Dead Man Running

by Davis, Barry

  Her plan: On the day of Wiley's flight to China, use the weapons delivered by her aunt to destroy her 'bodyguards' minutes after their first check-in of the day, the 6AM call to Wiley's security center in DC. Drive to Harlem Hospital where her zombie gynecologist Dr. Reuben Carter would perform a cesarean. Following her recovery her aunt would bring enough weapons to blast her out of the hospital and into freedom. Of course her aunt would have to be killed. No loss there – surely she had been aware of little Jannifer's abuse at the hands of several men. There could not be any loose ends, no threads that Wiley could follow.

  Jan knew that she was on her own – there's been no follow-up with Elias Turnbull. He must have been converted to one of them as she saw his face often on television, one of the most prominent surrogates for the Obama-Wiley team.

  She had just hung up with Carter's scheduling nurse. She had successfully postponed her C section until November 27. The bitch had refused to put Dr. Carter on the line, merely agreeing that the later date was well within the baby's optimal birth window. She didn't trust that the bitch wasn't giving her so called husband an update on the change.

  She had no idea what those zombies were up to, but she decided to hedge her bets. She dialed her aunt's number.

  Aunts are allowed in the delivery room, aren't they?

  She would be there, armed to the teeth, and ready for anybody looking to fuck with Jan and little Alonzo.

  The Carlo's Bake Shop vans drove into the colossal magnitude of Hanger B deep inside Andrews AFB. The huge space was jammed with people, at least a thousand, gathered for the celebration of presidential air flight.

  As brought to the attention of the base commander, General Goldsby Turner, by a well known flight historian, and reformed zombie, Hunter McLeish, former president Theodore Roosevelt had been the first president to fly in 1912.

  With one of the three Air Force One's as a backdrop, the entire base, including all those who supported the AF1 program, were gathered for brief speeches and celebratory cake, as prepared by the world famous Cake Boss himself.

  Having off loaded the airplanes, the bakery vans zoomed out of the hanger to park. Unknown to the participants, the vans would be parked strategically to block all exits, their drivers and assistants armed to prevent base security from getting inside. That is, if base security was still viable. Manchester's Vodou confederates by now had secured the main base command center, effectively white noising any outgoing communications – Internet, landline, fiber, sat, or cell.

  The cake airplanes were wheeled by Buddy and his minions to a prominent place in front of the raised platform occupied by Turner, several members of the Air Force and Army command and, of course, Colonel Thomas Jackson, President Obama's personal pilot, and the pilot selected to fly Benjamin Wiley to China and Russia.

  The smiles were wide on that platform – zombies all, except for Turner. How Wiley and his undead army missed him, Manchester couldn't figure. It didn't matter, though. Pretty soon they would all not be zombies.

  Oh, it would kill Turner, the reverse bomb. As Manchester had observed before, the tiny nanobots did not discriminate, they attacked everything that looked like a human. Real humans were killed, changed to zombies, and then converted back to human by unexploded bots lingering in their bloodstream or in the atmosphere.

  The tiny creatures were single minded – they wanted to convert zombie to human. The fact that they first had to create a zombie in order to fulfill this imperative didn't seem to bother them.

  The only humans the nanobots turned up their collective noses at were those they had already converted from zombie to human.

  Of course, as a zombie created outside of the Hidar universe of magic, Manchester was unaffected by it all. He had enough bots floating around in his dead blood to convert a tiny city of zombies, yet they were unable to bring him life. If he could feel, he would feel sad about that fact. Here he was, saving the world but he himself was lost to permanent walking death.

  There were no chairs and the crowd fidgeted as Turner, McLeish and White House flak Harper Jennings gave brief speeches commemorating the occasion. Their words were less than memorable. What happened next was slightly more so.

  Buddy Valastro, he of the excessive BMI and hair grease, climbed up to the platform. He thanked General Turner for the "honor and privilege" of preparing the commemorative cakes for this event. He apologized because he had not served his country in the armed forces – his father forced him to take over the lucrative bake shop – but this felt "just like I was serving my country as a member of the US Air Force, America's greatest fighting force."

  This drew applause from the multitudes, most of whom fought more with rush hour traffic or a cranky laptop mouse than America's enemies.

  "As a special surprise, my bakers have outfitted these planes for actual flight," Buddy announced.

  With that, the propellers of each plane fired up and soon the planes, each one controlled by a member of Buddy's team, were using the vast empty space as a runway. One by one the planes took flight. To the cheers, claps and hoots of the astounded crowd, the planes circled high above.

  "We have one last surprise," the Cake Boss announced. The crowd turned their smiling faces upward, awaiting their treat.

  The bellies of the planes opened and, to the horror of those below, silver globes began raining down on the crowd. Some of the globes, their nanobot occupants sensing the presence of multitudes of zombies, engaged before hitting the ground.

  Of course they tried to escape but most were stopped by the bots before they could even make it to the exits. Manchester, the Cake Boss and his crew watched the transformations unfold – death then life – nearly a thousand times.

  Afterward, enlisting his new army of ex-zombies, Manchester assumed control of the entire base. It was totally cleansed of zombies and enough reverse bombs were left behind to convert any personnel on leave or off base for any reason.

  He met with Turner, his command staff and Jackson. They were the military – making bombs to embed in the three versions of Air Force One was second nature. The base bomb sweepers had been converted, so detection would not be a problem. Neither would be the Secret Service, which maintained a hand's off attitude toward Air Force One's physical security when the airplanes were on base.

  No, they assured Manchester Lee, all would be prepared just as he requested. "We love our country," Turner intoned. "We don't want no stinking zombies taking over." He looked squarely at Manchester Lee. His resolute face then broke into a smile. The smile spread around the table until Manchester felt he had landed in a sea of pearls.

  Air Force One was going down. He just hoped that Mira Hidar was successful. Unless she ended the life of her grandfather Hamid, all this may be for naught.

  Ben Wiley, Manchester Lee knew, was one determined fellow. If not dismembered by the exploding plane he would eventually swim to shore.

  If Hamid didn't die Wiley may yet realize his terrible vision for the planet.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  GEORGETOWN WASHINGTON DC – DECEMBER 2012

  Jan Wiley listened as Geathers – HNIC among her captors – made his check-in call to Wiley's command center.

  As he hung up the phone she stepped into the library, fiberglass H&K machine gun pointed at his chest.

  "What is this?" he asked.

  "Your death," she replied.

  He smiled another one of those horrible zombie grins. "You are too late for that," he said, Brooklyn accent still prominent.

  "Then I'll make you more dead," she said as she pulled the trigger. He leaped for her but it was too late. The powerful weapon tattooed across his chest and legs, dropping the creature to the ground. She then aimed at his head and kept her finger on the trigger until his cranium disintegrated. She was about to turn away from the body when a powerful arm clamped around her neck.

  "Must not hurt the child," said Grace Wilhite, Jan's maid. Jan struggled against the zombie's prodigious strength. The thing shook her
violently until Jan dropped the weapon. "Must not hurt the child," the zombie repeated as the vice like arm increased its pressure on Jan's throat.

  Jan fought to stay conscious but she knew she only had moments left before all was lost. They would carve the child out of her, probably right here, right now. She would lose her life, her baby.

  With her strength waning and with many footsteps fast approaching, she managed to reach into her side pocket, retrieve a grenade, arm it with the press of a single button, then show it to the 'woman'.

  The creature immediately dropped Jan to the floor and backed away. Before she could fast walk out of the room she slammed into a gang of zombies trying to enter.

  Jan tossed the bomb in the direction of the zombies and dove back into the kitchen.

  The bomb exploded, causing the house to shudder on its foundation. She got to her feet, picked up the machine gun and destroyed the zombies that the bomb didn't.

  She had planned to leave the house in a more organized fashion but time had run out. In the distance she could hear faint sirens.

  She found her coat and car keys. She would have to ditch the car as soon as she could and use her old skills as a car thief to secure another ride to get her to Harlem.

  The authorities would be interested in her whereabouts.

  She turned the gas on at the stove and set three of the grenades to explode. Sixty seconds later she was halfway down the block in her husband's BMW sedan as her home and several others were consumed by a massive explosion.

  Mira Hidar took the same helicopter as she had months ago to Fort Detrick, high security home of America's biological weapon stockpile and defenses. She was met on the helipad by Major Pritchett, except this time the officer was zombie, not human. This fact added to his already imposing physical presence.

  Out from underneath the helicopter blades she showed the major the letter from Wiley authorizing her visit. Elias had generated the letter on Wiley's letterhead, affixed a forged signature and had secreted the letter to her through multiple converted intermediaries.

  He took the letter and read it, not bothering to remove the sunglasses that covered his dead blue eyes.

  Why would a zombie need sunglasses?

  He finally handed her back the letter. "Protocol says that I need to contact Mr. Sills before anyone is admitted to Hamid Hidar's quarters."

  Mira smiled a wide grin. Her grotesque face reflected back at her in the creature's mirrored shades. "I have a letter from Secretary Wiley, the Vice President-elect. That trumps any protocol to contact his head of security."

  The zombie shook his head. "The protocol must be followed. It will only take a minute."

  Mira considered the dozen globes riding in her briefcase. Could she reverse bomb Pritchett without anyone seeing?

  They stood near the helipad – the pilot was still in the helicopter and God knows how many others – zombies she would assume – were inside the building within earshot of any commotion outside.

  "Let's go inside, get out of the cold," she said.

  This time the zombie smiled. "Cold? We're dead, remember? We don't feel any cold." He pulled his sidearm and pointed it at Mira. "I suggest you drop the briefcase and back up. This will only take a minute, Ms. Hidar."

  Mira waived the letter. "This won't make him happy. He'll have your head."

  The grin remained plastered on Pritchett's face. "Sounds just like a desperate human," he sneered. "Besides if he takes my head off I'll just sew it back on. Just like some kinda scarecrow." He laughed, took the safety off his gun and loaded one into the chamber. With his free hand he retrieved his cell and dialed.

  "I need to speak to Mr. Sills," Pritchett said. "Yes, I'll hold."

  Mira looked down the barrel of the gun. Once he got the word from Sills perhaps she could overpower him before he was able to shoot her too many times. She could stagger inside and kill her grandfather before she died.

  Yeah right.

  "It is a pleasure to speak to you Mr. Sills. Yes, sir." Long pause. "Mira Hidar has presented herself at Detrick. We had no advance notice that she was visiting the facility. That in itself was enough to place the base on a level one alert, sir. She has a letter signed by Vice President elect Wiley authorizing her to visit Hamid Hidar."

  Longer pause, during which Pritchett nodded several times. Between nods, the gun was slipped back into the holster.

  "Yes, sir. Immediately, sir." He extended the cell to Mira and she tentatively placed it to her ear.

  "Good morning Ms. Hidar." She bristled when she heard the voice of the Harlem hustler. "I suggest you enjoy your visit. As you know, it will be your last one." The phone clicked off and she handed the device back to Pritchett. He now had her briefcase in his strong right hand.

  "He says you are authorized for full access. I'll walk you into the command center where we can give you a temp swipe card and pass. Do you want to tell me why you're here?"

  "No," she replied. Her head continued to spin.

  Why did Mookie help her?

  Inside the building they walked down an antiseptic hallway. Pritchett produced a swipe card and opened the glass door. He stood aside and let her enter the room. Inside were three female soldiers and two males. They stood at attention as the major entered the space and he quickly ordered them to be at ease.

  "Ms. Hidar needs to be set up with a temporary ID and swipe card. Our leaders have authorized her full access to the facility." He turned his attention to Mira – finally the glasses were off and she struggled to contain her repulsion. Major Pritchett must not have been converted without some drama as one of his eyes was missing.

  Nothing had been done to repair the vacated space, an oozing, pulpy mess.

  He handed her the briefcase. "I apologize for my behavior earlier." He smiled again.

  "You were merely following protocol, major. I will speak highly about you to Mr. Wiley upon his return to the States." It had been all over TV and the Internet about Wiley's trip to China. Most of the chatter was negative.

  My God, he's not VP yet. What's he doing representing our nation? Who's he think he is, the president?

  "I would appreciate that, Ms. Hidar. A base with biological weapons designed to kill humans won't exactly be a hotbed of activity in a short while. I'm eager to be more useful to the movement." He didn't wait for a reply, but executed a sharp military turn on his heels and exited the room.

  One of the technicians led Mira through the process of creating an ID card and using her DNA signature to activate a swipe card.

  "Anything else I can do for you?" the helpful zombie – Corporal Sun was the name on her uniform - asked.

  "I have something I need to show you in this briefcase," Mira said.

  Twenty minutes later she left the room, leaving five humans behind. Their eyes and ears would help keep her safe for the rest of her mission.

  Somewhere over the endless, timeless blue Pacific, Elias gripped the sat phone in his sweaty right hand. It was time. Once he got on the airplane – humorously christened Air Force Infinity by Wiley – he had found the seat with the combo parachute and raft underneath and had claimed that one as his own.

  He had sat through hours long strategy meetings with Wiley and his inner circle. He had declined the fresh meat brought aboard at San Francisco – two dozen Chinese nationals rescued from the cargo hold of an illegal smuggler.

  He spent the two hours Wiley and his team spent screwing, murdering and consuming the humans speaking to the West Coast media about Wiley's mission to China. How it was all about building a positive and peaceful working relationship with our friends in the Far East.

  Lies, lies and more lies.

  Elias Turnbull was so tired of telling lies on behalf of Ben Wiley. Following the interviews, as he walked past Mookie Sills and his security team patrolling the plane's perimeter, he was ready to dial the number and blow the plane right there on the tarmac. But, he had to wait.

  Now, over a thousand miles from either the Wes
t Coast or Hawaii, it was time. Elias' fingers were poised over the phone's buttons when he heard a voice.

  "Don't dial that phone, Elias." Elias looked up into the smiling face of Mookie Sills. He held a white basket like the ones used to carry hot towels to the plane's normal compliment of pampered human occupants. Behind him were two zombies, each holding a Glock not so inconspicuously against their thighs. Elias quickly assessed that if he tried to dial, they would blow his head off.

  "Just gonna check voicemail." He shrugged, smiled. He handed the sat phone to Mookie. "What's going on?" he asked.

  "The boss wants me to collect all electronic devices. Do you have a laptop, tablet or cell?" Elias reached under his seat and retrieved his laptop, which he was using to conceal the bag containing the parachute and inflatable.

  He handed Mookie the bag and deftly kicked the other bag further under his seat. He plucked his cell phone – no good anyway so far from any cell towers – off his waist and handed that over too.

  "Thanks, Elias. Give me ten minutes to complete my collections. Ben wants to see you and me then."

  Elias nodded and The Grim Collector and his crew moved on to the next zombie.

  This was not good. He looked at his watch. Mira should be inside Detrick by now. His only hope would be that she is successful. If she kills Hamid, Wiley 'dies'. And with their alpha dead, the rest of them will become listless automatons. He could then use the sat phone to trigger the small bomb, escape the plane and watch as Wiley and all the rest crash into the Pacific with no hope of recovery.

  He just had to stay alive long enough for Mira to do her job.

  Armed with her pass and swipe card, it did not take Mira long to reach her grandfather's room. She hadn't needed to use the reverse bombs on anyone else, although now she regretted not reverse bombing Pritchett, who she knew may be trouble someway, somehow, before she escaped this place.

  Armed with Manchester Lee's intel from the Andrews AFB event – the fact that reverse bombs will kill and convert the living in order to fulfill their mission of changing a zombie to the living – she had a new plan. Instead of murdering her grandfather she would use the reverse bomb on him. Hopefully it would cure him of the effects of the gunshot and the resulting coma, causing him to be fully sound and healthy. Of course, the reverse bomb would kill him, which would deactivate Wiley as planned.