by Jack Wallen
He was able to piece the response together.
We have the fusion generator online. We await your command.
“Perfect. You will be hearing from me shortly. Faddig out.”
The commander silenced the call and turned to the comm officer.
“Have them on speed dial.”
Another salute. “Yes, sir.”
Faddig disappeared from the comm station and returned to his office. He eased himself into the leather desk chair, closed his eyes, and took in the moment.
“This is it,” he whispered.
He had been waiting for this moment since he took command of the ZDC—his time to reduce the remaining race of man to tears, have them genuflect at the shrine of Faddig and swear their fealty.
From a desk drawer he pulled a bottle of cognac and poured himself a swallow. He swirled the dark amber liquid under his nose and took in the bouquet.
“I am God,” he whispered, before pouring the liquor down his throat. The warmth spread quickly and brought Faddig back to happier days—a wife, children, bank accounts fat with investments and stocks. Even then he’d held power and sway over a coalition of human underlings. The difference between then and now was fear. When he was beholden to a board of directors and controlled a staff of thousands, his rule was simple—you produced or you were released. Now? Things had become quite deadlier for those who couldn’t cope with the workload.
Faddig picked up a two-way radio and pressed the talk button.
“I need a status on the drop-ships. Those damn things better be ready.”
From the other end of the connection, a fuzzy voice was heard.
“Drop-ships are on target for Friday’s delivery. Confirmed three full payloads armed and ready for flight.”
Faddig poured another small sip of cognac, drank, and replied. “Perfect. Faddig out.”
He sat back in his chair and let his imagination take control. Inside the drop-ships he could practically hear the symphony of screams from the live bait used to draw the undead into the cargo holds. The system was crude but never failed. By the time the ships arrived, they’d have bellies full of zombies raging for more gray matter. A laugh escaped his lips, inspired by a faded memory of Jonathan Burgess standing tall over a newly anointed member of the Collective. The memory stung at first.
“Faddig, you’ll never amount to half the shit I flush down the toilet. You’re small, you think small, you dream small. That’s why you wipe the ass of the man that will soon own the world. Wipe well, and you might find favor from my hand. Wipe poorly and I promise you will be buried in a grave of waste.”
The chime of the sat phone ripped Faddig from his angry flashback. With a sigh and a graceful swoop of his hand, he scooped up the phone and pressed the accept button. The British dialect on the other end was soft, somewhat effeminate, with impeccable diction.
“Is the Cradle ready?”
Faddig sat up straight and smiled. He pulled in a tight breath and spoke.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Once the generator is unleashed, there will be no going back. Every reanimated corpse will be—”
“At my command,” Faddig interrupted, savoring the idea. “This is what we’ve been working toward. Any resistance the Zero Day Collective meets will be crushed. As soon as the army is released upon the crowd they will be given a moment to spread the virus. Once I give the order the gas will be released and the generator ignited. The effects of the Cradle should be seen immediately.”
“And the world will be yours.”
“Under the rule of the ZDC.”
Faddig ended the call and slipped out of his office. There was one last piece of the puzzle to put into place.
*
Subject 002 was seated at a table, reading. In his hands was the original manuscript of Jacob Plummer—I Zombie I. When Faddig entered the room, Subject 002 set the book down and looked up.
“Fascinating reading, actually.”
“Dear God,” Faddig said. “Your voice, it’s perfect. I’ve listened to the Plummer tapes over and over; I know his voice as if it were my own. You’ve nailed it. You are a dead-on match for Jacob Plummer.”
“I am a quick study.”
Faddig sat at the table, across from Subject 002.
“There is something you must do when you arrive on site, something only you can do.”
Subject 002 tilted his head like a curious lap dog. “And what is that?”
From his jacket pocket, Faddig pulled out a photograph and handed it over to the reanimated corpse. Subject 002 turned the picture to face him and gave it a long, hard look.
“Bethany,” the creature whispered. “You want me to kill her?”
Faddig shook his head. “No. I want you to haunt her.”
chapter 25 | war pigs
“Arise.” The banner was lifted over the entryway. The name was chosen to offer the audience hope that mankind would arise from the ashes of the grave and begin anew. There was no reason to remind the world they were fighting back the tide of death, so any name associated with “apocalypse” or “Armageddon” was simply out of the question. It went against the grain of the Doubletap Suicide shtick, but it was important to Vanity that the festival remain positive.
No sooner had the corners of the apocalyptic freak flag been tied off than the first wave of audience members poured forth from the desert landscape. Droves of every possible flavor of human being stepped between the makeshift pillars that stood sentinel astride the entryway. No tickets were taken, no fee collected. The only requirement for entry was a pulse and a love of life and music. As survivors walked under the banner, they waved devil horns, peace signs, flags of their homeland, anti-ZDC dogma. It wasn’t until a small group of neo-Nazi skinhead groupies walked through with a flag bearing the words “The Great Cleansing, Fuck Yeah!” that action was taken. From out of nowhere a small militia appeared, with vests reading SECURITY on their backs and enough weaponry to stop an army in their hands. The skinheads pulled out their own weapons. Before a single shot was fired, a weighted net exploded from a cannon and surrounded the offending group. The net pulled the skinheads to the ground and the militia moved in to disarm them. Those around the incident applauded and shouted their approval, and more than anything, those who witnessed the melee were made aware that the enemy was not in any way welcome.
*
Removed from the stage, some of the musicians had banded together to discuss setlists, metal gods, and their own lives.
Aya interrupted her own gentle vocal warm-up. “I have to admit, I am afraid. How do we know that we will be safe on the stage?”
“We don’t,” answered Pea, the Trendemic+ drummer. “That’s the fucking beauty of this whole mess. How goddamn metal is it to be crushing it on stage, unsure if you’re surrounded by zombies or not? That, my friends, is the heart and soul of what we do.”
“Bullshit,” spat Digger, the singer from Apoplectica. “We do what we do because we can’t imagine doing anything else, because none of us ever wanted to be cogs in the machine.”
Aya stood and stepped in to be closer to the discussion. “I am a musician. This is my life; it’s not some cliché or façade. I do what I do because I have to. Without music, I wouldn’t exist. But that doesn’t mean we should all go out on stage not knowing if we’ll make it through our sets alive. Has anyone bothered to ask about security? Are we going to be protected?”
It was Mauser’s turn to stand and speak. “Aya, you will be protected by me.”
Every head turned to the tall, intimidating man. No one said a word; they just nodded.
“Hey!” Kaizen Sharx jumped up. “Why haven’t we discussed performing a curtain call together? You know, a sort of ‘We Are the World’ for the new world order.”
Rip Vanity entered just in time to hear Sharx. “That’s a fucking brilliant idea, mate! We could do ‘God Bless Fuck’ from our latest rec
ording.”
Vanity’s idea was met with an awkward silence. After a moment, Kaizen broke the spell.
“I was thinking more along the lines of something by Priest or Sabbath—you know, the forefathers of metal.”
“Oh my fucking God!” Pea jumped in. “‘War Pigs.’ It’s the perfect anthem for the post-apocalyptic generation.”
Everyone glanced around the room at one another. Eventually, in an almost eerie moment of synchronicity, every head nodded in agreement.
Seconds after the curtain call was set, Aya approached Vanity about stage security.
“Love,” Vanity grinned, “do you honestly think I would place your gorgeous face in harm’s way? Between the stage and the crowd will be a full row of security guards armed with every zombie-killing device imaginable. If a member of the undead nation dares to cross the neutral zone, they’ll be shredded and bedded before they can cry out for your brains. Besides, with the traps and troops we have set, no one without a pulse will get anywhere near the crowd, let alone the stage. You have nothing, absolutely nothing, to worry about.” Vanity stepped back and took in the group. “So, everyone have their setlists together? It’s getting close to showtime.”
And with that, Vanity vanished from the room.
“I don’t like that man.” Mauser’s deep voice broke the silent spell. “And I don’t know if I trust him.”
Kaizen Sharx’s laughter took over the spotlight. “You think that drunk has enough wits to be in league with the devil? And by devil, I don’t mean the Dark Lord everyone assumes we all worship; I mean the ZDC.”
Silence.
“Oh, come on. How fucking cliché would that be?”
Again, Sharx was met with silence.
“Okay, the dude is flaky as hell, but he’s on our team. The man has been cranking out recordings since before I was conceived. There’s no way he’d sell his soul to the corporate machine.”
“He’s right,” Aya chimed in. “We have been given no reason to not trust Rip Vanity. It’s hard to trust anyone now, but we can’t turn our backs on each other…not now. We are at war against those who started this. I for one will not give up on Vanity or any of you. We rock together, we survive together.”
“‘War Pigs’ it is,” Kaizen shouted, and pumped his fist in the air.
chapter 26 | be chuck norris
“Why are we here, Jamal? Shouldn’t we be with Vanity preparing for possible disaster?”
“I don’t feel comfortable leaving Franklin and the others alone without a way to defend themselves. Since we don’t have enough weapons of our own to go around, I figured you and I could use the alone time to gather a few weapon-esque items for them to use as protection.”
“Weapon-esque? Really?”
“Do you want to hand guns to those strangers?”
I didn’t have to think about the answer.
“Hell no. I’m still not sure how far we can trust them. Actually, I’m not one hundred percent certain just how alive they are.”
Jamal led us into a two-story house as we spoke. Beams of light broke through the ragged curtains to create rays of dust-filled eeriness.
“Damn, B, do you know how many horror movies I’ve seen shot in this very room?”
I stopped. “You’re kidding, right? You haven’t actually—”
“It was a metaphor. Wow, Nitshimi, you’ve lost your sense of humor—or at least your sense of irony. I’m going to have to revoke your hipster card if you’re not careful.”
“Revoke away, my dear. Revoke away.”
Just as we were about to ascend the stairs, a sound shot across the stale air.
“Jamal…”
“Yes, Bethany, I heard it.”
“Where did it come from?”
Silence.
Jamal was waiting to hear the sound again so he could pinpoint the location. Unfortunately, he heard it. Even worse, it came from multiple locations.
“Shit,” Jamal whispered, and pointed.
My eyes followed his finger and landed on the slack-jawed face of a Moaner. The creature stared blankly into the room and tilted its head from left to right.
Another moan caressed the backs of our heads. I could feel Jamal turn.
“Oh shit, Bethany, we’re surrounded.”
I reached back and felt for Jamal. I found his hand and grabbed on tight.
“Tell me you brought a gun,” I said.
Silence.
The Moaner in front of me sniffed the air. I grabbed Jamal again and turned him so his back was up against mine. We both stared out at the approaching undead.
“Be Chuck Norris,” I whispered the one mantra that had saved me before.
“What?” Jamal questioned.
“I said—”
“I know what you said, B, I wanted to know why.”
“Channeling a badass. I can’t explain it, just follow my lead.”
“Be Stephen Hawking.” Jamal returned the whisper.
“No, Jamal, you have to channel someone bad enough to help get us out of here.”
“And you don’t think the smartest man on the planet would have any luck figuring out how to escape a couple of brain-munching undead?”
“You make a good point. Well, what does your inner Hawking say?”
“He says…run!”
Before we could take our first step, another zombie stomped its way into the scene. Every exit was blocked. My eyes took in the room from a different viewpoint: that of an assassin. I had to find a weapon, so it was time to start thinking like someone who made a living taking people out of equations. Finally I spotted an open toolbox. In the top section of the box was a hammer.
“Jamal, five o’clock. There’s a toolbox with a hammer. Grab it and prepare to start swinging.”
Alongside the toolbox was a set of knives. The previous inhabitants had been prepping for battle or escape. Their failure was our good fortune.
The first of the Moaners let out a deep moan. Almost instantly, the other two zombies joined the cry. The sound set my skin on fire with the crawling creeps.
Before I could begin the countdown to combat, the Moaners all stepped forward until they were within reaching distance of Jamal and me. I ducked the first grasping hand and dove for the counter. My hand wrapped around the hammer and sent it sailing to Jamal. Like a ninja, he attempted to pull the hammer from mid-air. He failed. The hammer went sailing by and embedded itself into the cheap drywall behind him. Without hesitation, Jamal rushed to the hammer, yanked it from the wall, turned and swung out wildly. He missed. Again he swung and again he missed. On the third swing the metal struck home and caved in the skull of the first zombie.
“By the power of Hawking!” Jamal shouted, as he yanked the hammer from the crushed skull.
I managed to get a knife in hand before one of the remaining zombies turned on me. I slashed out with the blade and cut deep into the rotted breast of what was once a porn-endowed woman. Clear liquid poured out and down onto the blade. The zombie jerked my way. I stepped backward, lost my footing, and went down. Before I had a chance to move, the bitch pounced on me and wrapped bony fingers around my head.
“Fuck,” I shouted. The first crack of my skull on the floorboards sent stars of pain shooting around the internal radius of my skull. “Jamal!” Another crack, another light show. With the third smack down, the pain started multiplying.
“Get off her, bitch!”
First I heard Jamal’s war cry, then I heard the crack of bone and felt the lukewarm rain of thick blood and bits of brain. The Moaner dropped, limp, to the floor.
As I was about to ask the whereabouts of the third and final zombie, the bastard tackled Jamal and began the same slam dance with his skull. Fortunately for Jamal, the thing only managed to get one crunch to the floor before I jammed the blade of the knife into the base of its skull. A single twist of the handle was enough to fully sever the spinal cord and drop the beast like a sack of pus.
With all three Moaners motion
less on the floor, Jamal and I remained silent—save for our gasping—to ensure undead backup wasn’t on the way.
“Where did they come from? I thought this place was safe.”
Jamal looked up at me and held out his hand. I took the proffered appendage and helped him to his feet.
“I’m sure they were holdovers,” Jamal started. “Who knows, we might run into a few more, but I doubt there’ll be significant numbers.”
Jamal turned me to face him and he looked deep into the wells of my eyes. “What’s going on, Bethany? It’s not like you to be scared.”
“Funny thing, fear,” I said, and turned to go. Jamal stopped me and turned me back to face him.
“What’s going on?”
And there it was—the question to end all questions. What was going on? I took in a deep breath—one that should have cleansed the palate of my soul. It failed.
“Fear has become our default. We live in a state of shock and awe, and there’s nowhere to hide from this new reality forged in the bowels of hell. Jamal, I tell you this because I trust you, but I’m frightened all the time now. I go to sleep afraid, I dream afraid, I wake up afraid; I go about my day in complete fear. It’s all around us, in three hundred and sixty degrees.”
I was starting to get angry. Having to confess what had become my new natural state was enough to make me want to slip into a straitjacket and curl up in a corner to wait out my time on this newly forsaken planet of doom.
Jamal stepped in front of me, his huge brown eyes open wide and ready to drink me into his special flavor of reality.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned since we reconnected, it’s that you’re the one to be feared. You’re Ripley to the zombies’ Alien, kryptonite to the ZDC’s Superman, a silver bullet to—”
I placed my hand over Jamal’s mouth. “I love you, Jamal. Thank you for the nerd-tastic pep talk. Let’s find what we’re looking for and get the hell back to the church.”
We stepped out of the house, but not before Jamal had packed the toolbox with anything and everything that could amount to a weapon.