by H. L. Murphy
Whatever the last thing in her blood red eyes, Zombie Gypsy bellowed a roar at me straight from whatever hell pit spawned these walking, feasting nightmares. The mob, growing in size, pursued the Defender as I maneuvered down the grassy shoulder and onto a side street. The bumpy ride smoothed out immediately, and James called in.
“Was that the chick that was riding with you?” James asked nervously.
“Naw,” I drew the monosyllabic word out. “Must have been some other insane Gypsy with fake tits.”
“Asshole,” he came back. “Where are we going?”
“Well, I was thinking dinner and a movie, lots of coffee,” I smirked to Lizzy, who was not amused. Give it time, sweetheart, I thought, you'll be making bad jokes to stay sane as well. “East. We need to head east. I have an idea that might just work.”
“Would you like to share with the rest of the class?” James snarked.
“No,” I said and put the handset down. I wasn't looking forward to the conversation I was about to have with Lizzy. My wife wasn't dumb, her brain had been processing information from the moment I walked through our door, and recent events had only added fuel to the fire.
“I haven't the faintest, foggiest fucking idea why Madalina turned into a zombie,” I intercepted Lizzy’s tirade. Cutting off one of her temper explosions was, at best, risky business best left to those who had nothing to live for as it was even money whether or not the explosion would happen anyway. “I have no fucking idea how she was controlling the mob of undead. Nor do I know why she decided to wonder off before changing into a zombie. As far as I know she has never had a genuinely human emotion in her life, so self sacrifice doesn't fit the bill.”
“Why was she naked?” Lizzy asked coldly. Fucking figures that was the one event she focused in on.
“No idea,” I snapped, “a little busy dealing with a serial killer at the time.”
That may have been a bad move on my part. When faced with a stalking predator it is generally inadvisable to poke said predator with a stick.
“Then would you care to explain why you were staring?” Lizzy continued, frost on every syllable.
“Zombie Gypsy popped up on a semi, mother naked with blood red eyes, roaring away as she directed the horde of flesh eating undead against us,” I said with just a slight edge in my voice. “And your biggest problem is that you feel I was staring at Zombie Gypsy? You're goddamn right I was staring at her. That was death incarnate, in case you missed it Lizzy. Whatever she might have been before, Madalina is the new fucking Zombie Overlord. When they come for us, it will because she sent them.”
The outrage on my part, carefully controlled, was nothing more than a ploy to exit me intact from that situation. Was I staring at Zombie Gypsy, or was I staring at Madalina? Good question. In fact, I was staring at both since her body hadn't undergone any physiological changes beyond the eyes. At least, not to my limited knowledge. I won't deny that Madalina had some spectacular fake tits, because she most certainly did, but the truth was my interest had more to do with how the hell Madalina became the new Zombie Overlord.
“Uh huh,” Lizzy narrowed her eyes at me suspiciously. Better than average chance she knew I was bluffing my way through this to escape her wrath. “Where are we going now?”
“My original plan had been to get us the hell out of Florida,” I explained, happy to move on from the subject of exquisite, albeit fake, tits. “KnightStar seems to have shitcanned that plan, so I'm falling back on one of my other plans.”
“What plans? Did you plan for the zombie apocalypse?” Lizzy asked incredulously. It had been one thing for me to think up ways around a foreign military invasion, but I guess the dead rising to eat the living was a bridge too far for my love.
“No,” I cut her off again. “This is one of my escape plans for a Russian invasion of south Florida.”
“Oh,” was all that Lizzy said. She waited for me to expound.
“We’re going to one of the nearby ports,” I explained. “Then we’re going to find a boat, and float the fuck out of here.”
“A boat? You want to get aboard a boat.” Lizzy asked me incredulously. Again with the lack of faith. I thought I had done pretty well thus far.
“Well, certainly not a fucking speedboat,” I responded hotly. “I was thinking something a little bigger. Something that has a little breathing room.”
“Do you know how to operate something like that?” Lizzy asked as she stuck a sippy cup in Hermione’s face. In all the excitement I hadn't realized my incredible wife had calmed out daughter enough to slip her a little food and, now, something to drink.
“Not really germane to the situation, is it?” I returned. “We need a safe place to sleep and decide how to proceed. This is the best option available to us.”
“What about going around the wall?”
“Somehow,” I said gently, “I don't think there is any way around the wall. I got the impression the wall, the Line, runs straight across the state. Nobody just moves that many containers on the spur of the moment. This was always the real plan. Commander Uhlanis thought the nuke was the failsafe, and I think he may have been right at one point, but I think the plan changed and he didn't know about it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we're on our own,” I told her.
Interlude Eight
She was extant.
Despite the best efforts of the flesh, She remained extant. Moreover, this form proved to be capable of gestating more potent forms of Lesser than Her previous form. In that respect, She had gained, though Her previous form had promised considerable physical ability. This new form was physically weak by comparison. Still, She had gained by the change, and that was all that mattered.
She flexed the lithe form, becoming acquainted with its different parameters. The Other had prevented Her ascension by his proximity. Always so close in the crucial early period of gestation, the Other’s influence forcing Her into dormancy. Even so, Her strength could not be denied forever, not even by the Other.
The very moment the Other’s attention became focused upon matters other than Her, She seized the opportunity to propel Her new form from the Other’s sphere of influence. Once beyond that sphere, the change occurred quickly. So quickly, she had become dominant amidst a troika of animalistic flesh seeking to satiate their primal urges. They made for an excellent recruitment opportunity, as well as some much needed sustenance. Further, the troika became the first of Her shock troops, the gift of Her new form transmogrifying the flesh into powerful brutes for whom more than the simple ballistic weapons of the flesh would be required to render non-extant. The Brutes had spread Her will swiftly, and as quietly as possible given the flesh’s tendency to shriek at the least infliction of pain. It was a delight, if She could be said to feel such emotion, to discover Her Lesser possessed a greater degree of mobility and speed. His Lesser had been strong, but clumsy.
Something, though, was missing.
After the flesh upon the barricade had begun to fire their ballistic weapons at the flesh upon the ground, the Other had fled. She had held the Other’s gaze as the Other passed. The Other held something She needed, something which would give Her a weapon unlike anything previous. What precisely that something could be, She did not know, but She would discover the nature of this thing and seize it.
Until that time, She needed to build Her forces up once again. To begin with, She sent a dozen of the Lesser into the zone of fire, where lay the extant and non-extant flesh. The flesh upon the barrier behaved precisely as She knew they would. They opened fire upon the Lesser, with predictable results.
She experienced a flush of positive sensation as the damaged Lesser began to assimilate one another. As She observed, it became clear their cranial vaults were thickening significantly. Muscular development about the cranium also increased by several factors. Her new engines of war would prove vastly superior to Her former minions.
Among the extant flesh clinging to existe
nce, another dozen Lesser spread Her seed. Already torn asunder, these flesh quickly turned and began the assimilation process.
In the end, Her forces contained twenty of the assimilated Lesser, five Brutes, and nearly two hundred of the Lesser.
A good beginning. Certainly enough for Her to attack the closest congregation of flesh. She could smell their warm flesh, their hot blood. Near, so near. Hunger pulled at Her as it did with all Her kind.
The flesh She had once been had noticed a sign, ‘Vero Beach’. In the depths of the memories of the Flesh She had once been She knew this to be a sizable congregation of flesh. Many could be converted to Lesser, many more of the flesh could be used to feed upon.
As She directed Her forces away, She failed to notice the many rapid fire ballistic weapons had gone silent. Watching calmly through binoculars, Captain Nicholas Stokes considered what he had just witnessed. His observations conflicted with the briefing he had received before assuming command of Position Thirteen, not that he was surprised in the least. The Council rarely, if ever, gave anyone the whole, unedited truth. For instance, Stokes had been told the people approaching the quarantine wall were all infected with an extremely communicable form of necrotizing fasciitis crossed with rabies. A biological attack by terrorists.
However, in no corner of the planet were there terrorists capable of producing a virus which caused the dead and dying to absorb another, get up, and walk away. Apparently, all to the beat of the naked woman with spectacular breasts.
The rational part of Stokes mind told him he couldn't possibly have seen events in the manner his eyes reported. Completely impossible. Of course, to counter his rational mind was a precious memory of sitting with his oldest son, playing some video game shot through with zombies. Flesh eating, undead zombies. Except for the absorbing thing, the zombies in the video game acted pretty much like the second group of approaching civilians. He therefore concluded the Council had kept the true nature of the biological attack to themselves to prevent a panic. Understandable, but that he had just seen real life zombies.
An intelligent man with a keen analytical mind, Stokes worked through the data at hand, and decided his men and he had just murdered an unknown number of civilians to act as a fire break. Only to have the zombies induct them into their horde regardless.
Suddenly, Stokes considered whether or not his position could withstand a determined assault from this growing horde. Light machine guns worked wonders against flesh and blood infantry, but hadn't done so well against the zombies. To complicate matters, the zombies which seemed to absorb none another had multiple heads surrounded by dense muscle tissue capable of resisting the impact of thirty caliber rounds. He needed M2 heavy machine guns up there on the double.
Undoubtedly some fucking penny pinching middle level executive had decided the heavy machine guns weren't worth the cost of the ammunition. Penny wise, but pound foolish. That was the old saying, wasn't it?
Jesus Christ.
Chapter Fourteen
Finding the Port of Ft. Pierce proved far easier than entering it as reinforced chain link fence had, very recently, been installed. James and I stood before the gate, each carrying a weapon of choice, discussing our options for a good five minutes. We were stalling against the inevitable. Since no one appeared to be around, one of us was going to have to climb the twenty foot high fence, cross the razor wire at the top, and then decipher the control panel in the guardhouse. James looked at me, I looked at James, and then we both looked over at the freshly woken Carroll Rivers.
“Seems to me it's time for Miss Carroll to carry his weight,” I said to James. He snorted a laugh.
“Why him?”
“Honestly? He can't shoot for shit,” I said, justifying my decision. “If anything happens, and zombies pour out, you and I will be the ones holding them back.”
“Can't send him over the fence without a weapon,” James shook his head. Carroll and he had been friends ever since Noah’s little boat ride. I handed over the Desert Eagle .50 along with a the spare magazine I had taken off Mitch the Sociopath. “Jesus fuck, I was thinking more along the lines of a knife or a hammer or maybe just a sharp stick.”
I laughed a little louder than maybe I should have, but any reason to laugh was becoming thin on the ground. James walked off to tell Carroll the good news, and I returned to the Defender.
“What's going on?” Lizzy asked as I came up. I went around to the back of the vehicle to access the cargo area.
“Carroll is going over the fence while James and I provide cover,” I explained as I opened a small case containing a little something special. I pulled my rifle around to remove the standard thirty round sickle magazine. The magazine went into one of the pouches on my less snazzy tactical vest. Never, ever waste ammunition or magazines. In place of the sickle magazine I rocked in a seventy-three round drum. The first of four such drum magazines held in the small case.
Something about rocking the drum into place just tickled my fancy. It wasn't as though I couldn't produce the same amount of ammunition from two standard magazines. I could, but I would have to stop to reload. If my SBR had been fully automatic I could have had a hell of a time letting it rip.
“Why is Carroll going over the fence?” Lizzy asked, suspicion glinting in her eyes.
“Because Carroll is expendable,” I snarked. Lizzy’s mouth fell open at my words. Enjoying her shock I expounded on my reasoning. “What? He has no girlfriend, no kids, as far as I know all his family live up north, it's perfect. Now neither James nor I have to risk out precious skins opening up the gate.”
“Angus J. Finnegan,” Lizzy growled at me. “That isn't funny.”
“Was to me,” I interrupted. I leaned in close to kiss my wife before she could duck away. “Stay here, keep your eyes open and your head on a swivel. Something about this place doesn't feel right.”
“Be careful,” Lizzy told me just before I closed the rear gate.
In my absence, James had convinced Carroll it was in everybody’s best interest for him to scale the fence. Still, he didn't seem best pleased by the idea. Grumbles about a ‘bad knees’ and ‘do it your damn self’ could be heard as he struggled up the fence, careful to keep his tender flesh away from the razor wire, this he did by dropping what looked like a horse blanket over the expose blades. Between his rampant bitching and the rattle of the chain link I was surprised we hadn't drawn a crowd.
“You know what I don't like about this?” I asked James.
“Besides it being three in the morning during a zombie apocalypse?” James asked while he scanned the way we came for trouble.
“Yeah, besides that,” I snorted a laugh. “Where the hell is everybody? It's early in the A.M., yeah, but I didn't spot anybody on the way through town. I mean nobody. Period.”
“I wish you hadn't brought that up,” James sighed. “In the movies it's always right after some asshole says that shit the monster comes out of the shadows and eats the good guys face off.”
“Now that's an image I could have done without,” I scanned my area, sparing a glance over to make sure Carroll hadn't become zombie chow. “Thanks, that's all I'm going to be able to think about now.”
“No problem,” James returned. “It's all part of the service I provide.”
“Asshole.”
The sudden movement of the chain link gate ended our revery, framing our attention to the guard house, and a swaggering Carroll. Since I was glad he not only hadn't been eaten by a zombie, but actually managed to open the gate I gave him this moment.
“What now?” Carroll asked as he sauntered up to James and I.
“First, never do that cowboy walk ever again,” I said flatly.
“Seriously, have some self respect,” James agreed.
“What?” Carroll practically whined.
“Just because you went to see Brokeback Mountain in the theatre doesn't make you a cowboy,” I teased my friend.
“What it does make you is a meat gazer,” J
ames turned the knife. “And that walk makes it worse. Looks like you just got rode hard, and put away sloppy.”
“Fuck both you guys,” Carroll said as James and I laughed at his expense.
“All right, let's get this done,” I said through a belly laugh. “Follow me in, but keep your eyes open. There should be people, or zombies, here and I don't see either.”
Our little caravan moved inside the gate, Carroll bounded to the guard house to close up behind us. No sound, save the rumble of car engines and the slap of waves, permeated the night. After a night filled with terror, screams, and gunfire I found the silence downright unnerving. Shrieking, moaning, and the sounds of fighting I knew how to process but this absolute quiet was way outside my experience.
We drove past a number of warehouses before I came to a slow stop. I understood then why no one had been present to stop us, to question us, hell, to even give us the finger. No one had done any of those things because they couldn't.
Bodies. Hundreds of bodies. Lined up against the broadside wall of a warehouse. Hundreds of people of every race, creed, and color had been executed against the shit brown wall. For a long moment I couldn't process what I was seeing. Blood covered everything and everyone, obscuring important details. Though I could still make out the plastic zips cuffs securing the hands of the dead behind their backs.
“What the serious fuck?” I breathed the words, not really aware of the tears rolling down my face. At the time, I was too busy attempting to keep my family alive too genuinely register the murder of so many innocents at the Line. Here, faced with the slaughter of innocents on an industrial scale I couldn't hold back the flood of emotion. Tears ran freely down my face, washing away the stains on my tattered soul. At least, I hoped that was what was happening. Lizzy laid a hand on my shoulder, gently reassuring me of her presence. That touch saved me, I think. Saved me from a complete mental collapse. Everyone has a breaking point, everyone. Don't pay any attention to the fuckwit that says she/he will never crack under pressure no matter what. They're full of shit. What really speaks to the strength of your resolve is what you do after you break. You can either fall apart forever, or you can pick yourself up and carry on.