The Infamy virus feeds off blood, using its host body to hunt and feed. Blood can be absorbed though the mouth, throat and stomach tissue of the host by the virus. When faced with starvation, the virus begins to attack the fat cells and muscles. Once blood is reintroduced back in to the circulatory system, the virus builds a protein that begins to repair damaged muscles. Infamy also makes it capable for the host body to survive the severing of any limb or organ (except the head). The virus immediately begins a clotting process to maintain preservation of the host body as a survival mechanism, unless a head wound occurs. Non-head wounds cannot heal. Reanimated bodies generally are in a state of decay. They can move normally as long as nerve and muscular tissue has not been severed.
Hosts have experienced catastrophic sensory deprivation, including a more than ninety-nine-percent loss in tactile perception, making them immune to pain. When a body has lost one of the five senses, it’s been proven that the remaining senses become heightened in some manner. In the cases of the infected subject, they gain both heightened olfactory and auditory senses. If not for a lack of intelligence in those infected with Infamy, I would have produced the perfect predator.
January 23, 1979
Carmilla has healed from the hybrid strand of rabies I introduced into her system. She exhibits no signs of ever being infected by the virus and appears to be in better condition than she was before receiving the injection. Looking over my notes, I’ve neglected and simply overlooked her progress. The Infamy virus had struck me with such curiosity and fascination that my original purpose for the virus has currently lost its allure. I took a sample of Carmilla’s blood and found nothing out of the ordinary, which I find puzzling. I believe I’ll wait another week before take another sample and begin testing for progress towards immortality.
January 25, 1979
Testing continues on Mina and the remaining two laborers that I’ve labeled ZTS1 and ZTS2. I terminated ZTS1 for autopsy yesterday. Though by all standards Zombie Test Subjects are not alive, I choose to terminate them with a shot to the head. ZTS2 will not be receiving an autopsy due to being heavily burned while testing the affects of fire on the subject.
January 29, 1979
It has taken me a few days to find replacement ZTSs. I hired laborers for a phony painting job, then at gunpoint, forced them to each enter the cage with Mina. This was the first I was able to observe a variation of infection time in subjects. After being bitten, my three ZTSs were caged separately for observation. They exhibited reaction times ranging from a matter of seconds up to eight hours before death ensued. Resurrection times varied as well. ZTS3 died after only a few seconds of exposure, then reanimated in almost the same amount of time. ZTS4 resurrected two hours after death and ZTS5 resulted in resurrection after four hours. It was interesting to watch the feeding take place.
February 2, 1979
I put a halt to Infamy testing after receiving a bite from ZTS4. I fell near the cage of ZTS4, which grabbed my hand. I had my sidearm and was able to terminate ZTS4 before further injury to my hand and arm. I do believe had I received another bite near an artery or any place on my forearm, I would have never had the time to administer a suppressant. Though I do not have a true cure for the virus, it will allow me to continue my research until such a cure is created.
February 3, 1979
Carmilla has been rapidly aging over the last few days. She said she has craved no food, only blood, and has been begging me to allow her to feast on my arm. I have kidnapped a young boy to test a theory. After placing him in captivity with Carmilla, she was only able to resist feeding off him for two hours. She repeatedly said the smell of the boy’s blood was too overwhelming. After feeding on him she regained her youthfulness in a matter of minutes. This outcome is intriguing. Both the rabies hybrid and the Infamy strain both hold common a process-element found in vampire bats. This has birthed a hypothesis I now have that a Dracula-type figure may have existed sometime in the 1800s. I’ve read tales about birds carried oversea by storms. Why couldn’t this same situation apply to bats? Unfortunately this hypothesis will have to wait.
February 6, 1979
A cure for the Infamy virus still plagues me. I conducted experiments injecting Infamy into a test subject to observe infected bites after being exposed to the narcotic. I allowed Mina to bite a subject that was experiencing hallucinogenic episodes from the drug. After several hours the subject displayed no change. I gathered blood samples. I'll soon be conducting more testing on Carmilla and her vampire-like mutation of the rabies virus. She does not respond to Infamy and may hold an alternative cure to the disease.
Chapter 10
Resedent Evil
I should have listened when that ZID soldier told me Caesar was part of this mess. Did he unleash the apocalypse, bringing some sort of shitfest across the border? Maybe next I’ll find out Jessica is married and Ella is some kind of secret mutant.
While putting the book in Caesar’s bag, the sound of a door closing startles me. Some notes in the back of the book fall on the floor. I throw the pages back in the journal and slip the book into the hidden pocket.
I hear paper crinkle as I move toward the door. Fuck. I missed one of the notes and now the door handle is turning. I slam the note in my pocket, switch off my flashlight, and jump behind the door.
Seconds later a flashlight scans the room.
I hold my breath for what seems a full minute until the flashlight turns off and the door closes.
I listen at door and hear muffled whispers, footsteps and flashlights. Three men dressed in black carry small submachine guns. Believe it or not I’m actually happy to see the military here. Hope they brought a nice ride to take us from this hellhole.
“The girl is secured and strapped for evac. Now find the target,” one of them says in a Russian accent.
Shit. Russians?
Ten seconds later a red light burns a spot into the retina of my left eye.
“Face on the floor,” one of the Russians says.
Just as the faint smell of Pine Sol enters my nostrils, my eyes smash shut from the sound of gunfire.
Caesar is not too happy about having visitors.
“You Russian assholes have no idea when to quit,” he says.
Two Russians drop without firing a shot.
Caesar proves once again he’s a badass Mexican gunslinger.
The third man is hit in the shoulder. He fires back at Caesar who dodges shots by jumping into the office.
The wounded Russian makes his way to the balcony just as Jessica comes into view. She’s tied up and has a rope attached to her waist. The Russian fires a few blind shots in our direction that hit the wall as he clips himself to the same rope as Jessica.
“Mission aborted,” the Russian says. “Will take the daughter. Lift us the fuck out of here.”
Jessica and the Russian are flooded by a bright light then hoisted into the air by a helicopter.
Caesar’s foot lands in front of my face. He steps over me and heads to the kitchen, bag in hand.
Ella is screaming so I go down the hall and grab her, then yell to Caesar. “What the fuck was that about?”
Caesar doesn’t answer as he comes into the room.
“Mind telling me what’s so important that Russians would hunt you in a city full of undead?”
“Your job is done,” he says. “Take your child and go.”
“You promised cash and transportation. You can keep the money. I just want the fuck out of here.”
“Your mouth is becoming tiresome. My original plan for a plane to land at Balboa Stadium has failed. Pilot says it is unsafe to land.”
“Okay, so no ride. What happens when those Russian assholes find out Jessica isn’t your daughter?”
“I’m still figuring out how they found out about this place.”
“This is getting worse by the second.”
“Enough of this useless talk. I’m leaving in five minutes if you plan to tag along.”
“Let me take a piss first.”
“Be my guest.”
In the bathroom I pull out the radio and flick it on. A bit of static comes over the speaker. I hit the button on the side. “Hey,” I whisper. “ I’m with Lobo.”
“This is Field Commander Major Angel Davis. Who’s on this secure line?”
“Seth. One of your soldiers gave me this radio.”
“Let me speak with Captain Ramirez from Fox Cell.”
“I would but zombies can’t communicate very well.”
“Have they all been destroyed?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m with Caesar Valdez. Lobo.”
“Is Lobo aware of this conversation?”
“Hope not. I just want a ride out of here with the baby I’m stuck with. If you don’t come fast, I’ll leave with Caesar and you won’t find us.”
“Lobo is no longer a priority. Unless you have something else more concrete or useful for me, we can’t enter that zone.”
“How about the fact that he’s carrying around a Nazi journal that explains how these zombies where made by a narcotic? There’s all kinds of scientific mumbo-jumbo shit in there. Maybe even a cure. How about the fact the Russians just showed up trying to get to it first?”
“I don’t have time for this bullshit, son.”
To be honest, this story does sound like bullshit. I’m losing this guy fast. “The journal has all these formulas in it and it talks about some project called Prometheus . . .”
“Prometheus?”
The Major pauses for a moment after repeating the name. I can hear him telling it to someone. “That’s classified information,” he says. “That book may hold some key to ending all this.”
“That’s what I’m fucking saying. Get your ass over here.”
“I’ll do what I can about getting you out of the city. The problem is we’ve already started preparation on Operation Rapture. You’ve got to try to get out of the city. Contact me in two hours. I’ll update you to the status of a pick up.”
“Wait, what the fuck is Rapture?”
The Major is no longer on the line. Rapture isn’t the kind of code name you give an operation that involves saving people. I shut off the radio. Caesar has prepared a bottle and diaper for the baby. Almost makes me feel bad about trying to turn him over to the Army.
“Sorry, man. Had to go number two,” I say.
“Let’s get moving.”
“Any idea to where?”
“Somewhere safe. I have to make a few calls.”
“You have a working cell phone?”
“Satellite phone taken from one of President Chavez’ guards.”
He’s smart enough to grab a phone that can be used anywhere in the world, but decides on a plane instead of a helicopter? What an idiot.
Once Ella is wearing a fresh diaper we head down to the elevators.
Having her strapped to my chest makes feeding the brat pretty easy. Allows me to still have a free hand in case zombies need to be fed bullets.
Caesar moves down the hall to the elevator doors.
“They’re not working,” I complain.
“Shut up.” Caesar pulls out his machete pries open the doors.
“Shit, you’re nuts,” I say, moving Ella’s carrier to my back. I sling the diaper bag over both shoulders.
Caesar grabs the cable and begins to slide down.
I’m terrified, but what choice do I have? I follow.
Ella starts doing her dumb little girl giggle. At least she’s kind of quiet.
We don’t have to far to go before hitting the top of the elevator that’s stuck between floors. Caesar pops open the trap door, peers inside, then drops in.
Ella and the diaper bag have to come off or I won’t fit in.
Caesar has already stepped out onto one of the floors.
I drop the diaper bag on a pile of severed arms and lower the both of us with one hand. I just about throw my elbow out of socket. My grip gives and we land a little hard on the diaper bag.
I’m drawn to the elevator shaft. There’s a thud as a zombie smashes against the top of the elevator. They’re obviously taking the quick way down. More crashes follow. At least fifty in a matter of seconds. Blood and gore pour into the elevator. So many bodies are smashing into it that the cable reaches its weight limit, knocking the elevator down the shaft.
Zombies continue to rain down as a loud crash echoes up through the shaft.
“The stairs are clear this way,” Caesar says from out of nowhere.
“Thanks for the help,” I say.
I swing Ella to my chest again and shut up her laughing with the remainder of a bottle. What is it with this girl and zombie blood?
“That better, you little demon?” I say.
She giggles and drools milk.
After a few flights of stairs, she polishes off the bottle and falls asleep.
We make it down to the lobby and find it surprisingly empty for the amount of undead we’ve seen throughout the rest of the building. Passing by the bathrooms makes me realize how bad I need to go for not truly using the restroom earlier.
“I have to go again.”
“Your pissing is going to get us killed. Hurry.”
Not sure what it is about trying to pee in pitch-black that makes it so hard to get anything out. Having a baby hanging from me and just a flashlight to help with my aim doesn’t make things better. Each little sound makes me pucker up. Finally I finish and run to the door. Homeboy is on the phone.
“So that ignorant fuck thinks he can sell me out to fucking Russians?” Caesar says. “Put him on the phone.”
I step into the lobby but give him some space.
“Marco, you stupid fuck,” he says. “I give my daughter’s hand in marriage to you and this is how you treat me? This shit isn’t some weapon to be sold. It’s an accident that needs to disappear. For the sake of your life you better hope the fucking cure you made works.”
So that’s what he was after? Thought he seemed a little too laid back when he saw his daughter wasn’t home.
“If it works then you’ll be protected from the Russians, Marco. I’ll let you know the result soon enough.”
Now what the fuck does he mean by results? He’s not making a lab-rat bitch out of me.
“My turn to use the pisser, goddam it,” Caesar says.
Caesar’s tone doesn’t rest easy with me. But what can I do? Hasn’t been two hours yet. He flicks on his flashlight and enters the restroom.
Thank god it’s getting light in the lobby. The sun is beginning to shine through the windows. Before all this zombie bullshit it was rare for me to get my ass out of bed before the sun.
Walking over to the window to take a better look outside, my foot catches on Caesar’s bag. The words from the Major start to play over in my head. I just need the journal. I don’t need Lobo. With this Rapture thing about to go down and Caesar wanting to do a field test on his cure, the only plan that comes to mind is to grab the journal and run. At first I think about picking up the bag. It dawns on me that running would be impossible with both bags and the baby.
I go with plan B.
As Caesar comes walking out of the restroom I get the book into my hands and slip it into my pants.
Chapter 11
Dead Nation
“You looking for something, Mr. Seth?” Caesar says.
“Ammo.”
“You’re fully loaded. We did that back at the apartment.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
Trying to talk my way out of this is just pointless. I point my handgun at Caesar.
Shock and bewilderment lights up his face. He raises his hands slow, showing neither weapon or challenge.
The next person shocked and bewildered is me.
Caesar busts out laughing as if it’s a joke that I’m even pointing a gun at him. “We both know you don’t have what it takes to shoot the living,” he laughs. Now put down the gun. This isn’t a videogame, cabron.”
“If you don’t stop laughing I’m going to walk over there and gun-fuck your head.”
“If you insist on keeping up this feeble display of dominance, then I’ll play along. What is it you want from me?”
“Just let me take this book and Ella. Think of it as the rest of my payment for leading you here.”
“Where will you go? You’ll never escape this city without me. Why do you want that book? It’s nothing. It’s useless.”
“You can’t read German? I can. This is my ticket out of this shithole.”
Caesar starts pacing back and forth. It’s as if having a gun pointed at him doesn’t matter anymore. “So you know everything?” he says.
“Let me try to put it together. Drug lord finds new narcotic. Drug lord decides to get ahead of his competition. Drug lord realizes the apocalypse ruins business. Yeah. Got it.”
Caesar points at me.
I want to shoot his fucking finger off he looks so angry.
“You think I meant for all this to happen?” he says. “I don’t make money off the dead. The dead have cost me everything. My family, my army, the labs. Every resource I have is gone. An entire empire wiped out in within days. You think it was just me? Maybe you think it was the Russians? Or the Nazis? Try the Americans. Your government forced me to release Infamy. You should be blaming them. Their so-called war on drugs is a lie. They attack the supply. If they were smart, they would attack the demand. All those resources they could be using to battle addiction are wasted. They just create innovation in the drug world among the cartels. The world needed something new. Something dogs couldn’t even smell. I found it. And I released it. And now . . . I regret it.”
Infamy: A Zombie Novel Page 9