Cry Zombie Cry (I Zombie Book 5)

by Jack Wallen

  The camera continued to roll. Gerand’s hand twitched and then all collapsed into a perfect, motionless silence.

  chapter 5 | no more cat food

  We finally pulled into the gas station. Thankfully it was a full-service station that advertised the best fried chicken and stadium hot dogs in the area. How could every Quickie Mart in the nation offer the “best” of anything? Morgan pulled the Hummer up close to one of the pumps.

  Echo released a heavy sigh.

  “B, I don’t know if I can eat another piece of cat food.”

  A groan slipped from my lips. Instead of laying on more grief, I looked back at Echo and meowed. The moment brought the slightest murmur of laughter from the group.

  “She’s not serious, is she? Are we going to be eating cat food?” Jamal’s face was lined with concern and horror.

  “Actually, Jamal—” I started.

  “Meow.” Echo stopped me before I could get too far. We all had another good laugh.

  “She’s quite serious,” I continued. “Before we found you in the Seattle underground, we were pretty much living off kibble.”

  Jamal groaned.

  “Hey, don’t knock it. Yes, it tastes like corn-fed ass, but it beats the alternative.”

  I didn’t have to continue to explain what the alternative was; everyone knew. That fear was always nestled in the back of our minds, waiting to jump out from a corner and bash our skulls on the closest solid surface. Instead, we all exited the truck. Echo shot off to look for sustenance (and a restroom), while I chatted with Morgan and Josh about the best means of getting gas to the vehicles. I recounted the method of siphoning I’d used in the past. Both Morgan and Josh agreed it was, without a doubt, the best path to success. Not only was it simple, it was completely human powered; so the lack of electricity wouldn’t hamper the deed in the slightest.

  Thankfully, Josh agreed to do the siphoning. I gave him the specifics on the task and he went off in search of a garden hose long enough to reach the bottom of the station’s holding tanks. Rizzo pulled her Hummer up and had its lights beaming artificial sunshine over the area. The shadows danced away like tiny Nosferatus.

  As I took in the scene, I was overcome by a strange sense of pride. This ragtag collection of survivors seemed to know what they were doing. For a brief second I felt the apocalypse could be beaten back enough to give humanity a puncher’s chance. These moments were not only few and far between, but bittersweet. The pride was misplaced. Without the constant threat of the Mengele Virus, we would just be average schmucks doing average things. Enter the apocalypse and the mere act of survival seemed superhuman. We had each, in our own ways, beaten the most impossible odds.

  Before the moment dove too deep into melodramatic waters, a chorus of moans rained down on our parade. Because of the surrounding darkness, it was impossible to tell from which direction the sounds came. At first, the hateful noise consisted of a few random moans. Eventually, each moan seemed to join together to become a single soulless song.

  Like seasoned professionals, not one of my crew made a peep. Everyone carefully and quietly left their positions and returned to the trucks. Those with weapons had them drawn; those without made sure to ease in behind the nearest gun, sword, or club.

  “Can you get a location on those things?” Morgan whispered to Josh.

  “No.”

  I glanced over at Jamal. Judging by the look on his face, he was deep in the throes of calculation. It took him less than a minute to finally chime in.

  “Over there,” he pointed. “Approximately twenty-five yards. The zombies will be coming from over there.”

  Josh tossed a look toward Jamal. “How do you know that?”

  I placed my hand on Josh’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “Trust me, he knows. It’s one of his things.”

  “Whatever you say, boss.” Josh offered me a nod and turned his rifle in the direction Jamal had pointed. “Morgan, you and Rizzo take flank. Let’s get these sumbitches.”

  “I love it when you speak redneck,” Rizzo giggled.

  “Pull it together, Riz,” Morgan admonished her with a whisper. “We have civilians to protect.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  It was strange hearing the military-esque dialogue again. Without my consent, my brain recalled a memory of Sellers, Dirt Bag, and Commander Leamy—heroes in the truest sense of the word. They gave their lives so that Jacob and I could continue on. In that moment it dawned on me how I’d let them down. Their blood was spilled and I did little more than piss on it by letting the Zero Day Collective get their hands on Jacob. That was a wrong to be righted. In the meantime, it seemed I had to stave off a flood of tears once again.

  “You okay, B-dizz?”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as we get out of this mess, Jamal.”

  “Fair enough.”

  The three Zombie Response Team superheroes stepped out into the glaring beams of the Hummer’s lights. The sound of the undead rose and filled the area with spine-chilling terror.

  Like cats, Morgan and Rizzo slipped into the shadows, leaving Josh by himself.

  “Come on out, undead chum buckets. It might not read too high on the intelligence scale, but the brain in this skull is as juicy and meaty as you’ll find. Come and get it.” Josh teased the zombies.

  It worked.

  From out of nowhere, one of the zombies appeared in a spill of light. The effect was actually quite stunning—albeit in a post-apocalyptic theatrical kind of way. My usual bad sense of humor bubbled up and imagined the zombie riffing a few Bob Fosse-esque dance moves and being joined by a chorus of zombies ready to break into a Michael Jackson or Leonard Bernstein number.

  When you’re a Jet…

  Instead, Josh raised his weapon, locked his position, and called out.

  “Hey, fuckstick, over here. I told you I have a smörgåsbord of delicious meat ripe for the pickin’. Look at me. There’s enough here to feed you and your friends for a week.”

  The zombie finally zoned in on Josh and began to amble his way. Before the rotting pus bag reached its target, a Screamer released a war cry howl and bull-rushed Josh to the ground. Before anyone could react, the Screamer had Josh’s head in his hands and was about to give his skull the final countdown to zero.

  From out of nowhere, a knife sliced through the air and impaled the Screamer’s skull. The monster went down with a dull, wet thud. Like a ninja, Josh leaped to his feet with his gun trained on a slow-motion Moaner.

  “Riz, you want this one, too? Thanks, by the way,” Josh shouted.

  “Nah, it’s all yours, bro. And you’re welcome.”

  Josh stepped into the zombie and, with the butt of his rifle, cracked the beast’s skull hard enough to split it open. The Moaner continued forward and reached limp arms toward its attacker.

  “You want some more?” Josh called out, as he dropped the blunt end of his weapon down for a second blow. This time, however, he missed. The zombie’s arms fumbled through the air and managed to catch hold of Josh’s neck. The dead weight of the undead male was too much for Josh and the two went down in an awkward heap.

  Rizzo had another knife cocked in her hand and ready to release.

  “Josh, give me a good shot,” she called out.

  The zombie released a harrowing moan.

  Morgan rushed to jump into the melee. Before she could get her hands into the mix, Josh flipped over and rolled his way out of the zombie’s grip. With the speed and grace of a ninja, Josh was on his feet waiting for the Moaner. As the beast attempted to stand, Josh landed another crushing blow to its brainpan. The zombie’s head exploded like a rotten watermelon. Viscera flew in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree arc. Josh attempted to duck and cover but was too slow. The slop from the Moaner’s skull splashed down on his head and shoulders. As Josh turned, I could see his eyes and mouth closed tight—he knew the danger the undead sludge presented.

  Morgan left her post and raced to the truck. She returned to Josh with a bottl
e of spray and a handful of wipes. “Where are your damn goggles, Josh?” Morgan dressed down her cohort as she sprayed his face and wiped it clean. When the job was complete, she tossed the can of wipes to the ground and, once again, took her position at flank.

  “I didn’t think hand-to-hand would come into play,” Josh answered.

  Morgan turned and placed her hands on her hips. I almost turned to Rizzo to give her a “duck and cover” warning.

  “Joshua Garcia, you’re a founding member of the Zombie Response Team. You know better than that. There’s no room for error at this point.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  Morgan glanced down and then swung a playful slap at Josh’s oversized truck of a chest. “It better not. I don’t want to have to put a bullet through your head.”

  The second the words left her mouth, Josh looked over at me and then back at Morgan. Before his gaze met Morgan’s, my throat tightened and my chest heaved. It wasn’t the lingering pain from the loss of Jacob that stung; it was the reminder of the moment…that moment. Watching the bullet leave the gun and crack through the shell of his skull played through my mind almost every day since it happened. The visions had only recently ceased haunting my every waking hour.

  There it was again. The look in Jacob’s beautiful brown eyes, begging me to release him from his agony. I could smell the blood, hear the train, see Jacob’s body fall limp to the floor.

  Morgan rushed to my side and put her arms around me. She didn’t say a word; she didn’t need to. Josh followed suit and nearly crushed me with his bear-sized arms.

  There was so much to say about that particular moment; but the single most important revelation was how well Joshua and Morgan had worked together and how much energy and effort they’d both given to survival. If our entire group could function in such a machine-like manner, there’d be no stopping us. The Zero Day Collective wouldn’t stand a chance.

  “All clear,” Joshua called out to the others, as he pulled away from the embrace. “Stand down.”

  He picked up the can of wipes, winked at me, swept Morgan from her feet, and asked, “Who loves me?”

  “I loves you, baby,” Morgan replied.

  “Did any of the splatter get into your eyes or mouth?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry, Bethany, I’m good. I know the drill.” Josh answered, and sat Morgan down. “Besides, Morgan hit me with our special sauce.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  The left side of Joshua’s mouth grinned, leaving the right side to sulk.

  “You won’t believe it,” Morgan chimed in. “We discovered this antiviral spray for pets is the best way to wash splatter from the eyes and mouth. It’s disgusting, but it’s worked every time. So far, no ill effects. Of course”—Morgan took a moment to slap Joshua once again—“wearing protective gear is much better than having to get doused. We’ve collected as much of the spray as we could find. It’s all natural, so it’s not harmful. Crazy, I know—but if it works, who cares?”

  “It tastes like cat ass,” Joshua spat.

  “And just how do you know what cat ass tastes like?”

  Josh and Morgan continued their banter as I turned and made my way over to Rizzo.

  “That was an amazing throw.”

  Rizzo turned and immediately blushed.

  “Are you flirting with me? ‘Cause I can flirt back…although I might get a little embarrassed, because I’ve never flirted with anyone as crazy famous as you.”

  “I’m not—” I started.

  “Oh, shut up,” Rizzo interrupted immediately. “You are celebrity numero uno on this big ball of bad. You’re like…Oprah famous. You’re going to save the world, Bethany Nitshimi. I can feel it. You’re going to pull the human race out of this infectious cesspool and bring about Human Being 2.0. I can see things. When they scooped out part of my brain, I think they left behind—”

  “When who scooped out part of your brain?” I couldn’t help but stop the girl.

  “The doctors. I’m a survivor. Brain cancer. Two major surgeries. If I can survive that, no way a punky little apocalypse can take me down. That’d be like Celine Dion taking on Henry Rollins. You know what’s really rad about my brain?” Rizzo tilted her head to draw me in close. “Zombies don’t like it,” she whispered. “I guess they think it must be rotten inside or missing something important to them. They take one drawn-out sniff of me, turn, then walk away. So I guess I have some superpowers, wouldn’t ya say? I’m like their kryptonite.”

  Logic begged me to argue with Rizzo. How could a zombie sense she’d had part of her brain removed? But then, logic seemed to be losing what little grip on reality it had once had. There was little place for the rational mind now. Chaos, randomness, and anarchy were now the order of law. For all I knew, hidden within Rizzo’s skull was the solution to all of our problems. That solution would probably forever remain a mystery.

  “I want to continue this discussion, but first we need to gas up, gather supplies, and get on the road. I want to know all the details, regardless of how insignificant, about your cancer and what was done.” I started to step away but turned back to Rizzo. “This could be big, girlfriend.”

  Rizzo’s eyes instantly widened. I started to speak before her smile and wink cut me off. I returned the smile and took off toward the others.

  “She’s all ready.” Josh nodded at the Hummer.

  “We didn’t find anything edible,” proclaimed Echo.

  “Holy cow,” shouted Rizzo. “Did I ever forget one of the most important items I packed? Get a load of this.”

  Rizzo raced to the back of her truck and jerked the doors open. From a box she pulled out packages and turned to us with a wide grin. “MREs all around.”

  “MREs? What’s that?” Echo asked, amid the mini-celebrations.

  “Meal Ready to Eat,” I whispered, not wanting anyone to catch Echo’s lack of familiarity with basic survival gear. “Army food.”

  “Food?” A smile sped across Echo’s face and her eyes lit up. “I’ll take twelve, please.”

  We decided to indulge ourselves for a moment and eat our meals seated at a table. The MREs were fairly tasteless; at the same time, the thin-sliced roast beef, thin gravy, and even thinner mashed potatoes was the best damned food I’d had in a long time. The table was actually of the picnic variety, but we may as well have been seated in a five-star restaurant. Of course, what really made the moment was the company.

  “So, Jamal, what’s your story?” Rizzo chimed in.

  “Oh, I don’t really have a story. I’m just, well, me.”

  “Horse hockey,” I chided, with a slap to the shoulder. “This man is one of the world’s most elite hackers.”

  “Bested only by this woman.” Jamal slapped back as he spoke.

  “So,” Rizzo continued with the questions, “are you two…?”

  “A thing?” Jamal asked.

  Rizzo nodded.

  Neither of us replied. How could we answer when we didn’t honestly know? Jamal and I were certainly something. A thing? Who knew? My last thing was Jacob Plummer and that turned apocalyptic—literally and figuratively. More importantly, is it even possible to have a thing now? I wanted it, badly…even needed it. It was so easy to get lost in the day-to-day necessity of living that it became far too easy to forget to actually live.

  “It’s complicated,” Jamal started. “We go way back…and forth, and back, and forth.”

  Everyone had a laugh, which we certainly needed.

  A comfortable silence wafted over the group. It was a moment of peace I so desperately wanted to bottle up and bring out at a later date. For the first time in a while, there were no sounds of unleashed, unlimited madhouse asylum dancing on the night air—it was calm and quiet. Everyone at the table basked in that moment like it might be the last one they’d ever know.

  “I want this second to never end,” Echo said softly.

  Nothing else needed saying. The
youngest in our group had summed it up to perfection.

  chapter 6 | deus ex mortem

  Commander Faddig opened the door to the conference room and slammed it shut behind him. The men and women seated around the table jerked their heads his way and fell slack-jawed when they noticed the look on his face. The commander really only had two looks—not pissed and pissed. Not pissed meant you lived.

  His face was covered with pissed.

  “I have only one question to ask. The person who answers that question honestly gets a reprieve from my wrath. Everyone else, well, you know the drill.”

  The drill was simple—injection. Everyone under a certain rank within the Zero Day Collective clearly understood that failing one’s duty meant failing the whole. When you failed the whole you forfeited your right to live. The method of execution was simple—you were infected with the Mengele Virus and put into a holding chamber with the other undead. Zombies were like kindling to the ZDC—they collected them until it became necessary to use them.

  Every time a member of the ZDC was punished in such a way, Faddig knew his own zombie horde had grown larger and larger. It was a necessary measure to ensure workers worked, and that the work on the Great Cleansing continued.

  “My question is this: when are you going to deliver to me the goddamn mother of that child?”

  It was senior biologist Julian Otte who stood to confront the commander.

  “Sir, trust me when I tell you, we are almost ready.”

  *

  Sealed within a surgical cube of the mobile headquarters, Dr. Frederick Norton stood over the reinforced surgical bed. Strapped to the bed was the fourth test subject to be used for the next phase of the Zero Day Collective’s work.

  “You are nearly perfect,” Norton said from under his surgical mask. “When we are through with you…well, let’s just say a few crucial tables will turn back in our favor.”