The NEXT Apocalypse (Book 2): AFTER Life: Purgatory

by Chute, Robert Chazz

  I threw up again, straightened, bent over and threw up one more time. Then all I had was dry heaves. I staggered back toward the control room door and picked up a gun from the floor. I didn’t know anything about guns but I’d gone unarmed in the zombie apocalypse for too long already.

  Harmon looked up at Crenshaw, gave a half smile and slowly climbed to his feet.

  “He’s gotta talk to Chloe,” Shelly said.

  The cluster parted and our eyes met.

  “What do you have to tell me?” I asked.

  Harmon ran at me, knocking Shelly and Crenshaw aside. Reflexively, I brought up the muzzle of the rifle and pulled the trigger. The rifle tip was at his heart. Nothing happened. I would have torn him apart if the safety wasn’t on.

  Harmon stiffened and fell at my feet, convulsing, as a long pulse filled the room. TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK!

  Arsenault had taken down my attacker down with a Taser.

  I looked down at Harmon to watch the paralyzing effects of neuromuscular incapacitation. Maybe Shelly was right and maybe he had insights that would prove useful. He wasn’t human anymore though. If there was doubt in anyone’s mind, all they had to do was look to my dead boss’s blood still trickling down Harmon’s chin.

  Arsenault took his finger off the Taser’s trigger. Crenshaw and his men moved in to cuff Harmon.

  I stood over Harmon, exhausted and revolted. “What the hell are you? What have you become?”

  I didn’t really expect an answer and I sure didn’t expect him to utter a word I’d never heard before. Daniel Harmon looked up at me with a shit-eating grin and spoke.

  “Robo-zombie.”

  Author’s Note

  In July 2017, an event was reported in which two semi-intelligent machines running negotiation protocols for Facebook invented their own shorthand to communicate with each other. Their derivative language and codewords were not entirely comprehensible to their creators.

  Engineers soon shut down the Artificial Intelligence. Facebook denies that the incident was in any way nefarious or worrying.

  This is the end of Book Two

  But this is not the end.

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at the next book in this series: AFTER Life: Paradise. If you dig the hash I’m slingin’, please leave a happy review wherever you bought this book. Thank you so much.

  After the preview, you’ll find a link to my website for the AFTERword for this book, in case you’re interested. The piece at that link addresses the question,

  “What is wrong with the man behind the curtain?”

  Sneak Peek of Book Three

  AFTER Life

  P A R A D I S E

  The AI Effect (phenomenon)

  The observation that when an advance in Artificial Intelligence occurs, its worth is routinely discounted. It is postulated that this impulse comes from the human need to feel special, safe and secure in their position, above their technological creations. AI effect deniers will continue to insist machine intelligence is merely computational — not “real intelligence” — until such time as they are forced to welcome our robot overlords.

  CHLOE

  As we debated how to escape the bowels of Echidna Biosystems, the missile that would destroy downtown Toronto was already on its way.

  “Are you sure you can’t fix the epidemic from down here?” Crenshaw asked. “There’s a million cannibals on the streets, Doctor.” The ETF sniper used the word doctor as if he had maggots tucked between his cheek and gum like a cancerous wad of tobacco.

  Daniel Harmon had just tried to kill me. I was flustered but I stood my ground and tried to put the bass of authority in my voice. “You’re afraid to go back up, I know — ”

  “People died to get you to Level 4, a lot of people. Was this bunker just a pit stop?”

  So much for commanding respect. I took a deep breath, slowing my speech, trying to give Crenshaw time to slow down and calm down, too. “I’ve got all I can use from the vault. We’ve got the tissue samples from the dead. We’ve got Daniel Harmon back, alive and infected. We need those clues to figure out what to do about the plague but I can’t analyze the data effectively down here. Wishing doesn’t make things nice and neat. It never does.”

  “The weapon got out of this lab,” Crenshaw said. “The diaper exploded here. Clean up your mess — ”

  “I know you want an easy solution, Mr. Crenshaw. I do, too, but this isn’t a movie. The equipment is fried. We have to get to a lab with more facilities.”

  Bill Arsenault stepped between us, addressing me as if Crenshaw wasn’t there. “Got a text. The Americans offered Fort Bragg but the Prime Minister refused. With the loss of supplies and personnel, it’s not a question anymore. We are moving to a new location, more secure and with the resources you’ll need.”

  Arsenault’s tone was soothing and conciliatory but I wanted to scream. They’d brought me for my expertise on nanotech but they didn’t want any unpleasant answers. They weren’t prepared to listen unless someone else higher up approved.

  “My direction from the PMO is that we are to evac to Suffield,” Arsenault said. “They’ve handled dangerous materials research before — ”

  “Where’s that?” I asked.

  “Alberta.”

  “Do we have that kind of time?” I asked. “There’s a virology lab in Manitoba, right? I don’t know what pathogens they work with there but at least it’s closer.”

  Daniel Harmon lay on the floor where he’d been tased and handcuffed. He rolled over on one side and stared at me. He looked hungry.

  Crenshaw trained his pistol on the prisoner’s head. “I told you not to move! I swear to God I will kill you.”

  Harmon didn’t spare a glance at Crenshaw. His gaze remained fixed on me. “Suthina.”

  “What?”

  “Suthina Laboratories. That’s where they created my upgrade. Go there.”

  Arsenault crouched to get a closer look at Harmon. The taser darts were still in the man’s shoulder and the CSIS agent’s finger stayed on the taser’s trigger. “Who told you that?”

  “You won’t believe me.”

  “Maybe I won’t but I’ll listen hard.”

  “The Voice told me,” Harmon said.

  “Who?”

  “My new operating system, the AI in my head. It’s kind of like talking to an alien. Our ways are strange to it. I didn’t realize it until lately, but our ways are strange. It’s a little confusing isn’t it? You need me to draw you a flowchart in purple crayon?”

  Crenshaw rolled his eyes. “Did it send you an email or text, Danny? What makes you so special — ”

  “Focus. Try to catch up,” Harmon said. “The zombies have the AI that talks to the Picasso brain parasites. I’ve got the evolved version. These new nanites think I’m a better conversationalist.”

  Arsenault looked to me. “Possible?”

  “Not what I designed, but with the safeties off — ”

  “Is it possible or not?” Arsenault asked. “Choose carefully. This man tried to kill you a couple of minutes ago. I’m not going to take his word for anything.”

  “I designed AFTER to behave in predictable ways. If someone wanted to play fast and loose with the progression, sure, it’s unexpected but, in theory, it’s possible.”

  Arsenault rose to his feet and handed Crenshaw the taser. “Ruin Mr. Harmon’s day if he acts up. Tell me what’s on your mind, Dr. Robinson.”

  “We don’t have to trust Harmon’s word,” I said. “Can you find out what the corporate connections are for Suthina Laboratories? Parent companies, shell corporations maybe? That sort of thing?”

  It took the CSIS agent less than a couple of minutes to find out. He didn’t need fancy spy connections. Echidna’s modem was still up and running and Arsenault had the wifi password. He asked Siri and, yes, Suthina Labo
ratories was a division of Bio-Echo, a subdivision of Nyx Management Group.

  “That’s it, then,” I said. “My boss messed up AFTER and Cavanaugh’s people stole it. We shouldn’t go to Suffield. We should go to wherever Suthina is and work with the thieves. Where is Suthina Laboratories, anyway?”

  “Bainbridge Island.”

  “Where?”

  “Washington.”

  “Which one?”

  “Washington State.” Arsenault tapped his phone again. “A short ferry ride to Seattle.”

  “Even farther than Suffield, though,” Crenshaw said. “A minute ago you thought going to Alberta was too far.”

  “Then I got new information and worked from that,” I said.

  Crenshaw shook his head. “We should still go to Suffield. Orders are orders and Suffield will be safer.”

  Furious, I glared at Crenshaw. “If you want safe, you’re in the wrong job. Safe was yesterday. Deal with it and get out of my way.”

  All my life, men in positions of power and seniority had told me I had to pay my dues, to wait my turn, to play the corporate game, to beg for more grants and share credit for my work. They all told me my snark and chronic case of resting bitch face wasn’t helping me advance in their world. Very soon, their world wouldn’t exist.

  I turned my back on Crenshaw and looked Arsenault in the eye. “Tell the Prime Minister that the only expert he’s got is going to Bainbridge to stop the zombie plague. Tell him I need to call the shots. I’m in charge of finding the cure. It’s not the PM and it’s not you guys. It’s me. If you want my help then let me do my thing. With Thomas dead, you’ll need a goat so, if this all goes south, you can blame me for your failure. I am not some consultant you shove to the side. Let me make the decisions from here on out or drop me off at a Walmart somewhere far away so I can stock up on food, batteries, ammunition and M&Ms. It’s going to be an ugly, gory apocalypse.”

  I thought throwing in the line about M&Ms was a nice flourish. Shelly Priyat allowed a small smile to leak out at that. However, it was Daniel Harmon who let out a belly laugh.

  “Dr. Robinson is right,” the prisoner crowed. “If you have any hope of stopping the spread of the disease, listen to her. Follow her or die running around in circles. This is just the start. This is just a little rain. A blood storm is on its way. Don’t piss off the only one of you who knows how to work an umbrella.”

  “Not for nothing, but you just tried to murder her, Harmon,” Crenshaw barked. Crenshaw pulled the trigger on the taser and Harmon’s body went rigid as his muscles rebelled against his will.

  He only stopped torturing Harmon because, at that moment, an explosion rocked downtown Toronto. We didn’t merely hear the bomb hit. We felt it as we plunged into darkness, drowned in claustrophobia and disorientation. In the moment before the lab’s emergency lights came on, I backed up until I felt the cool concrete wall against my back.

  As the reverberations ebbed, everyone on Level 3 went silent except for Daniel Harmon. The prisoner let out a grim chuckle. “Turns out the forecast isn’t just blood rain. It’s shit and steel all over the weather map. Your time to shine, Chloe! Can I call you Chloe? Sorry about trying to eat you. I’m not myself lately. Zombies don’t apologize so I’m not one of them anymore … not quite. I really am sorry.”

  He might have been sorry but he’d still kill and eat me the first chance he got. I wanted to take the taser and press the trigger until the battery drained.

  DANIEL

  I’m not myself lately. I wondered, what ratio of nanites to brain cells would it take before I wasn’t me at all anymore? Would the nanites keep multiplying until they formed a sloshy slurry in all the crevices, wrinkles and spaces in my brain? The microscopic robots had granted me some sovereignty, but how long did I have before independence lost all meaning? To paraphrase Obi-Wan Kenobi, how long before I was more machine than man?

  Dr. Robinson could take control of the mission because she was invaluable. My only value to the nanites seemed to spring from being the first human they’d played with on an intellectual level. I was the First, but they could make me a pet again at any moment. Worse, they could be listening to my thoughts about them. I didn’t want to give them ideas so I tried to focus on what was happening around me.

  As the survivors of the attack on Echidna emerged from the lab, the missile’s devastation was evident. The explosion had not been nuclear, as had been threatened. I guessed that the ordnance must have been an anti-personnel fragmentation bomb. Shattered corpses were everywhere. The dead lay in mounds and mazes. There was no direct route to safety without climbing over bodies. A thick cloud of dust hung in the air like a thick curtain. Shattered glass crunched under our feet as Crenshaw pushed me ahead of him.

  Chloe and her security detail didn’t understand the devastation as I did. Safe in their biohazard suits, they didn’t feel the full effect of the stench: the burnt bodies, the cooked flesh, the tang of blood in the air. I caught the whiff of marrow leaking from bones. Downtown Toronto was an abattoir.

  Under their hoods and behind their faceplates, they’d hear the pulse in their ears and the staccato of each ragged, fearful breath. I listened to the dead. There is an eerie silence to those who are no longer present. Erasure is such a complete and final act, made worse because I knew what the humans didn’t even suspect. No one but me knew that inside every one of those dead zombies had been a person, their mind a prisoner, their body compelled to act on the impulses of an AI with the morality of a brain parasite.

  That was Picasso’s true horror: Utter helplessness in the face of terrible acts, being forced to do awful things you don’t want to do. I wasn’t a cannibal at heart and neither were any of these people. The survivors from the lab saw dead monsters everywhere. I saw ordinary people slaughtered in a war past their understanding and beyond their control.

  It was difficult to run with my hands handcuffed behind my back. Fortunately, we didn’t have far to run. Alphonse, Tom and Jerry were true to their word. The LAV crew returned to pick us up.

  We would have been safe if we were the only survivors of the blast. We weren’t the only survivors. The blast that leveled Hiroshima had survivors. There are always survivors. A couple dozen zombies ran out of the bank complex across the narrow street. More boiled out of the underground plazas like ants from a kicked anthill. I heard them coming before I could see them through the dust. They sounded angry and still healthy enough to be dangerous.

  One of the security detail, a clever fellow in a blue Hazmat, gave an odd warning. I suspected he’d been waiting to drop it as if he were in a movie. As he opened fire, the man screamed, “The only good zombie is a dead zombie!”

  Forgive us, I thought. We know not what the hell we do.

  The man who’d tried the one-liner filled with bravado was yanked to the ground first. He popped up a moment later, screaming like a little girl and using the butt of his rifle to bash at his attacker’s skull. He kept at it, cracking bone and helping the zombie the rest of the way down the road to death.

  While he was busy doing that, two woman took him down and wrenched off his hood. He managed to kill one of the women with his pistol. The second bit off his nose. He seemed too distracted to defend himself after that. He did not die quickly or with dignity. Blood and panic made his high, nasal screams sound like they emanated from the bottom of a half-clogged drain.

  The rest of the security team concentrated their fire, killing their brother-in-arms and the zombies who had taken him down. They had bullets enough to cut down the zombies coming at us from the buildings across the street. What they hadn’t counted on was shock and panic as half-burnt, near-corpses rose from the piles of the dead. Though shrapnel had stripped flesh from their bodies, the ragged zombies summoned enough strength to pull humans to the ground and into their maws. From a mound of bodies, many arms reached out, their hands like claws.

  Zombies who had somehow survived the fire and the fragmentation blast looked awful and a
wfully dead. Their charred flesh smelled sickly sweet. Many were naked, their clothes burnt or torn away. As they rose from the rubble, they moved with slow, tortured deliberation. Dazed but determined to feed, they lurched at us from out of the dust cloud. Despite the wounds to their hosts, the brain parasites fought to survive. Covered in wounds that would soon fester, much of their mangled flesh had been torn aside in bloody flaps that opened and closed as they shambled toward us.

  A building had fallen and blocked our escape route. The LAV waited a couple of streets away. There must have been more than one missile. Perhaps the military had taken down buildings in an attempt to barricade the downtown area. Alphonse and his crew couldn’t get to us and keep a clear escape route. The LAV wasn’t far but we had to run to it.

  The wounded zombies were not fast, but there were enough of them rising and reeling out of the dust that soon our escort’s gunfire lacked deliberation and skill. The shots and shouts became more and more wild. The nightmarish echoes of gunfire, panic and pained screams bounced around, seeming to come from all directions.

  Crenshaw ordered ten men to keep firing to lead the surviving zombies away from the LAV and back toward the Box. “Defend the lab and hole up on Level 2! We’ll come back for you with more reinforcements!”

  The remainder of the team kept firing, clearing our way to the LAV. When the rear hatch dropped, I heard the crunch as the armored door crushed skulls of the fallen. I wondered if the sudden light of day was the last thing those zombies’ brain parasites sensed. Maybe the last of the AI puzzled over the sudden illumination for a second or two before shutting down.

  A couple of zombies reared up beside the armored personnel carrier and lunged for Chloe. Apparently Shelly Priyat had reloaded down on Level 3 because she shot the pair of zombies in their faces.