by Brett Abell
Tad took a few steps toward the bridge and heard a clicking sound he couldn’t quite place. He’d heard it before, but it escaped him.
“But …” Tad said and took one step.
Then he remembered what the sound had been: the locking of a bullet in the chamber of a gun. Before he could turn and run, the sound of automatic gunfire split the night and the bullets tore through him.
Dying, he smiled; he knew at least he’d escaped becoming one of them.
32
Rex and Charlie watched Big Cheese push himself to his feet and stare at them. His eyes had the familiar glazed look and he lumbered at them. Charlie froze, seeing his friend reduced to a mindless hulk. In the dark, he saw the red tears streaming down his cheek and a peace settled over him.
“Rex, give me the club,” he whispered.
Without a word, Rex handed the club to Charlie and nodded.
Sighing and bringing the club back, he swung it at Big Cheese. It connected with the side of head with a dull thud. Blood rushed from the gash and Big Cheese stopped. His head cocked sideways and an angry growl emanated from him. Closing his eyes, Charlie swung again and again. Each blow made Charlie scream inside. The club hit Big Cheese’s head and Charlie heard something crack. The lumbering football player and friend sank to his knees. Charlie opened his eyes and looked in the eyes of his friend.
“They say the eyes are the window to the soul and I don’t see you anymore, my friend.” Charlie brought the club down in one last arc. Big Cheese’s head exploded like a piñata and he fell to the ground convulsing. Charlie raised his head to the sky and screamed. Rex put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder and took the club from his hand.
“We need to go,” Rex said calmly.
The moans from the dead grew louder and Rex saw the horde moving from the football field toward them. The wave of the undead threatened to wash over and devour them. Rex grabbed Charlie’s shirt and tugged hard.
“Dude, we need to get to the others and in the bunker, NOW!”
Charlie snapped out of his daze and stared at Rex. “But … Trey.”
“We need to go unless we want to end up like him. There are kids over there we need to get to safety,” Rex said, pointing to the group standing by the tennis courts.
“Ok, let’s go,” Charlie said. He took one last look down at Big Cheese’s body and followed Rex toward the others.
33
Rachael, Conrad, and the kids stood and waited for Rex and Charlie to return. She saw the fear and exhaustion etched in their faces when they rushed back over.
“We need to go now,” Rex wheezed.
“They’re heading this way,” Charlie said panting.
Rachael turned to the kids. “Go, now!”
The three students rushed off and Rex, Charlie, Conrad, and Rachael followed.
34
“Viper-One reporting for mission confirmation,” the radio hissed in the COMM.
General Harris picked up the receiver. “All is a go for Phoenix Protocol.”
“We have munitions locked and loaded, ETA five minutes.”
“Very good; I’ll keep the line open for report after the strike,” Harris said and set the receiver back down. “Go and bring Browning here; I want him to see the fireworks,” Harris said to the officer standing next to him.
“Yes, sir,” the officer said and snapped a quick salute.
The officer turned to leave, when a disheveled Browning walked into the COMM.
“Nice to see you came by on your own, Dr. Browning,” Harris quipped.
Browning looked at the monitors and felt his blood turn to ice. The satellite images from Middletown were of madness. The zoomed frames showed the bloodied citizens tearing each other apart and feasting on those they disposed of. A knot formed in his stomach, thinking he caused all of it when he rigged the sample on a timer to break apart in the poorly protected box. He sentenced a university and a town to death.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Browning muttered as he pulled a revolver from his pocket and cocked the hammer back.
Harris’s face slacked and terror raced through him. “Put the gun down, Browning,” he ordered.
“No, I’ll see you in Hell,” Browning said and placed the barrel in his mouth. Closing his eyes, he pressed the trigger, and the gun exploded.
The report in the small COMM room was deafening. A crimson shower covered the wall, and bits of brain and skull slid down the paneling.
“Get this mess cleaned up and commence with the operation,” Harris hissed before turning his attention back to the video feed from the fighters.
35
“Hurry!” Carol shouted at Rachael.
Rachael fumbled the keys from the office and they fell into the grass. Behind them, the moans grew louder. She dropped to her knees, frantically running her fingers in the cold damp grass. In the dark, she couldn’t find the key to the shed where their salvation awaited.
“Oh Rachael, please hurry, dear,” Rex said and watched the front line of zombies creep closer to them.
Conrad pulled his phone from his pocked and turned the flashlight on. “Here.”
“Rachael?” Rex yelled. He stepped up in front of the group and began to swing the makeshift club wildly at the front zombies. They reached out and he batted their hands and arms away. Without hesitation, they continued their shambling march toward the bunker.
Rachael began to panic. She dug her fingernails deeper into the uncut grass in front of the shed. The light from Conrad’s phone helped, but her tears blurred her vision. Finally, her fingers touched the cool metal of the keys and she squealed in relief.
“Baby?” Rex hollered and continued swinging at the zombies. An arm reached for him, and the tattered sleeve revealed the tattoo belonging to Ray Higgs, who shared a lab station with him in Chemistry. Behind Ray, Brad Davis, from the corner gas station, gazed at him with his black and dead eyes. The more he looked at the faces of the infected closing in on them, he recognized most of them from either Middletown University or from the town. His neighbors and friends had changed and came after them with hunger as their only instinct.
Rachael turned the key in the lock and tossed it on the ground. “We’re in!” she called out and entered the shed. The others quickly filed in behind her and they found themselves standing before the steel doors in the ground leading to their salvation.
36
The fighter group closed in on Middletown quickly. In the east, the dawn remained a few hours away, but they knew they were about to light up the night sky.
“Gold Leader, this is Gold 2, my payload is locked and loaded,” a voice chirped over the radio.
“Gold Leader, this is Gold 3, payload is hot and ready to drop.”
“All right boys, ETA is five minutes. Prepare targeting solutions and fire on my mark.”
37
“Quick, pull open the doors!” Charlie shouted and grabbed one of the handles. He pulled, but the heavy steel door refused to budge.
Rex and Conrad rushed over and began tugging on the other door trying to break free the layer of rust coating the doors. The students joined in and everyone pulled with everything they had on. Finally, with a load creaking, they began to break free.
“One last time!” Rex rallied them and grunted.
The rust broke free and the hinges on the doors groaned as they opened. A ladder went down into the dark and it smelled musty. Outside the shed, the zombies beat on the metal siding and it started to bend. Bloodied hands reached through the shed doors and pried them open.
“Down now!” Rachael ordered and the students descended the ladder.
Charlie, Rex, and Conrad formed a line to protect the others while they climbed down into the fallout shelter.
Conrad swung at the first zombie who came through the door and it backed away.
“Go,” Rex said.
Charlie and Conrad looked at him and nodded. They scrambled down the ladder and into safety.
; “Come and get me, mother fuckers,” Rex dared the zombies and took a shot at the old woman snapping her gums at him. The wood connected solidly and a trail of blood followed the club’s arc.
He felt the warm blood land on his arm, but pushed the thought from his mind as he started down the ladder and slammed the bunker doors shut behind him.
38
“Target in sight. Firing solution is set and we’re hot,” the pilot said and hit the trigger on his control stick.
The first bombs dropped from the wings and the other two planes followed suit, carpet bombing Middletown. Each found their mark and the town exploded in a fiery blaze. On the ground, the zombies caught fire and walked like living torches until they dropped to the ground. The trees burned and the buildings caught fire.
Outside of town, the military vehicles pulled up and began to close off the roads into town and set up a perimeter around the decimated town.
39
Rex felt the heat build in him and he looked at the faces of those around him, their faces illuminated by the cell phones the students had turned on.
“Rachael, I’m sorry,” Rex muttered and reached out his hand to her.
“I love you,” she said and melted in his arms.
In the dark, their lips touched and she felt the heat burning through him already. She gave in to her love for him and kissed him back deeply and passionately, knowing it was the kiss of death.
“I love you too,” he whispered back.
The bunker shook as the explosions rocked the town overhead and the bunker fell silent.
“I’m sorry I started this,” Charlie apologized.
“I think it was meant to be this way, Charlie,” Conrad said trying to comfort him.
In the back corner, Rex and Rachael fell silent.
“Rex?” Charlie asked and shined his phone’s flashlight in the corner and into Rex’s black eyes.
40
General Harris surveyed the footage on the monitors and sighed. Dr. Browing’s remains had just been cleaned up and removed from the COMM center, but the smell of blood and death remained. Middletown looked like a smoking crater, but he had the information he needed; the field test had been a success.
The phone rang and Harris picked up.
“Yes, sir, it was a success and Phoenix Protocol was followed.” He nodded a few times and continued, “We even have a new way to weaponize the virus and use it against any insurgency or army. I was against the use of Middletown, but after seeing the results, I believe it was the right choice.”
Harris listened and his smile grew wider across his face.
“Yes, sir, right away,” Harris replied and hung up the phone.
Leaning back in his chair, he grinned wider and waited for the promotion he knew would be following shortly.
41
Click …
In other news, the town of Middletown was leveled last night in what is being called a massive gas explosion. The governor has called out the National Guard to secure the area and keep people out of the wreckage. Early reports from first-responders say a gas main broke in the early morning hours and ignited, creating a huge explosion where there are not believed to be any survivors. We have Jeff Toone on the scene. Jeff …”
42
Down in the dark bunker, Rex and the others waited as their hunger gnawed at them.
About Brent Abell
Brent Abell lives in Southern Indiana with his wife, sons, and a pug who dreams of the apocalypse so he can eat all the food left behind. He works during the day and then tries to write himself out of the normal day job in the evenings. Brent enjoys most anything horror related and also enjoys rum, more rum, and beer with a cigar or two thrown in. In his writing career, he’s had stories featured in over 30 publications from multiple presses. His first novella “In Memoriam” is available now, his first collection, “Wicked Tales for Wicked People”, was released in August 2014, and is a co-author of the “Hellmouth” series. Currently, he is in the editing phase for his first novel and an upcoming novella. You can hang out with him at his blog “Our Darkest Fears” at http://brentabell.wordpress.com.
Noble Intentions
Shawn Chesser
Chapter 1
Middletown University - 7:15 AM
Third time’s the charm, thought Charlie Noble when the red light above the door handle flashed to green. Wasting not a moment, lest he have to punch in the six-digit code again, he shouldered open the heavy oak door, trapped it midway through its backswing with his butt, and scooted his belongings inside with a forceful nudge of his boot.
There was an audible hiss overhead as the fluorescent lights sensed his movement and flared to life, bathing the entire forty-by-sixty-foot room in brilliant white light. Just as the door was closing behind him, a voice from down the hall called out for Professor Sylvester Fuentes. Noble didn’t expect Fuentes in the lab for another ninety minutes or so—every one of those minutes earmarked for grading papers, but if he finished early, the remainder he planned to burn staring at A Game of Thrones on his tablet. But first things first. Still clutching a pumpkin spice latte in one hand, he crabbed around his book bag and backpack, still on the floor where he left them, opened the door, and poked his head into the hall. He looked right and saw the hall was empty all the way to the T at the far end. So he craned around the door and saw the source of the voice. A dozen feet down the hall, dressed in a cobalt blue uniform that clashed mightily with the burnt-orange carpeting, was what looked to Charlie like some kind of rent-a-cop or maybe an armored car driver. The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties and was a little overweight and full in the face. He had brown, searching eyes under a heavy brow, and straw-colored hair peeked from under his patrolman’s cap, its highly polished black brim casting the top third of his face into shadow.
The man’s gait slowed and a look of recognition parked on his face. Still a few paces from the open door he looked down at a clipboard riding atop the shoebox-sized package in his hands.
He asked, “Are you Professor Fuentes?”
As Charlie stepped from behind the open door to reply to the man, his eyes did a mad dance between the boxy black pistol hanging from the thick leather belt and the parcel he was carrying.
The armed man stopped on the carpet an arm’s reach from Charlie, locked eyes with the TA and slowly, while enunciating every word, said, “Are you Professor Sylvester Fuentes?”
Charlie flashed a glance at the badge riding above the man’s left breast. It looked like a kid’s toy, chrome-plated, with the words Secure Package Delivery arching over a cluster of stars. A thin plastic nametag was pinned below the badge.
“I’m not Professor Fuentes,” Charlie answered. “Name’s Charlie Noble … I’m the professor’s teaching assistant.” He switched the latte to his left and extended his right. “How can I help you?”
Ignoring the offered hand, the man, whose nametag read Special Courier Butters, said, “I have a package for the professor. It’s got this radiation symbol on it … are you sure you’re high enough a pay grade to sign for it?”
Suppressing a chuckle, Charlie said, “That’s not a trefoil, that’s the international biohazard warning. Just means there’s something biological and of a sensitive nature inside.”
“Like the plague?”
Noble shook his head. “In addition to his teaching duties, the professor is involved in a consortium. A far-ranging group of academics who research different strains of influenza for the CDC and other branches of government. ‘there can never be too many cooks in the kitchen,’ the professor is fond of saying. You know, different sets of eyes and all. So to sum it all up for you … whatever is in there is viral and might give you and me the sniffles if it got dropped and we were both exposed. But the plague—” Charlie chuckled again “—not so much.”
Replaying his fumble in the parking lot and wanting nothing more than to rid himself of the mysterious parcel and all the perceived responsibility and dangers associated with it,
Special Courier Butters handed over a ballpoint pen and a bulky metal box containing a clipboard and what seemed like half a ream of paper. Stabbing a finger on the manifest, he said, “Sign right here then … Noble. On this line that says MU Biology.”
Pen hovering over the line, clipboard heavy in his hand, Noble walked his gaze along the line, right to left, reading the different entries. He saw that the package had been forwarded here from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta by none other than John Halverson, the Director of Infectious Diseases. Then he read the fine print detailing its origin of birth, an acronym followed by a string of letters that were both foreign to him. His brow furrowing, he bounced the letters DOD USAMRIID Ft. Det., Md., around in his brain, trying to recall their significance. Drawing a blank, he signed his John Hancock, handed the clipboard over, and took possession of the delivery along with a copy of the document he’d just signed and, holding the door open with his body, watched the courier hustle down the hall—with a sense of urgency missing on his initial approach. Once the guard was lost from sight, Noble shifted his attention to the parcel. As if he were sizing up a present, he bounced it in his hands, feeling its heft. It was wrapped tightly in brown shipping paper and all four corners were strengthened with clear tape. Other than the white label containing the red biohazard sticker and black barcode, there was nothing else indicating what was inside. His interest piqued, Charlie pored over the document and found that even it was vague about what was inside.
Noble turned away from the hallway and caught his boot on his backpack yet somehow remained on his feet. Heart hammering, trying to escape his chest, he closed the door behind him and stowed his bags in a nearby closet. He hung his winter coat on a hook and, to ward off the chill in the tall-ceilinged room, donned a white knee-length lab coat. Then, with the package held level with a firm two-handed grip, he made his way carefully to the back of the room and deposited it on the professor’s desk, where he took a seat and dove straightaway into his work.