by Jack Wallen
I nodded. We took off at a jog.
chapter 29 | welcome to new heaven
The drop-ships were a mile out of the area when Subject 002 ordered them to land. The pilots attempted to argue but were quickly reminded who was in charge of the mission. No one dared cross 002 for fear of the consequences handed down by Faddig.
Subject 002 spoke slowly into the radio.
“You will give me exactly one hour before you resume your flight and begin the attack. One hour; no more, no less. Is that clear?”
The three pilots replied with a “Yes, sir,” and the radios went silent.
Subject 002 opened the hatch of Drop-Ship One and jumped to the ground. He had been charged with a mission of his own; that mission would begin very soon. Aside from the crunch of desert sand underneath the boots of 002, the only sound was the metal of the drop-ship engines cooling. With every step he took, the sound grew more and more faint.
Subject 002 dialed the number on the sat phone without looking. After five rings, the call was answered.
“This is Faddig.”
“I am now on foot, heading toward the event. I will ensure she sees me before the drop-ships arrive and release the cargo.”
“There is no room for failure.”
“Understood. Subject 002 out.”
With the radio returned to his pocket, he picked up his pace to a run. The single mile could be covered in less than seven minutes if necessary. That added time could mean the difference between success and failure.
“No room,” Subject 002 whispered.
*
As he reached the periphery of the location, the sound walloped him in the chest. Some hidden instinct drew his facial-maxillary muscles upward until he was smiling. Somehow, Subject 002 knew the song that drifted from the stage to his ear. He began to sing under his breath as he ran.
“Fight. The system is broken. Fight. The trends will drug your life. Fight. There’s no escape tonight.”
Subject 002 had no idea how the memory bubbled its way up to his consciousness. It didn’t matter, as long as he could focus on the task at hand. Shoving aside something as trivial as music was simple for an undead killing machine.
“I will fight.” Subject 002 laughed, as he once again picked up his pace.
*
The entrance to the event was a congested, knotted line of the living. Faddig’s threat of “no room for failure” echoed off the walls of 002’s skull. There was no time for patience.
Subject 002 forced his way through the crowd. As more and more people complained, the crowd grew thicker until there was no way to move forward. He glanced at his watch. Forty-five minutes remained. He was still too far from the stage to be seen.
“Hey, what the fuck, dude!” The complaint assaulted his ears as he began to force his way onward. There were no pleasantries, no “Excuse me,” or “Sorry, sorry,” there was just brute force insisting itself upon the masses. After only five minutes of shoving and shouldering, Subject 002 found himself through the gates of the kingdom of New Heaven…or so read a banner displayed by a pair of topless women.
The electric stage stood before him. A quick scan revealed his target.
Bethany Nitshimi.
chapter 30 | metal saves
The Zombie Radio DJ introduced the next act. This time the music was slower, darker, thicker. The singer was a rail-thin, shirtless male with the word “UNLOVED” tattooed across his chest. He held the mic to his lips like a lover and spoke the first words of their opening song.
“Tonight we dance through cobweb memories; cheek to cheek, pulse to pulse.”
A hush fell over the crowd. The music continued to drone as the singer knelt at the front of the stage and begged the audience to join in song.
“Our morbid twist will pale your flesh, my knife will do its deed.”
The audience picked up the verse and sang along.
“Our lungs will choke, our eyes go blind, our hearts will cease to bleed.”
Amazed, Jamal and I looked on from the director’s box.
“This is happening, Jamal. Vanity’s idea actually had some pretty serious merit.”
“I’d say. For this moment, everyone out there has forgotten everything going on around them. The world and all of its disaster has disappeared.”
Jamal reached out and grabbed my hand. We stood there silently, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, allowed ourselves the luxury of getting lost in life.
On the desk sat a pair of binoculars. I grabbed them to get a closer look at the audience. At the edge of the stage, something caught my eye. A man, familiar…too familiar. I pulled away from Jamal and stepped closer to the window.
“B, what is it?”
I remained silent, concentrating on keeping the binoculars on my target. The man moved. I scanned the area and quickly picked him back up, spinning the focus ring to get a better look.
“Jesus Christ,” I whispered.
“Care to share, Bethany?”
Another silence.
“Come on Beth—”
Before Jamal could continue, I raised my hand for silence. Jamal immediately complied. Finally, I pulled the glasses away from my head and turned to face an anxious Jamal. He bit his lower lip and raised his brows.
“We have to get back down to the stage.” I didn’t wait for a reply, but when my hand held the handle of the door, I turned back. “Now.”
We rushed out of the booth and raced to the stairwell. My feet hit the stairs two at a time until I reached the ground floor. Jamal pulled in behind me, I could hear his breath gasping an unsteady rhythm.
“Bethany, what is this about?”
I turned to Jamal, my face flashed between cold and hot.
“I saw Jacob.”
“Your baby?”
“No, the baby’s father. Jacob Plummer.”
Understanding washed over Jamal’s face. He slowly, carefully reached out and grasped my hand.
“Sweetheart, you know—”
“No, I don’t want to hear about his death again. I know what happened; I was there, I pulled the trigger. But I’m telling you, I just saw Jacob out there and I intend to find him.”
Jamal seemed to realize the futility of arguing and nodded. He gestured onward and I took off. With a sigh, Jamal stepped in behind to keep pace.
This time, we were not met with resistance by security. The two monstrous men stepped aside and allowed us both to pass through. Without hesitation, I rushed to the stage to the down left position—the last location of the Jacob Plummer specter. A quick pass from left to right revealed nothing. The spotlights swept across the stage and plastered their brilliance on top of me. The second the audience realized who they were seeing, a rush of celebration exploded. The singer took a moment between verse and chorus and shouted: “Bethany Nitshimi.”
Nothing else needed be said. The crowd unleashed another tsunami of appreciation. I held up my hands and smiled awkwardly—wishing the lights would spin away so I could tune my sight back onto the crowd.
The band picked up the song again and every ounce of audience attention returned to the singer. The lights shifted and, after a moment of blinding sunspots, I was able to see again. I didn’t have to look far. Standing before me, at the edge of the pulsing crowd, was Jacob. This time he looked back. Our eyes met. The man before me raised a single finger and touched its tip to his forehead.
The gesture punched me in the gut. Tears immediately spilled from the dams of my eyes. My jaw quivered until it broke open to release a primal cry. The sob was drowned out by the music. Jamal didn’t need to hear the wail; he could see my body wracked with sobs. He raced to my side and wrapped his arms around me. I pointed out toward the crowd. Jamal followed the point to see a small group of young women dancing, gyrating together. When he finally managed to sway my attention to the audience, I too saw there was nothing and no one to give me reason to weep.
I raced to the other side of the stage, crossing directl
y in front of the band. The audience released another heartwarming ovation. Another scan of the crowd revealed no ghost. He was gone. I pulled the binoculars to my eyes and slowly tracked from right to left.
“There he is,” I shouted, and pointed.
Jamal gave me no warning before he jumped from the stage and took off in the direction I’d indicated. I tried to stop him, to tell Jamal I needed him with me now more than ever. But I understood, fully, what he was trying to do.
My body quivered, my teeth gnashed together.
“I’m losing my mind,” I thought. “He’s dead. I killed him; there’s no way Jacob Plummer rose from the grave.”
I returned the binoculars to my eyes to locate Jamal. He was gone, lost in the sea of jumping and thumping youth. As soon as I pulled the glasses away, standing not ten feet from me was the familiar stranger. This time, he didn’t run or attempt to vanish in any way. He stood…and stared. I was lost in time, unsure of where reality and fantasy began or ended. In front of me, the man who would be Jacob reached out a hand to me and mouthed my name. I wanted so badly to take the offered hand and disappear into his memory. Something, some tenuous grasp on sanity, refused to allow me to move.
“Bethany.” The voice, so familiar, called to me over the noise of the band. “I’ve missed you so very much. Come with me. Let’s run away, hide out from the world and spend the rest of our days locked in one another’s embrace.”
“It can’t be you,” I shouted. “I killed you.”
“Then how am I standing here before you? I’m alive, Bethany; your eyes do not deceive you. Please, come with me.”
Again, he offered his hand. Finally, I caved and reached my hand until our fingertips connected. A shock of electricity raced up my arms to jump-start my heart.
“I love you, Bethany.”
“I’ve missed you so much, Jacob.”
As I stared deep into the familiar brown eyes, a dangerous sound tickled my senses.
Drop-ships.
“Bethany,” Jamal shouted, and shook my arm.
I finally reconnected with reality and turned toward the voice.
“They’ve arrived. Three ships. It’s on.”
Even before I could beg to return to the previous moment I knew the specter was gone. How he’d eluded my sight again I couldn’t possibly know. At that very second it occurred to me the whole affair could have been a fantasy…a hallucination brought on by the emotional tornado ripping through my heart and mind.
“…thany,” Jamal’s voice beckoned.
There were far more important issues to deal with than the ghost of apocalypse past.
“We have to tell Vanity to get UnSun on stage immediately,” I shouted over the raging music and the sound of the ships.
Jamal and I tore from the stage and raced to Rip’s dressing room. There was no time for protocol, so I opted to skip the knock and rush in to see the leader of this circus snorting a line of coke from the silicone cleavage of a random groupie.
“Hey,” I shouted, “Vanity…it’s go time.”
“What the fuck?” Rip stood and glared at me. “You can’t interrupt me in the middle of my—”
“Shut up, Vanity.” I demanded. “You have to get UnSun on stage now.”
“Why? There are at least seven more bands to go before the headline.” Rip was about to continue his protest when Jamal led the vinyl-miniskirted tramp out the door. “Oh, come on…she was about to—”
“There isn’t time for this shit, Rip. Three drop-ships filled with the undead have landed. If Mauser isn’t ready to unleash the Obliterator at just the right moment, everyone in that audience will either be killed or infected. You want that on your head?”
The realization sobered him up immediately. “Oh, fuck no.”
Vanity pulled out his radio and made the call.
“This is Red Dog One. I need the main attraction on stage immediately. This is not a joke or a drill. Do you copy?”
Silence.
“I said, do you fucking copy?”
“Sir,” a voice crackled out of the speaker. “Are you su—?”
“Don’t fucking question me, you rotten twat. I’ve given you your orders, make it happen or I’ll cut you and piss on the wounds myself.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Effective,” Jamal whispered to me.
“I heard that, nerd king. I get the goddamn job done, so don’t mock what you don’t comprehend.”
Boos and shouts erupted from the monitor speaker on the wall of Vanity’s room. It was clear the band had stopped in mid-set. The audience wasn’t happy.
“Sir, we have a situation.” The voice spilled from the radio. The three of us glanced at one another, a shared look of certain doom no doubt painted on our faces.
“Who’s manning your traps beyond the audience?” I asked.
“Oh, you spotted those. Brilliant, don’t you think?”
It shocked me that I had to deal with such a huge ego at a time when everything of importance could come crumbling down around us. Rip caught the intent of my glare and changed his tack.
“Right. No one. We need to get up to the director’s booth where the traps can be set off.”
Why did it not surprise me that we had to return from where we’d just come…the booth? I grabbed Vanity by the arm.
“You’re coming with us.”
Rip tried to pull his arm away, but my grip was too much.
“Oh no. We need you to show us how to detonate those traps.”
We ran at top speed and took the stairs two and three at a time. When we reached the booth, the sight sucked the breath from my lungs. The undead spilled from the drop-ships by the hundreds. Within seconds, the dead outnumbered the living. I wasn’t sure how we’d be able to force the tide of war back down the throat of the Zero Day Collective.
The second we settled into the booth, Vanity set about grabbing various remotes and devices.
“You!” Vanity pointed to Jamal and offered a pair of binoculars. “Do you see that white demarcation line about seventy-five yards from the back of the audience?” Jamal nodded. “When the first wave of the undead reaches that line, let me know.”
Vanity pulled out a radio and pressed the call button.
“Red Dog One to towers one, two, and three. We are about to light up the first wave. As soon as you see fire, you should have shots available…take them at will.” Rip glanced at me. “That small box to your immediate right,” Rip nodded his head to my side. When I glanced down there was a small red box. I picked it up; Vanity continued. “As soon as the fires have been released, depress the large black button on that box.”
“What does it do?” I asked.
“I had pits dug and covered in the ground just after the fire traps. That button releases the trapdoors on all the pits. Any of the Moaners and Screamers that aren’t consumed by fire or shot by snipers will fall into those traps. Once in the holes, you depress that button again and the trapdoors will close shut and seal the zom-bitches underground. Anything that remains after that will suffer the wrath of Mauser’s guitar.
I had to hand it to Rip, he’d thought of everything. All of a sudden I felt safe, like nothing could possibly get us. Of course, it was a pretty safe bet, given we were forty feet up in the air.
“Rip,” Jamal called out. “Get ready.”
The audience went wild. I immediately assumed it was due to their realization they had become the grand buffet for the oncoming undead train wreck. But when the first strains of UnSun’s “Cry Zombie Cry” spilled from the array of loudspeakers, I realized it was only because the headline band had taken over.
We fell silent. I held my breath. There were thousands of innocent people unaware of the possible tragedy that lay in wait. If every trap and trick we had planned failed, not only would those thousands lose their lives, they could easily become part of the post-apocalyptic problem.
All of a sudden this plan didn’t sound so great.
“Now!” Jam
al screamed.
Vanity tapped away at every button he had in front of him. I pulled my binoculars to my eyes and watched as the first wave of Moaners and Screamers were engulfed in flames. Black and gray smoke billowed upward. I was certain I knew the stench that filled the air—the now-familiar smell of burning, rotted flesh. The first wave of flaming zombies stammered and dropped to their knees. When they finally hit the dry dirt, their flesh exploded in chunks and ash. The next in line stepped forward, into the burning mouth of hellfire, and found a similar fate to their fellow undead. The carnage continued until the pyrotechnic pots were extinguished. Rip turned to me and nodded. I pressed the button on the controller.
Nothing happened.
Fear raced across Vanity’s face.
“Bloody hell, press it again,” he muttered.
I wasted no time and pressed the button, only this time harder.
Nothing.
“Again,” Vanity demanded.
Another press, another failure.
“Shit. What happened?” Vanity nearly leaped over Jamal to get to the control box. With the box in hand, he pressed the button over and over for good measure. Still…nothing happened.
“This is not good.” Like a man possessed, Vanity continued to press the button. “Fuck me.”
Rip grabbed his radio again. “Towers one, two, and three—we need your firepower now!”
A few short seconds passed before the sound of gunfire could be heard. One by one, zombies dropped. The snipers were doing their job; but how effective would that job be? Somehow the zombies managed to outlast what should have been a masterstroke. Now our only hope was a smattering of ballistics and the hopes that a heavy metal guitarist could cause the horde to, quite literally, bang their heads.
Jamal and I glanced at one another.
“Are you as lost as I am?” Jamal’s voice had a hopeless undertone.
The first of the screams shot up from the audience to shorten my spine. The zombies had breached the entrance. A Screamer shot through the congestion of Moaners and raced to the nearest living human—a young woman. Fear dragged the woman to her knees; her scream pierced the glass of the booth. The Screamer leaped from fifteen feet. As the monster reached the apex of the jump, an arrow sliced through the air and punctured the back of its skull. I turned my gaze to the tower to see Echo flipping the Screamer off.