A superzombie stepped out onto the third floor balcony. It stood well over six feet tall and wore camouflaged heavy military battle armor with helmet, web gear laden with grenades and extra ammunition and carried a military assault rifle with an attached grenade launcher. Its skin was visible in the light, dark and wrinkled like old leather, the frame gaunt and skeletal. He couldn’t make out its face but he could feel its eyes scanning the lake and sense its psychic probe sweeping the dark water.
And so Zack sat for the rest of the night, his gnawing hunger tamed into submission by his human mind. And the superzombie also stood watch through the remainder of the night. At one point it was even joined by another, dressed and equipped identically. The white robed men, who changed guard shift every couple hours, paid no attention as they searched the water together. He dared not use his own mental probes for fear they would lock onto him and fire their grenade launchers.
At any point during the night he could have easily ducked beneath the water and swam away, but he chose to stay and observe, confident he would go undetected as long as he kept his mind block up and refrained from using his own telepathy. All throughout the night more drones had continued to come out of the forest and congregate at the mansion until there were well over one thousand gathered. Also, during various stages of the night, some of the crucified victims would come awake, screaming for God, their mothers, death, anything to take away the pain. Their cries would in turn excite the zombies below, who would take up a gurgled moan of their own that would echo across the water. And when dawn cracked over the eastern mountains peaks, Zack still floated in his same place, and the original superzombie still stood there, a silent, unmoving sentinel to the gathering army of zombies over whose chorus of moans a few wailing sobs could still be heard from the crucifixes above.
During the night his hunger had grown exponentially and was now a seething, molten ball of pain that needed to be dealt with. His could feel his human mind losing control, bit by tiny bit and decided to accept his metabolism’s needs rather than continue to fight them. He took a deep breath and sank into the depths of the lake. He powered for the bottom scanning for prey. Although human brains were the favored and most nutritious food of choice, it wasn’t the only one. He knew that if necessary he could feast upon the brains and blood of animals. He hadn’t done it yet, but he could instinctively sense it was possible. He turned and moved toward shore, knowing that large fish were to be found near the wooden docks, where they in turn preyed upon smaller schools of fish. Just in front of him a large suckerfish detached from a large rock it had been clinging to and tried to swim away, but Zack was too fast and he snatched the fish before it moved a foot. It tried to wriggle away but he clutched it with both hands, digging his claws into its flesh. He plunged his feeding proboscis into its small brain cavity, slurping it clear in a single gulp. It was not more than a tease, bitter and sour at that, and he turned the fish over and sank his feeding proboscis its heart, getting three large gulps before the carcass was bled out. He dropped the empty husk, searching for another one. How many fish he hunted and drained and how long it took him to do so was lost to him, but when his human mind was finally able to regain total control he could tell by the position of the sun rippling above the surface of the water that several hours had passed.
He surfaced directly underneath the wooden dock, keeping his head low and huddling near one of the wooden legs. He had no recollection of surfacing for air during his feeding frenzy but he knew he must have several times. Luckily the superzombie hadn’t spotted him. Taking a gamble, he did a low frequency scan, searching only for drones…their hollow psychic vacuums echoing back at him by the hundreds. He could hear them as well, their low moans combined into a cacophony that drowned out all other sounds. He sniffed the air, their sour, putrid stench thick and musky, overlaid by the smell of the bonfire.
The base of his neck began to tingle with what he now recognized as his sixth sense and he turned to look out over the lake…On the far side in the northeast corner, at the same cabin he had encountered Matt and his friends yesterday, he caught a glint of sunlight off metal or glass. He looked closer, narrowing his eyes for binocular vision…he could see a boat tied to that dock and two men with binoculars looking in this direction. Hopefully the shadows would obscure him. Filling his lungs with fresh air he sank below the surface.
He surfaced in the boathouse just as the screaming started. It was the agonized wails of the crucifixion victims. He swam to the front of the boathouse and pulled himself onto the inner dock. Staying low to the floor he edged up to the main door, raised his mind block, and slowly lifted his head to peer out the small window.
The zombie horde had begun to press toward the house, a wave of agitation now spreading through the crowd. The bonfire still burned in the center of the yard, distorting part of his view with heat but his other senses more than compensated as he absorbed what was happening. The six large, chain wrapped posts that held the crucifixes and their victims were mounted on some kind of winch and were now tilting slowly out over the edge of the roof, already at a forty-five degree angle. The six large posts continued lowering until they ran parallel with the ground. The top ends were still secured by chains but the bottom of each crucifix had been unchained from the posts, allowing them to dangle about twenty feet above the outstretched arms of the horde, which was now roused to a fever pitch. As the crucifixes slowly spun on the chains Zack could the faces of all twelve victims were writhing masks of pain and suffering as they thrashed against the spikes that impaled them and the bindings that held them to the crosses. Zack’s human brain noted with some interest that most if not all of the six women might have indeed been attractive at one time, but now their naked bodies bore the signs of savage torture and sexual mutilation, which in turn appealed to the Beast.
He pushed such thoughts from his mind and concentrated on what was transpiring.
One the second floor balcony five armed, white robed men stood at attention. On the third floor five more also stood at attention. Another unarmed man in red robes stood near the center of the balcony. He was taller than the others and although Zack couldn’t hear him over the zombies wailing and the victim’s pleas, by the motions of his hands and the bobbing of his head he was giving a fiery sermon.
Secured to a platform at the edge of the balcony in front of him was another naked woman. To either side of him, cloaked in black hooded robes stood…Zack’s sixth sense fired again, all of his instincts telling him what he dared not confirm with a mind scan. The short figures in black robes that stood on either side of the man were Krylok Aliens!
Every danger sense in Zack was telling him to flee before he was discovered, to slip back into the water and swim to the far side of the lake and hide, but his human mind was once again in control and he was able to tame the urges of the beast and hold his position at the window. His mind was shielded and he was well hidden. The two Krylok would not detect him.
The preacher was working up to a climax, his gestures broad and sweeping. Zack could see only the lower half of his face in the cowls of his robe, but could tell by the wrinkled pale skin and thin lips that it was an older man, well into his senior years. He reached his right hand into the folds of his robes and came out with a long, thin dagger. As if on cue, the chains began to lower the crucifixes down to the hungry horde. The victim’s screams reached a petrifying crescendo as the tips of their feet reached the hundreds of clawing hands. Zack could smell the sharp, coppery scent of fresh blood over the thick blanket of zombie stench as their claws tore into the lower legs of the victim’s. Zack’s blood began to run hot and a flame of hunger crept into his mind once again. Up on the third floor balcony, the preacher held the dagger high, his head thrown back as he screamed out the last passage of the ritual and plunged the dagger down into the woman’s abdomen. Her body arched and her face contorted with pain, but the preacher leaned over her, using the dagger to saw up the length of her belly and up into her chest. Her scre
ams trailed into choking gasps as blood flooded her lungs. Thick blood was spurting across the preachers robe, covering his arms, torso and face, but he continued to saw through bone until the knife came out the hollow of her throat. The Preacher used both of his hands to pry the woman’s chest cavity open. With a look of mad glee on his blood splattered face he plunged both hands dagger first into the ragged hole, the geyser of blood finally ceasing. A moment later his pulled back, the knife in his right hand and the woman’s heart in the other. The blood covering his arm was so thick and dark that it looked like oil from this distance. He held the heart high, tilting his head back and letting the thick blood run down onto his face and into his open mouth just as the feet of the crucifix victims came into reach of the zombies biting mouths.
There was movement at the back of the horde and three white robed men carrying assault rifles came into the clearing at the back of the yard, headed for the boathouse. Even more incredible than their foolish bravery at walking through the zombies was the fact that three hot blooded, living human beings simply pushed their way past hundreds of zombies and not a single one attempted to attack them. In fact the zombies had paid them no attention whatsoever!
But there would be time to ponder that later. Right now evasion was the priority. He crouched low to the floor, speeding across the dock and slipping into the water, powering underneath the door and out into the lake. The water carried the sound of the small boats engine coming to life inside the garage and Zack put even more power into his stroke, staying near the bottom and heading for the center of the lake. He surfaced several hundred feet out, looking back to the boathouse. The door was raised and the small boat was coming out with all three men aboard. He looked back to the northeast, where he had spotted his old companions a little while back. Their boat was also moving out into the lake, and he could spot the familiar shape of Matt and the long blond hair of Susan as well.
Keeping his head low to the water he watched the chase and subsequent firefight play out, his emotions churning for him to do something to help his friends. He saw the first white robed man go down, blood spraying between his fingers as he clutched his ruined throat. The two boats passed between him and the eastern shore just as the bullet ricocheted off Matt’s helmet. Zack saw the helmet take the hit but still his gut clenched with fear for his friend’s safety. A few moments later another white robed man was hit, tumbling out of the boat and into the water. The Beast took instant control. He slipped under the water and swam toward the sinking corpse as fast as he could. From underneath the water he could hear the smaller boat turn toward shore and begin to double back, no doubt searching for the man overboard.
But Zack reached him first. The man had been shot in the chest and bloody air bubbles were still emerging from his wound, his arms and legs flailing feebly as he struggled with his final moments of life. Zack came up from behind, tilting the man’s head back. His eyes were rolled up into their sockets. Zack opened his mouth, sliding the feeding proboscis from underneath his tongue and plunging it through the man’s right eye into his brain…
The Microchip dissolved into nothing as Zack’s thoughts returned to the present. He let the corpse fall away from him, its internal caverns filled with water, settling to the bottom. Nearby, the small boat had come to a halt just a few dozen feet from the shore. Zack slowly began to rise, his eyes breaking the surface just a few feet from the boat. The white robed man was bent over the deck, examining something, most likely the man shot through the throat. Zack turned slowly and looked to the northwest, where his friends boat was quickly heading for they’re own estate.
Turning back to the smaller boat, Zack let the boiling hunger fill his gut once again and with a surge of strength, he charged the boat, leapt from the water onto the back of the boat. He could see the white robed mans eyes widen with fear as they saw him, the mouth opening to scream, but Zack wrapped his arms around the mans chest, squeezing off any scream and tackling him over the other side into the water. The man was struggling for his life, but Zack put a quick end to that when his feeding proboscis slipped through the man’s left eye into his brain. And just as Zack thought, there was a microchip in the center of this mans brain. And just like the other two he had found it dissolved into nothing less than a minute after being removed from the brain. The Beast subsided, going back into its dark place at the back of his mind, and his human side began to wrestle with everything he had saw and learned since last night, trying to find a connection between the insane, apparently cannibal cultists, the microchips implanted in their brains and the presence of the Krylok Aliens…
Chapter 48
Tuesday, June 26, 2001
Park City, UT
3:35 PM
A pretty young nurse was waiting for them in the hospital lobby. She was wearing a light blue jump suit and a white lab coat.
“Dr. Cooper has everything prepared. If you will just follow me.” She gave them both a smile and led them to the security elevator on the far end of the lobby. Nobody spoke as the elevator car descended two floors and opened onto the laboratory level. Two armed soldiers stood in front of the door, M-16’s pointed into the elevator car.
“Romero.” The General gave the password and the two guards stepped aside. The nurse led them down the hall to the control room. On the way they passed half a dozen heavy steel doors that opened onto rooms containing zombies for the doctors to experiment on. Inside the control room there were three technicians on duty, each at a different station.
Jenkins and the General stepped up to the observation window. The bloated pod was still in the center of the quarantine room, unmoved. The bloody, oozing cracks on the sides of its swollen stomach had grown longer, until they now stretched nearly ten inches.
The airlock next to the quarantine room could also be seen through the observation window and inside were three people suited up in bright orange Nuclear Biological and Chemical Environmental suits. One of them turned and walked up to the window. Jenkins could see through the bulbous helmets face guard that it was Dr. Cooper. The Dr. smiled at them.
“At last we can begin.” The Doctors voice came impatiently over the intercom. The vivisection wasn’t scheduled until sixteen hundred hours, and he made no mention of their arrival an hour early, appearing disgruntled that they hadn’t arrived sooner.
“Can you hear us Dr. Cooper?” the General said aloud.
“Of course I can.” The Dr. answered and turned away from the window. He walked over to what appeared to be a large toolbox on wheels. The other two NBC suited figures joined him.
“The moment is upon us Dr. Wilcox. Is everything ready?” They both knew it was. They had gone over the instruments, analysis and diagnosis equipment half a dozen times in the past three hours.
“Yes Dr. Cooper.” Answered a woman’s voice. Jenkins was mildly surprised. The only doctor he had dealt with was Cooper and for some reason Jenkins had imagined the rest of the butchers up here to be just as classic mad scientist as Dr. Cooper.
“You may enter, Sgt. Brown.” The third man held a portable flamethrower, and as the airlock hissed open he slowly stepped into the quarantine room. Dr. Cooper followed him trailed by Dr. Wilcox, pushing the instrument box. The airlock door hissed shut behind her.
The spongy mass of small tentacles that had been Ron’s head was pointed toward the airlock door. Sgt. Brown took up a strategic position to one side, keeping his weapon aimed at the pod at all times. Dr. Wilcox brought the box to halt near the writhing face tentacles and immediately began tapping at a control panel while Dr. Cooper stepped over the vine like growth that had once been the right arm and stood next to the bloated torso.
“Telemetry online.” Reported Dr. Wilcox.
“Very good.” Dr. Cooper said. He slowly reached out a gloved and gently stroked the flesh of the pod with his index finger. The flesh indented in like an egg yolk under his soft probe, but did not break.
“Crazy son of a bitch.” Jenkins muttered.
“Th
ank you for the compliment Colonel.” Dr. Cooper replied. Jenkins gave a wry smile. The microphone was more sensitive than he thought.
Dr. Cooper pulled his finger away and held it up to his faceplate for closer examination. “The epidermis has the texture of gelatin and secretes a thin slime.”
The doctor continued speaking but Jenkins had quit listening because his attention was now focused on the left leg vine stalk, which stretched to the far corner of the room and was now beginning to writhe!
“The left leg!” Jenkins blurted, patting the glass observation window. Dr. Cooper turned his head and gasped in shock.
The leg peeled away from the corner and curled back on itself like a scorpion tail, brushing the ceiling of the chamber. Inside the control room several alarms were blaring as the things vital signs went wild.
“Sergeant?” Dr. Cooper called, his voice filled with horror. Sgt. Brown took that as an order to fire. He ran forward, the nozzle of the flamethrower aimed at the curling left leg. He pulled the trigger and a narrow stream of fire shot out, engulfing the coiling limb in liquid flame.
“Abort!” General Parker shouted, his face flushed with surprise. “Dr. Cooper Abort!” But Dr. Cooper just stood there, staring up at the flaming tentacle thrashing around like a loose fire hose.
Dr. Wilcox took several steps back from the control box, her eyes glued to the flaming beast. Suddenly her feet became entangled and she fell backward, her head smashing hard enough to crack the faceplate in her NBC suit. A sickening pain flooded her skull and for a moment she blacked out.
Deadrise Page 33