammit!” Cotton slammed the phone on the ground, watching it shatter into a dozen pieces.

  He regretted doing that almost immediately. He just severed his only means of communication with Hart. Cotton figured that didn’t matter though, as Hart’s words were clear, and so were the words of the man who called, but that was beside the point. The man instructed him to get to safety, but where was safe? The only area that Cotton could think of was the police station. He had a key to it and could enter through the back. The deputies would protect their mayor, he was sure of that. Mason, on the other hand, might not prove to be as loyal.

  But that didn’t matter. He needed to compose himself and go. Running outside, he screamed for Joyce.

  “Joyce, we need to evacuate. Get upstairs, change, grab an overnight bag, and meet me by the front door. It happened!”

  She didn’t protest. He had briefed her about what was going on when the money started to pile up, and she had shown no interest in whatever little science experiments the military were conducting. Just as long as Cotton fed her fat stacks of bills, she was content. Cotton saw the fear in her eyes as she paddled frantically to the edge and scrambled out the pool. He didn’t waste much time watching her, although the tits he bought looked great jiggling around in the bikini top.

  Cotton ran back into the house and trudged up the stairs, turned sharply at the hall, and barged into his son’s room. He tried not to notice the naked girl straddling his son.

  “Jesus, Dad, a little privacy?” Beaux said, as the girl shrieked and covered herself with a blanket.

  “Beaux, get your friend dressed and meet me downstairs. Something bad has happened, and we need to go to the police station.�
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  “Like a terrorist attack?”

  “Just move your ass, kid!”

  Cotton ran out the room and into the master suite. Joyce hurriedly threw things from the bathroom into a small bag. Cotton made sure a few of his belongings made the bag as well. He bounded down the stairs, Joyce in tow, and was relieved to see Beaux and his girlfriend waiting at the door.

  Without a word, Cotton rushed past them, and made a beeline to his Beamer. The others followed and jumped into the car. With a screech, the car peeled out the driveway, and Cotton turned at the road ahead and steered toward the station.

  “Okay, what the fuck is going on?” the girl asked from the back seat.

  “Quite a mouth on your little girlfriend, son,” Cotton replied.

  “Dad, she’s right. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know yet. I really don’t know.”

  “Some military people’s experiment got out of control and fucked up Botte,” Joyce said, nonchalantly.

  “What?” the girl, whose name Cotton still didn’t know, blurted out.

  “Now, that’s not true, dear.”

  “Is that really not true, Dad?” Beaux asked, his voice choking.

  “I...Yeah, it’s probably true. I’m getting us to safety now.”

  “Where are we going?” Joyce asked.

  “The police station. Only safe building I know. We can board up the place, or something. Just lay low until things calm down.”

  “Board up the place? Things calm down? Dad, what exactly is supposed to happen?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The remainder of the trip was quick and free of conversation. Cotton was relieved to see no one on the road as he pulled up to the back entrance. He produced a scan card at the security reader. The iron gate squealed on its wheels as it slowly pulled back. Cotton pulled the Beamer into the parking lot and noticed all the deputy cars were missing. Ruth’s beat-up station wagon was the only employee car in the lot.

  “Let’s go,” Cotton said, as he made sure the gate closed.

  He unlocked the steel back door and ushered everyone inside. The first thing Cotton noticed was how quiet the station was. He walked up to the front and noticed the heavy wooden doors were unlocked. He turned the knob, locking them. Ruth wasn’t at her desk, and Joyce and the kids were standing to the side, unsure of what to do.

  “Beaux, I want you to drag anything you can and put it in front of the door. No questions, just do it. Joyce, take. . . what’s your name?”

  “Mindi.”

  “Take Mindi and go up to the conference room. Stay there until Beaux and I come back.”

  The two women walked up the stairs to the second floor, while Beaux slid Ruth’s desk toward the door. Cotton ran down the hall, checking offices for weapons. He found the inventory room, but didn’t have a key to open it. He had been in such a hurry to leave that he’d forgotten his pistol in the nightstand. The last office to check was Mason’s, and when he came up to it, he saw Ruth lying on the floor, motionless.

  “Jesus, Ruth. Ruth!” He called her name but she didn’t stir.

  Walking over cautiously, he nudged her ribs with his foot. He almost fell over when she let out a wheeze and whipped toward him. Her face was twisted and deformed, her lips pulled back, exposing her teeth like a snarling animal. She grabbed on to his foot and bit down on the leather of his boot. He panicked, kicking her in the head and moving back toward the door. He slammed the door shut and ran toward Beaux, wondering how long the door would hold her.

  “Beaux, we have to go, now!”

  Beaux stopped what he was doing and followed his father up the stairs.

  “What’s that noise?” he asked. The sound of fists slamming into a door echoed throughout the station.

  “That’s a very pissed off person who wants to hurt us.”

  Beaux said nothing more, and the two ran down the upstairs hall, passing two empty interrogation rooms before entering the spacious conference room. Cotton shut the door behind him and turned the lock. He tested the door, making sure it was secure. The door was made of thick oak. He knew nothing was going to beat down that door.

  Cotton turned and looked around the conference room. A large round table was situated in the center with plush leather chairs that rolled. A water cooler, with a full jug of Kentwood water, set in the corner. Joyce, Beaux, and Mindi stood at the large windows that looked over the street. They stared intently, and though Cotton had made quite the entrance, none turned away. Cotton felt his blood ice when Joyce raised a hand to her mouth in horror. Warily, he walked over and joined them. His heart sank.

  The streets were choked with people, both living and dead. Thick traces of smoke billowed around them, buildings and cars, but it was the people that Cotton couldn’t take his eyes away from. People were running, walking, falling, and attacking each other. It was the definition of pandemonium. Cotton was thankful he had been warned, although a feeling of guilt ate him from within. Bodies littered the sidewalks. Mad rushes of people were tearing apart The Cast Net Diner across the street. His town was ruined. He was ruined.

  “What have you done?” Joyce asked, in a barely audible whisper of horror and fright.

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  Cotton felt a violent slap across his face as Joyce let him have it. Her gaze burned into his, and he felt the fury and hate that came from them stinging more than the slap. She stormed away and sat in one of the chairs at the table.

  “What about my parents? I have to get to them,” Mindi said. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and tried to call, feverishly punching buttons, but there was no signal available.

  “Calm down, Mindi. It will be all right,” Beaux said.

  “Be all right? Look down there! People are killing one another! This is so not right!” She stormed over to where Joyce sat and joined her at the table.

  Cotton looked at Beaux and shrugged his shoulders. His son looked like a wreck. His black hair was disheveled, and a scruff of facial hair peppered his smooth face. The look was normal for Beaux, but it was the young man’s eyes that betrayed him. Beaux’s pupils were dilated, and his normally blue eyes were as black as coal. They also shimmered in the light, as if packed with tears just ready to fall.

  Beaux put his head down, and walked away from the window, joining the women at the table. Cotton stood alone.

  He turned back to the window, not really staring at anything, and yet, looking at everything. Busting the satellite phone was a decision that still haunted him. He could have called Hart by now, maybe reported what was going on and pleaded for a rescue, but now, he had nothing. Where the hell were the cops? Where was Mason? He figured they were out there somewhere, and he prayed they were safe. They were the only ones that could protect him now. Assuming, of course, they didn’t kill him when they found out he knew that something could potentially go wrong.

  He turned back to the others. All three stared off in different directions. Mindi sobbed into her shirt sleeve.

  “Look, guys, it seems bad out there, but the military is in town, and I have no doubt they will have this little problem taken care of soon. We just have to ride it out up here. We’ll be fine.” As if on cue, an explosion went off behind him. Screams reverberated inside the room. The blast almost made Cotton wet himself.

  Joyce stared at him. “Oh, really? Fine like you thought we would be when you gave the Army permission to do whatever it is they did? You really fucked up, Mayor.” She hissed the final word and looked away.

  Cotton turned back to the window. On the street, he saw some poor guy stumble. A pack of people fell on him, and Cotton saw them rip the guy to shreds. He almost knew how that guy felt, and for a brief moment, envied him. Someone would show up, he was sure of it. They had to.

  He walked away from the window and slumped down on the floor. Pressing his back against the wall, he closed his eyes. Somehow, despite the horror, he drifted off into a restless sleep.

  Chapter 15

>   The Perfect Plan

  “I’ve got to pee,” Skylar meekly said from the backseat.

  “Really? I need to take care of business, too. You’re just going to have to cross your legs and hold it,” Mason said.

  “I’m serious. I’ve had some female issues lately, and when I need to go, I need to go.”

  “Either hang it out the window or piss in the seat. You need to be focused when we make our move.”

  Troy looked at Mason and shrugged his shoulders.

  A half-eaten face popped up from underneath Skylar’s window just as she turned her head that way. She screamed and threw herself to the opposite side of the cab. The zombie reached in and grabbed for the back of Mason’s head. He leaned against the steering wheel and fought off the nasty clutches of the undead.

  A deafening blast rocked the cab. The zombie’s arms snaked its way out the window as a .45 caliber black talon bullet dropped it deader than undead.

  Skylar had her back to the door and pointed the Colt Gold Cup at the window ready to fire again.

  “Fuck! That was loud,” Mason said.

  “What?” Troy replied.

  “Are there anymore around us? I don’t see any.” Mason had raised his voice to a near holler.

  Troy quickly scanned the area. “Nothing that I can see close by. That one must have been lying on the ground and crawled over here. We need to be more careful.”

  “Looks like the gunshot got their attention. Look!” Skylar pointed to the windshield.

  The zombies had either heard or felt the sound waves of the shot. Those who weren’t occupied feeding on corpses, had turned and faced in the direction of the sheriff and his posse.

  “Okay, we either flee or fight, and I’ve had enough running for a while. I’m going to drive us in front of the police station. I’d be surprised if the door’s not locked, so have your key ready, Troy. I’ll hold them off until you and Sky are inside, and then, you can lay cover until I get in. We’ll be safe once we’re inside. The police station isn’t built like a regular house. The doors are steel, and the windows are made of bulletproof safety glass. There’s food in the fridge and a snack machine, along with soft drinks and water, and, the most important thing.”