“There's no way the people in charge could just turn a blind eye to that,” I argued. “They'd have to want to shut him down. It's evil.”
“Right,” Moto continued. “Not to mention they needed hundreds of people for their trials, and all they had were prisoners and enemy combatants. They just weren't able to make it work and keep it quiet at the same time.”
“Until the zombies came along,” I said, realizing what he was getting at all at once.
“Precisely. Turns out Franco's friend, who looked like an interrogator, was actually a Colombian scientist they call Dr. G. He went to work right away rigging up units and testing out ways to keep them moving, using live volunteers as bait.”
“Who would volunteer for a thing like that?”
“No one,” Moto quickly rejoined. “Franco and his men were singling out the weak and unwanted from the new recruits, telling them it was for a special assignment. These were outcasts that didn't fit in, scared civilians who thought signing up would be easier than going it alone. Once they got here they were shunned by fellow soldiers, made fun of for their differences, and generally were bullied. You've seen it. You know that it's happening.”
“Fobbits and oxygen thieves,” I remembered.
“Exactly,” Moto chirped.
I had seen it, but there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. I kept telling myself that time would bring the men together, but I turned a blind eye as well. Out of sight was out of mind. The next thing I knew I was in Freedom Town, dealing with undesirables of my own.
“These guys were only too happy to be part of a special mission that pulled them out of the regular lineup,” Moto continued. “They jumped at the chance to volunteer, especially after Franco and his Blackshirts told them they'd be off their feet all day in a cool room, watching television, and eating whatever they wanted. Not one of them stopped to think it was too good to be true.”
“I never realized it,” I said, thinking back to the first days on the base. I had seen a fair number of troublemakers go missing before being shipped off. I'd just assumed they'd been reassigned like they'd bragged about. Now I knew what that meant. “It was happening under my nose the whole time, under all of our noses, and we didn't even see it.”
“Dr. G divided the volunteers into two groups,” Moto explained. “One group was immediately infected. He started by pulling out their teeth while they were still human, before turning them against their will. Once the biological agent was introduced into their system, their mouths were then sprayed with a sort of plastic laminate that coated the wounds. That way they could no longer bite.”
“And that means they can't infect anyone,” I said, following along.
“But they could still tear people to pieces,” Moto countered. “They'd still be possessed with the desire to eat human flesh.”
“So they'd be super strong and unable to die,” I added. “And they'd only respond to Franco. Great.”
“The perfect weapon,” Moto went on. “The second group was then brought in. They were used as bait, cut up and tortured in front of the new batch of hungry zombies, then placed just out of reach. In most cases they fed the zombies the fingers of their counterpart volunteers, to motivate them to break through chains or punch through concrete blocks. A lot of the men eventually bled out and died. The ones that didn't die joined the first group. Their last memories were of having their teeth pulled out one at a time while they screamed in disbelief.”
“How do you know all this?” I asked in shock.
“There were detailed notes of the whole experiment in the files Sonya grabbed. You ever wanna read something truly horrifying, let me know and I will show them to you. Just be warned, though – you might never sleep again.”
“Wow,” I said, at a loss for words.
“From what we can tell, Franco's plan was to enlist warlords and outlaws to his side with the promise of protection and plunder, then turn his army of the dead on the military and anyone else who might get in his way.”
“And if someone ever got out of line or challenged him?” I asked.
“Then he'd sic his undead troops on them to restore order, I guess, and set an example. With a mega horde of hungry monsters he'd be able to knock down the most fortified compound, even take out all of our military installations if he felt like it. We'd be almost powerless to stop him.”
“No one would be able to say no to him,” I said, shaking my head. “He'd be the most powerful man alive.”
“Now you know why we have to go back,” Moto recapped. “We can't let him get to that point. There's too much at stake. If we don't act now, it will be too late. Sure we could hide in Xanadu and try to wait it out...”
“But eventually he'd find us,” I realized.
“...and when he did, he'd have an army of super zombies that would never stop coming until they'd torn us all to shreds, or worse, turned us into one of them to be used by guys like John and Franco.”
It was unimaginable, a fate worse than death itself.
“We're getting close now,” Moto noted. “Get ready for anything.”
I glanced up at the mirror. Looking behind us, I could see a trail of dust rising up into the air as a vehicle came racing up.
“Looks like we've got company,” Moto smirked. “That didn't take long. Sit tight and don't make any sudden movements. Got it?” I nodded in reply, feeling my mouth go bone dry.
They were on us in less than a few minutes.
“Driver,” the voice commanded. “Reduce your speed, but continue forward. That is an order. Do not, I repeat, do not deviate from your current trajectory or you will be fired upon.”
I looked for a side road we could escape along, but it was already too late. Matching Humvees pulled alongside of ours, blocking our escape. We were being guided up to the front gate where a squadron of Blackshirts flanked the newly crowned General Franco. Moto began to slow, and the Humvee behind us pushed us forward.
“One more question,” I pleaded, turning to my big brother.
“Better make it fast,” he said.
“ABO? What's that mean?”
“It means 'All Bets Are Off,’” he said, staring straight ahead at the road. “It means we're on our own for now.”
Soldiers came over and took the keys. They pulled us out of the car, and took our weapons as well. When we'd been properly frisked and searched, they signaled the all clear to the front gates and slowly backed away, their weapons still trained on us.
General Franco smiled as he came around the front of the car.
“I've gotta say,” Franco began, “You surprise me. I thought by now you and your band of terrorists would be long gone, hiding in the shadows somewhere waiting for us to track you down and bring you to justice. The last thing I expected was for you to just pop up here and turn yourselves in.”
“That just goes to show that you don't know me very well,” Moto defended himself, staring him dead in the eye. “If you did, you'd have never come here in the first place. You'd have known the only way I'd let you do what you’re planning on doing is over my dead body.”
“Careful what you wish for,” Franco warned, signaling to two of his security detail who came forward to guard against any escape attempt.
“Now,” Franco said with an evil grin. “Where is your little girlfriend?”
“Someplace safe where you can't ever get to her.”
“One way or another I'll get it out of you,” Franco threatened. “It's just a matter of time, which you have very little left of at this point. As you know, the punishment for treason is death. Right now, at this very moment, they are building a gallows for your and your brother in the middle of the base. By this time tomorrow you'll be swinging in the breeze by your neck, your lifeless bodies on display for all to see. The last of the great Macnamaras, twisting in the wind, reminding everyone just what happens when you cross me.”
“You can't do that!” I shouted before the man next to me slapped the back of my head to
silence me.
“I can and I will,” Franco sternly replied. “Military law clearly states the punishment for enemies of the State, not that I've ever cared all that much for the rules, to be honest. Moto here has been found guilty of abandoning his post, assisting the enemy, and treason. He's been stripped of his rank, and labeled a traitor. You've also been found guilty of aiding and abetting the enemy. So you see, I'm well within my legal rights to dispose of you as I see fit.”
I looked over at Moto to see if we should get up and fight. He shook his head no.
“I don't want to see you hang,” Franco seemed to soften. “I believe your family history and your record of service have earned you a chance at redemption. So here it is. Tell me where the girl who took my plants is hiding, and I will spare your lives. You'll spend the rest of your days behind bars as disgraced traitors who turned on their country, but alive and well. There are some here who say you don't deserve that much, that scum like you should be dealt with swiftly and severely, but I'm willing to offer you mercy if you cooperate. It's my final offer.”
Moto spit in his face in reply. Franco laughed as he wiped it off.
“Have it your way,” he smirked. “Give them a taste, boys.”
The next thing I knew, guys dressed all in black were beating us from every side. The beating seemed to go on forever. At one point Moto and I were back on our feet, taking on several soldiers apiece. It made almost no difference. They had sheer numbers and soon overwhelmed us again, knocking us back down to the ground. The last thing I remember before blacking out was curling up in a ball to protect my head, while an endless procession of blows rained down on me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
An icy cold splash of water brought me back to life, hands up and ready to fight. I turned in circles looking for the source of my attacker while crude laughter rang out all around me. My eyes were trying to adjust; my head was ringing. I could feel my face was swollen in places. I could taste blood in my mouth. Put simply, I had been put through the ringer.
“Wakey wakey,” a familiar voice sang out. I turned and saw that my brother was next to me, looking exactly like I felt. My vision began to adjust and I could see we were in a cell with bars around it. The man holding the bucket leered at us. It was John from New Lompoc.
“Surprise! Yeah it's me. And guess what? I'm pissed off now! I gave you a chance to do the right thing; I trusted you once again,” the veins in his neck stood out as the blood beamed in his anger-contorted features. “And once again you betrayed that trust! Well look at what it got you. I hope you're happy now!”
“Enough,” Franco roared, walking up and pulling John back from the bars and out of the way. “I don't have time for your petty revenge plots right now. You are to stand there and keep your mouth shut or, so help me, I will have you and your little band of pajama wearing freaks escorted to the edge of the base trenches and executed. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes sir,” John said without hesitation. “Clear as a bell.”
For a split second I could see John nervously looking around at the cadre of Blackshirts surrounding Franco, concerned they might be there to do just that now that Franco had what he wanted. With Moto and me already his hostages, the balance of power shifted dramatically in Franco's favor. There was no longer any need to pretend, as far as he was concerned. I could see the realization dawning in the horrified look etched on John's face.
If he can execute us without kicking up a fuss on base, I thought, a guy like John doesn't stand much of a chance. That means from here on out he'll have to go along with whatever Franco wants; he’ll have to fight to curry favor with him, or he's a goner.
If the guy hadn't worked so hard on so many occasions to ruin my life, I might have felt sorry for him.
“Good,” Franco said with a cold, calculating smile. “Now that we've got that cleared up, let's get back to business. By now you can see that I'm serious. That little beating is just the tip of the iceberg for you if you don't smarten up and get in line. You can't win. It's over. This is the end of the line for you guys. You had a good run, but all good things come to an end. Tough luck.”
“You can talk in circles as far as I'm concerned,” Moto interrupted. “It doesn't make any difference.”
“Let me make myself clear then,” Franco stated, obviously frustrated. “You've got something I need. Plain and simple. You either give it to me, or you and your little brother are dead. Is that simple enough for you, smart ass?”
“Save your breath,” Moto said with a smile. “There's nothing you can say or do to us that will ever make me tell you where those plants are. You've lost, Franco. Admit it.”
“That's where you're wrong,” Franco countered. “After all, I'm out here and you're the one in the cage. I think you're just trying to fend off the creeping fear with your useless taunts. You can feel your impending death inching nearer and it terrifies you, but it doesn't have to be this way.”
“How long do you think it will be until word gets out what you've done here?” Moto smiled at Franco. “A week? A month? Maybe they know now. Maybe they're already on their way to put down your cowardly little rebellion, you and your insolent pack of thugs. What do you think they'll do when they get here? Have you thought about it?”
“Actually, I have,” Franco fired back. “We'll be ready if that happens. We're not afraid of any army, not anymore, not with the new weapons we have at our disposal.”
“You might have thought about it,” Moto said, “but have these guys?”
Moto looked at the unblinking faces of the Blackshirts behind Franco. They were frozen in place, but behind their eyes he knew he'd just given them new food for thought.
They haven't, I thought. Most of these guys are just caught up in the moment, doing what they are told. They don't want to be on the wrong side, and now that Moto is back they're starting to wonder. Maybe we'll be able to turn one or two of them back to help us escape!
“My men are loyal,” Franco scoffed in reply. “Each and every man here knows he's on the right side, the winning side. Together we're going to forge a brilliant new destiny for this country, and maybe even the world.”
“You'll all be executed,” Moto said in a clear, somber voice. “When Edwards hears about what happened, they will put the word out. Others will come as well. Can’t allow even a single base to decide to defect from the United States Armed Forces, now can you? Especially not now. That would make us look weak. No. They'll want to make an example out of you; make sure no one else ever gets a similar idea.”
I could see a few of the Blackshirts gulp at the thought.
He's getting to them, I thought. They're starting to wonder if they did the right thing. There might still be a chance for us after all.
“Those of you not cut down in battle will be rounded up,” Moto charged on, not wanting to lose their attention. “You'll be court-martialed, found guilty, and sentenced to death for treason against the US Government and its people. At best you'll spend the rest of your days as a prisoner doing hard labor on a work gang, and at worst you'll be forced to dig your own graves before being erased off the face of the earth. Have you really thought about it?”
Before Franco could reply, one of the Blackshirts closest to him stepped forward with a sneer, looking Moto up and down like he was less than nothing.
“Why don't you show him?” The man said, turning calmly to Franco and smiling like a loyal lap dog. “Let them see firsthand why we're not afraid of any army anymore, sir.”
“That's an excellent idea, Zane,” Franco said, the glimmering of pride in his eyes shining like a teacher when her star pupil gets an answer correct in front of the rest of class. “Maybe then they'll understand just how futile their position is, and make the wise choice before it's too late. Get them out of there and bring them to the viewing chamber.”
Franco leaned down to whisper to us, while his men hurriedly unlocked our cell and seized us by our arms.
“Soon you'll see ju
st what kind of terror awaits anyone who stands in our way,” Franco gloated. “Then you'll be begging to join our side, begging for mercy for you and the people closest to you. In case you're wondering, I'm looking forward to hearing you grovel.”
Franco turned and left without a word, John scurrying to his side and Tank falling in behind him. Most of the Blackshirts went with them, but some stayed behind to help escort us. Zane had Moto by the right arm and was taking obvious pleasure in jerking him around.
“Okay tough guy,” Zane barked. “Let's go. And keep it zipped. I'm not interested in any more of your pathetic fantasies about how this is gonna end.”
I hated the way that jerk was talking to my brother. I'd been convinced he was a disrespectful punk from the minute I met him, but I never imagined that anyone would give him a shot at power. Most of the guys didn't like working around him, so he'd often been left to his own devices, which meant hanging out with the other kids like him, the trouble makers and malcontents. I saw a lot of those faces among the Blackshirts. He was their de facto leader and they'd followed him into Franco's mess, for better or worse. There was no going back now.
I opened my mouth to say something smart to Zane, but Moto caught my eye with his iron stare and shook his head, warning me to keep my trap shut. He was right. It wasn't going to do any good trying to pick fights with Franco's henchmen. No matter how many insults I hurled, I would never make a dent. More than likely they'd just make our life extremely uncomfortable in the process. It was better to go along for now, and trust that when the moment came to make our move Moto would let me know.
We walked out of our cell and along an empty corridor that resembled the hospital on base, but instead of looking like a place you'd go to get better, the equipment I saw appeared designed to do the exact opposite. Other than the occasional kick to the back of the legs, or elbow to the kidney shoving us along, we were left alone. I could feel a knot throbbing on my head from where I'd been punched. I didn't even want to know how bad I looked.
Zombie Attack! Army of the Dead (Book 3) Page 9