by Jack Wallen
“Mother.”
The voices spoke in unison, the sound deafening, as hands collectively groped for my arm. A shot of pain danced down my flesh from my shoulder to my fingers. I felt a sharp tug as another flash of pain raced down my limb. Before I had a chance to scream, my arm ripped from its socket and the babies heaved it into the chasm.
A spider-crawl of fingers clambered onto my other arm to repeat the action. My cries of agony were muted by a spectacular display of lightning and a symphony of thunder. My babies continued to dismantle me: right leg, left leg. I lay on the hot ground, nothing more than a torso and head.
Three tiny fingers and a thumb reached into the socket of my right eye and dug out the orb. I could hear the stretch and snap of blood vessels and tendons. Before the optic nerve gave way, the hand turned the eye back upon me so I was looking at myself looking at my eye. My brain couldn’t comprehend the vision and threatened to shut down all together, until another set of fingers saved me from the confused state and removed the other eyeball.
Next went my ears, followed by my lower jaw. I couldn’t hear, see, or speak. All I could do was sense the movement around my remaining meat. What I felt next was a collection of hands playing tug of war with my head and torso. Eventually one team won and my head was freed from its perch on my shoulders.
Everything went black. I was surrounded by nothing. For the first time since the Mengele Virus had made its deadly appearance, I felt an absolute peace.
Completely undone, completely at ease.
Until the heat seared the remaining flesh off my body. How I knew what hell was ravishing my body, there was no way to tell—all I knew was fire, fear, and falling.
The many Jacobs tossed the remaining bits of me into the mouth of hell. The surge of heat raced up my back and poured into the gaping hole of my neck. Phantom limbs flailed about in a vain attempt to pull me up…or down (I couldn’t tell which). The gravity from the pit of hate held me fast. I couldn’t sit up, as I had no legs to counterbalance the act. I couldn’t cry out, as I had no mouth to speak. I couldn’t see the end, as I had no eyes. All I could do was feel the fire roasting what was once…me. Pain clearly registered and sent the hunk of meat that was once Bethany Nitshimi roasting as I fell.
“Bethany,” a familiar voice called out.
“Bethany, wake up.”
The voice tugged at my subconscious.
When my eyes finally opened, beads of sweat fell into their cracks and crevices to sting me into blinking. My arms danced about to gain purchase on something solid. Another fall into the pits of hell and I’d be done.
“It’s okay, Bethany, I’m here; Jamal is here for you.”
The voice finally registered and I flung my arms around his neck.
“Oh my God, Jamal. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” I cried again.
“It’s okay, Bethany. It was just another bad dream.”
I pulled away from him. “No, it’s more than that. I don’t know how, but the dreams are trying to tell me something.”
The look on Jamal’s face registered some flavor of sympathy tainted with a maddening doubt.
“I know it’s crazy, Jamal, but I can’t ignore them any longer. There’s a universal truth within the dreamscape that’s trying to guide me.”
Jamal cupped my head in his warm hands.
“That truth is the pain you feel for the loss of Jacob. Bethany, he’s still out there and we will get him back. I promise you that.”
A flood of tears washed down my cheeks.
“Please, Jamal, don’t promise something you can’t deliver.”
Jamal closed his eyes. When they reopened they were steely daggers cutting deep into my core.
“I promise you, Bethany, one way or another, we’ll get Jacob back to you.”
I flung myself back into his embrace.
“I love you, Jamal.”
“And I love you, Bethany.”
In an instant, the moment before we again fell into slumber’s cradle, peace washed back over me. For that second, nothing could hurt me. If only that moment could last.
*
Coffee. The smell caressed my nostrils like a long-lost lover. The very thought of caffeine sprung my eyes open and begged me to rise and shine. I wasn’t sure “rise” and “shine” could be accomplished, considering the circumstances. Jamal and I walked down the circular staircase into the massive kitchen area. Standing sentinel over the coffeepot was Rizzo. When she saw us, her eyes lit up like she was the world’s most adorable Christmas tree. Ebullience flowed from her like spirit from a squad of cheerleaders.
“Morning,” she greeted happily. “I made—”
“Coffee.” Jamal and I replied together.
Rizzo had two cups at the ready by the time Jamal and I reached the pot.
I kissed Rizzo on the cheek. “At this very moment, you are my best friend.”
“If this coffee is as good as it smells,” Jamal took a sniff of his cup before he continued, “I’ll have your babies.”
Rizzo blushed. “Thanks J-mal. You know I play for the other team, right?”
“Lucky team, that.” Jamal winked and took a sip. “Holy mother of Colombia, this is liquid love.”
Before I could add my own praise for the beverage, Morgan and Josh stormed into the kitchen, the former holding a laptop.
“Bethany,” Morgan spoke first, “you have to hear this. I tuned into Zombie Radio this morning and the DJ played back an interview he had with Richard Gerand. I think you’ll be interested in hearing what he said.”
Morgan tapped the space bar and the playback began.
“The goal was to make sure the virus had a specific shelf life so John Burgess could control how much of the population would be taken out. It was the start of the Great Cleansing. It sounds horrible, I know, but Burgess had me chained down with a threat that I couldn’t escape. I had to do what he asked. While I worked on the virus, I also developed both a cure and a weapon.”
We listened in rapt silence. When Gerand was done, no one spoke a word. All eyes turned to me…for something. For our next move.
“We have to find him. We have to find Richard Gerand before the Zero Day Collective does.”
chapter 21 | the endgame
“We knew, at some point a child would be born immune to the virus. We had no idea it would happen so soon. Jacob is to be the rebirth of our race. That is why his survival is so crucial. Without that baby, we have nothing.” Faddig’s voice boomed.
Doctor Otte slammed his fists on the desktop. “I don’t understand; what’s the purpose of this plan? You want to destroy the entire population of the planet and then repopulate it with clones of Jacob Plummer? What endgame would that serve?”
Faddig drew in a quick breath through tight lips. When he spoke, it was clear he was doing everything he could to control his boiling temper.
“The Zero Day Collective wants a population it can control, manipulate, and command. The soul of the human race has rotted and the only way in which we can possibly survive is by starting over. Individualism and freedom have ruined us. We intend to strip the race of every desire, every hope, every unique thought that would threaten our grand design. In the end, humanity will be at our mercy and under our rule. Subject 002 is our beta. We used the baby’s DNA because of its immunity to the virus and the same techniques used to create Subject 001 to gain control over the subject. With that model we will amplify the newly envisioned virus with Godwin’s Quantum Fusion Generator. The results will become the template by which Man 3.0 will be created.”
The doctors looked at one another and then, nervously, back at Faddig.
“Before you even bother to breathe a word, let me say that we own you both. You may think me mad. You may completely, fundamentally, and profoundly disagree with the goals of the Zero Day Collective. You may not, however, escape your duties.”
Faddig stood, stepped in behind the two doctors, and slapped his hands on their shoulders.r />
“That’s not exactly true. There is one way in which you may actually escape your duties. Our labs are always in need of fresh flesh to experiment upon. I cannot tell you how many times we’ve had doctors, interns, or engineers grow leery of our quest and wind up on the receiving end of the virus. As much as your egos will forever weep at hearing this…you are easily replaceable. I could walk into any city across this country and find equally qualified scientists willing to smash their moral compass to pieces for the chance to enjoy the creature comforts to which they were once accustomed. Food, shelter, security…you think anyone in their right mind would turn a cheek to those amenities, considering the circumstances? It’s kill or be killed out there, and it’s a thing of beauty. The Zero Day Collective will soon have the entire population of this sickened planet eating out of the palms of its hands, and there’s not one good goddamn thing anyone can do about it.”
Faddig leaned in close so his face hovered between the heads of Otte and Karem. “So, which is it? Will you wield the knife, or go under the knife? I await your answers, gentlemen.”
Commander Faddig didn’t give them a chance to speak. Instead he turned and exited his office. When the door swung shut, the two men sat in breathless silence…afraid to move, to speak, afraid even to think.
chapter 22 | metal gods
Kaizen Sharx and Trendemic+ had the stage and were shredding through the first number of their setlist when Rip hopped his lanky frame onto the stage and pulled the mic from the stand.
“If I could have your attention.”
A wail of feedback sent hands to ears before the monitor tech could jump in and save the day. As soon as the Marshall stacks and loudspeakers had given up their ear-bleed banshee cry, the technician offered an “I’m sorry” wave to Vanity.
“Par for the course, mate…par for the course. As I was saying…I’ve heard rumblings of certain bands losing their balls for this gig. You thought it was just going to be a cakewalk mosh pit of a time here? Just hop on stage, toss off a few songs, and then celebrate with some blow and a good fuck? Business as usual for most of ya, right?”
A smattering of laugher tickled the air.
“Well, mates, that is clearly not the case. This is the fucking apocalypse. There are actual real monsters out there that want nothing more than to bash your bloody heads open and suck down what little brains you have. What we are doing is helping the living to forget all of that for a time. That doesn’t mean this is going to be easy. This isn’t Coachella or Bonnaroo. You’re not playing for a bunch of silver-spoon celebrities or hashed-out hippies. This is life and death.”
Vanity turned toward upstage and crossed to Kaizen.
“I’ve been listening to you play for a while now. You’re young, but you’ve got more talent in your fucking pinky than most guitarists could ever dream of having. If you have any plans of making a name for yourself and your band, you’re going to have to fight. The second we turn these speakers up to eleven, zombies are going to descend upon this party with one thing in mind—brains. Now hopefully this whole area will be standing-room only, so the undead will be outnumbered. Even if that happens, you do not get to throw down the usual ‘get out of jail free’ card and sneak out the back—you’re part of this. We’re all a part of this. Should any of you fail, we all fail. Is that clear?”
Aya stood and made her way to the edge of the stage, her eyes locked onto Vanity. She took the steps up to the stage slowly and, once on the stage floor, snatched the mic from Rip’s hand.
“What are you all doing, sitting there in silence?” Aya’s voice dripped thick with her Polish accent. “This isn’t the Lilith Fair. We’re not going to sit around a campfire and sing ‘Kumbaya.’ This is metal. We sing about these moments, mock death, and place our power on a pedestal for all to see. Is that just for show? Mortoch, you’re the leader of Dead Lies. Your last album was called Laughter in the Face of Death. Could you do just that, or would you wet yourself if one of the undead crawled its way up on the stage as you belted out your metal anthem, ‘Born Dead’?”
Aya returned to the lip of the stage and knelt.
“We are the gods and goddesses of metal; we are the ones who do the scaring. When this makeshift arena is filled with living, breathing humans, we have to make it our priority to keep them safe. We are the face of truth and we have to pull every trick out of our hat to keep this show and its fans alive.”
Rip Vanity finally took the stage again. Aya gracefully stood and handed him the mic. Rip kissed both of Aya’s cheeks and turned back to the crowd, a clownish grin on his face.
“What a fucking inspiration she is. Beautiful and deadly. Best of all, she’s right. We are the stuff of nightmares for the average citizen. Our shows have burned down venues, incited riots, and brought the weak to their knees.”
Rip went silent. After a moment, a low, demented laugh poured from his mouth and into the mic.
“I have a plan. We’ve already witnessed Mauser’s secret weapon. We also have a few toys at our disposal that could serve as a first line of defense against the zombie bastards. All we have to do is keep the monsters coming, but stop them from reaching the audience. Once the Moaners and Screamers hit critical mass, we unleash Mauser and watch as the brain-sucking fuckwits run away like frightened children.”
Zed, of Chunderbust, raised his hand.
“You have a question?” Rip chuckled.
“What toys are you talking about?”
Rip released a hiss of a laugh. “What’s the one thing no metal show is complete without?”
“Booze.”
“Tits.”
“Devil horns.”
“Music.”
The answers were tossed around half in jest until Vanity raised his fist in the air. When everyone fell silent, he lowered the mic to his lips and whispered.
“Pyrotechnics.”
The word danced around the gathering like a stripper to a pole.
“Flesh burns, baby,” Zed shouted, in homage to one of Chunderbust’s latest songs.
Vanity laughed and pointed toward Zed. “That’s right, my vomit-loving friend. We’re going to roast those motherfuckers before they get close enough to realize the enormity of the grand buffet awaiting them.”
Mauser stood, his tall frame looming over everyone. He looked around the gathering and with heavily lined eyes, addressed the crowd. “We should have more than one line of self-defense. I say we arm the followspot technicians with weapons and have them open fire on anything that gets beyond the wall of flame. I’m sure for most of us the sound of machine gun fire will blend in perfectly with the mu—”
“That’s a great idea,” Rip interrupted. “Only one problem: anyone carrying firearms?”
Half of the collected crowd reached to the small of their backs and retrieved various iterations of handguns.
“As if I needed to ask. But pistols aren’t going to stop Screamers. You’ll need heavier firepower than a few pop guns.”
It was Tatum Scream who stood. Rip immediately pointed his way.
“What is it, Tate?”
Scream hesitated. “This isn’t some sort of fucking trick to get us to confess to something that can be used by the government to put us away, is it?”
Everyone turned and glared.
“What?” Scream raised his hands in the air. “This whole fucking nightmare smacks of conspiracy. Haven’t any of you questioned what’s going on around us?”
“Yes,” Rip interjected. “We’ve all raised the same questions over and over. Thing is, the question has been answered and the truth is founded in every conspiracy you could ever dream up. The government, big business, the Zero fucking Day Collective—they are all a part of this. So if you’re wondering, the government is using much worse against you already…zombies. We now have a chance to fight back and help the one person on this planet who has a ghost of a fucking chance to really do something.”
Kaizen Sharx stood, his face alight with a misplaced joy
. “If we fight this nightmare back, we can strip modern society of the greasy shit it’s been drowning in and help the human race reclaim the dignity it lost.”
“Well, okay then. Kaizen, I’m putting you in charge of arming the followspots ops. Gather enough firepower to make sure they can do some serious damage. Tatum and Mauser, you’re in charge of getting the pyro techs to build us a wall of flames. Aya, you and I are going to reach out to Bethany and let her know what we’ve got planned. I think she’s going to want to be a part of this.”
chapter 23 | codes and guests
“You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio, your personal soundtrack to the end of the world. That was ‘Entombed,’ by the Deftones. I think I can speak for the whole of the living population when I say I get it. At this very moment, I feel entombed…trapped and tricked by circumstances. Yes, I realize I just dropped a reference to the holiest of trinities, Rush. But that’s my job, ladies and gentle Canadians—I am here to bear witness to the truth of truths, and that truth being music. Well, that’s not the whole of the matter…if we’re speaking in truths. I am also here to bring us all together into a collective whole capable of surviving this shitstorm brought to you by the letters Z, D, and C.”
I sat cross-legged, with my laptop in front of me, the tiny speakers of the computer just loud enough to hear clearly, so as not to arouse any attention. I wanted to focus on the task at hand without the others asking questions.
The moment, the time, was now. I pulled my headset on and connected to Skype. As soon as the green light of connection blinked, I requested a call from the Zombie Radio DJ. Just as the phone was answered, I muted the laptop speakers to avoid a feedback loop.