by Jack Wallen
I stared around the table. All eyes were upon me and all mouths were shut. It seemed my plan had legs. Morgan and Josh eventually agreed it was the best route and would contact their leaders to set everything in motion. As for my part, I just had to conjure up some serious acting chops to make the demise of the ZRT believable. On the off-chance the Zero Day Collective was listening in, I wanted to make sure they believed this like white trash on wrestling.
“B… ” Jamal was still seated at the table. He had a very familiar look in his eyes. The man wanted something only I could give him.
“I need your help.”
Jamal and I had a pact; not one of those ‘If we’re both alone when we’re forty…” pacts. This was serious, and often led to deep, chocolaty trouble. In a nutshell, we never refused. If one of us needed a favor, that favor was always granted. That was actually how I wound up falling in love with the man so many years ago.
Favors.
God damn it.
Jamal looked around the room, clearly nervous or paranoid. The door was standing open. He stood, crossed to the door, looked out, and then slowly sealed the outside world away from out little sanctuary. When Jamal sat back down, he took my hand in his.
“You’re the only human being on this planet I trust. I brought all of these people into this place because I was certain of their loyalty. But…” His lip quivered. Jamal allowed doubt to creep into his mind. Jamal rarely allowed doubt an audience of his faculties. “I’m not sure any more. I’ve heard rumblings and seen suspicious things. B – I need you to check everyone out. Make sure no one under this roof has ties with the ZDC. I’d do it, but I’m not nearly as tied into this web as you are. You know things I don’t, so you could more quickly spot the red flags. I don’t want to lie to the world. If we are to offer salvation from this insanity, we do so honestly and without even the slightest threat that the Zero Day Collective is going to find us and pull the carpet out from under our feet.”
I placed my free hand on Jamal’s cheek. The sincerity of the man broke my heart. He hadn’t changed a bit. Underneath the boy-genius exterior was the heart of the truest, most sincere man I’d ever known. Jamal was the incarnation of truth. Amplify him and his inner zombie would moan the truth. There would be no lie zombie lie from the mouth of that monster.
“Of course. Set me up a work station and I’ll get to it.”
Jamal smiled a wicked smile only I could decrypt. He had something for me, something big and juicy.
“I have something to show you.”
Jamal led me to another room. As soon as he opened the door, I knew immediately what the man had done.
“Your very own broadcast studio. Soundproof and zombie proof. Once you’re in here, you can hop up on soapboxes as high as you like and no one will interrupt. You also have a fully networked and firewalled computer that has a point to point connection with my cluster – should you need the extra iron. Oh, and there’s a Linux box in there serving as a full-blown media server with over a terabyte of music on it. The Princess, nay, Queen of the airwaves may entertain her subjects to her heart’s content.”
The wicked-evil grin that chased around Jamal’s chin and cheeks made me want to kiss him and kiss him hard. I refrained. Why? I had no idea.
We both walked into the studio. I shut the door behind me so the frankness of my next question wouldn’t escape into the wild.
“Why do you suspect foul play? What’s going on?”
Jamal stopped in his tracks and continued looking away from me for a moment. When he finally spoke, his eyes remained elsewhere.
“You won’t believe me B.”
A strange pause danced around the room. The silence of the soundproofing was disconcerting enough to make my skin slink around the meat on my bones.
“It’s the apocalypse, douchebyte, I’ll believe anything.”
Again Jamal made with the pause.
“I have no proof. All I have is gut instinct and my gut is telling me there’s a ghost in the machine.”
Jamal knew I loved it when he dropped the Gilbert Rile description of Descarte’s Mind Body Dualism. Jamal was brilliant, even when he contradicted his Vulcan-like passion for truth and fact.
I closed the gap between the two of us. “What would someone have to gain by being dishonest here… and now? It’s not like there’s profit to be made. And the only true power to be had is in survival.”
When Jamal turned to me, the look on his face was a mixture of content and ill at ease. I wasn’t sure which projected emotion to latch onto.
“I know it’s crazy Bethany, but there’s something not right. The reason why I want you to look into this is because you’re crazy brilliant and you’ll approach it with an objective mind. Do what you can to assuage this Pon Far raging within me.”
“Ooooh, I always did love it when you spoke Vulcan to me. Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal – on one condition.”
“Name your price Nitshimi.”
I could have so milked this for all it was worth. I decided, however, to play nice.
“If I come up with nothing, you have to trust me.”
We hugged on it – and nearly kissed to seal the deal. The awkward moment led to an even more awkward departure of Jamal. I wanted to spend some time getting to know my new Bitch Cave. But before I got too comfy, I had to retrieve my babies – Jacob and my laptop.
Chapter 21
November 24, 2016 6:34 PM
Zombie Response Team Headquarters: San Antonio, Texas
San Antonio was the first to begin the fortification process. The idea to wall in the city was Morgan’s. The goal was to encircle the metropolitan area and exterminate any infected humans. Once the undead were cleared from within the city wall, those inside would be safe.
In theory.
The wall took nearly a year to build. It wasn’t pretty, but the barrier to entry offered more protection than staggered guards and barbed wire. The only problem with the wall was that it prevented survivors from gaining access to safety – unless they were brought in. That’s where Morgan’s plan came into place.
“Sir, we have received word from commander Barnhart. We are to begin sweep and rescue missions, starting in concentric twenty-five mile radius circles. As we locate uninfected survivors we are to bring them into the city.”
The Sergeant handed Commander Koenig the print out with Morgan’s communication. Koenig was thrilled to finally have orders that included a little action. To this point, most of what he did was plan the guard rotations and make sure the soldiers were getting sleep, food, and exercise. Every now and again a fight would break out or a small horde of zombies would attack the wall in vain. That was the extent of the excitement within New San A. So these new orders were a gift from God. Something to do.
Koenig stood and pulled down his jacket to smooth the wrinkles. “Sergeant Walker, put together a group of men, arm them, and pack them off in two transports. I want them locked and loaded in thirty.”
Walker spared no time in saluting and slipping out of the office. He had a list of men he created for just this purpose. The group was versatile and merciless. He called the men together and gave them their assignments. Koenig was part of the detail. No way was he going to miss out on the chance for a little action. Besides, the wall made him claustrophobic most days. He could use the escape, the distraction from monotony.
*
The twin transports sped through the gate just before it was lowered and locked. New San A took no chance. The cloud of dust kicked up by the transports veiled the city wall from the rear view mirrors. Thanks to the apocalypse, Texas winters were almost as hot as summers – minus the moisture.
Planning a perfectly concentric route was nearly impossible, but the team navigation specialist did his best. He knew the empty transport had room for twenty-five to thirty people. They would drive until the transport was filled, turn back, deliver the survivors, and return to the last point of contact.
Along the way, the
y would take out any hostiles necessary. Said hostiles appeared far sooner than they thought possible.
“Samuel to Koenig. Undead activity spotted directly ahead. Your orders?”
“Koenig to Samuel – engage undead immediately.”
Lieutenant Samuel brought the transport to a stop one hundred yards from the cluster of zombies busy with a small group of survivors. As soon as he stepped out of the transport, the screams punched him in the gut. Zombie Response Team had a name for that – PARF (Post Apocalyptic Reaction Fatigue). The screams of dying humans filled the landscape. Just before the sound becomes innocuous, it begins to hurt like a stomach cramp. When it happened, all you could think of was puking out the pain and the sorrow.
“Lock and load people!”
Instantly the soldiers poured out of the lead transport, guns ready to unleash their fury. Like a choreographed ballet, the men spread out over the landscape and silently moved toward the target zone. Once the soldiers were within the kill zone, they would wait for the order and rain down second death on the undead.
The moans and screams grew louder as the men drew closer. Trigger fingers were itchy to take down the bastard children of mankind.
As a unit, the team reached the kill zone and dropped to the ground in order to get into position.
But when scopes went to eyes, the scene immediately folded inside out, became a newer, uglier nightmare. What was going on went beyond description.
“Sir, Lieutenant Samuel here. I… ” Samuel was unsure how best to describe the horror he witnessed. “These moaners… they’re just… Jesus Christ!”
“What is it Lieutenant? SITREP now!” Command Koenig demanded.
“Sir, the zombies are tearing the limbs off of the survivors and strapping the torsos to their backs.” The lieutenant knew his description did the horror before him no justice.
“I don’t understand Samuel. Explain.”
The lieutenant swallowed hard. “It’s like they’re wearing the armless and legless torsos as backpacks.”
Static filled the radio before the Commander replied. “To what end?”
“It’s not clear sir. Maybe they’re carrying them for food… I don’t know. It looks like we’ve lost all survivors. What are your orders?”
A pause. The situation didn’t lend itself to pauses. Hesitation led only to desperation in this type of situation. What they needed was immediate and clear action.
“Do not engage enemy. Return to transport immediately.”
The Lieutenant couldn’t believe his ears. He thought it imperative to take out as many of the walking dead as possible. A single moaner or screamer was capable of spawning thousands more of its kind. That alone was reason enough to want to take out each and every member of the undead community.
But orders were orders. And who was a lowly Lieutenant to question the orders of a venerated and decorated Commander.
“Retreat! Now!” Samuel barked the order into his radio. Without question the men silently fell back from the site of horrors.
As they ran back, Samuel could see the look of disbelief on the faces of the men close by. This was bound to happen. What some of the men failed to see was the importance of returning alive – and with survivors. Blasting away at a small pack of moaners might save a few lives, but it would, in the end, cause a ripple effect the small army wouldn’t be able to handle.
Everyone knew sound attracted the undead.
Unfortunately, enough sound had already been made. Before the men could reach the transport, the screech of screamers ripped through reality. The sound bounced off of every wall in the area. It was impossible to discern the source of the location.
The small group of men huddled together, shoulder to shoulder, facing out in a small, tight circle. And as if the men were all connected to some collective consciousness, they all began slowly moving the circle clockwise. The lock-step, side-march was a hypnotic dance of death waiting to be performed for the perfect audience.
A cloud of dusty mayhem rose in the distance. Like a small pack of Tasmanian devils, the whirling chaos grew closer, louder, and ever more deadly. Once the group of men spotted the source of the noise, the spinning circle broke and formed a line facing the oncoming hell spawn.
One of the soldiers pulled a pair of long range binoculars out and immediately had the enemy in focus.
“There are two of… fuck me sideways. This is not good.”
“What is it Brinkman?” The commander ordered.
“These aren’t ordinary screamers sir. They’re… sir, they’re wearing some kind of armor. What the fuck? Sir, these things look like they’re covered in bone.”
As the group of soldiers tried to gain some semblance of coherence within the words the soldier spoke, the screamers came into view.
Brinkman was dead on – the zombies skin had naturally evolved into a bone-like plating.
A screech ripped everyone out of their lost mental anguish and back into reality.
“Fuck this noise.” One of the soldiers hoisted his gun to this shoulder, held his breath to aim, and pulled the trigger.
From the chest of the oncoming zombie came a puff of dust. The marksman hit his target, but the bullet bounced off the exoskeleton
“Fall back. Fall back!” The commander shouted.
Every member of the unit stood to run – minus the marksman. He chambered another bullet, aimed, held his breath, and pulled back the trigger. Another tiny puff of dust wafted in the wind. The action only served to piss of the zombie even more.
Another round. Another breath. Another shot. This time the shot hit home and nailed one of the oncoming screamers in the left eye. The first of the armor plated zombies went down. The second continued onward. The rest of the men were already tucked safely inside the transport.
“Brinkman! To the transport. Now!” The commander insisted.
The marksman had better plans. When he was trained by Morgan and Joshua, he was never given the option to retreat. From Brinkman’s perspective, you served until you died. He wanted an honorable death and this would bring just that to him.
The sound of the second monster reached a deafening, fever pitch. For a brief moment, everything went into slow motion. Brinkman could finally see the movement of the screamer in perfect, three dimensional, stereophonic color. The arms and legs were a frenzy of motion. The description of bone armor was dead on. Covering the entirety of the thing’s body were plates the color of dirty ivory. The thing moved like a manic marionette, arms and legs flailing in a nightmarish, chaotic dance. The roar of the solo monster was different than any other zombie he’d ever heard – some bastardization of metallic scratches with an overtone of Godzilla.
Brinkman sucked in a deep breath and held it tight within his lungs. His right cheek rested comfortably on the worn spot of his guns’ wooden stock. Since the zombie never stopped moving, the shooter had to find the pattern within the movement. Once the pattern was discerned, he could anticipate the movement and place the shot accordingly.
The thing was growing dangerously close. The monstrous sound vibrated loose metal and threatened to shatter weaker glass.
“Brinkman! You have your orders. Get into the transport.”
The order was summarily ignored. He had to get the shot. The shot was life, was salvation.
Jerk right, hang forward, snap back, droop left.
Jerk right, hang forward, snap back, droop left.
The pattern revealed itself. Brinkman would get his shot.
Just as the foul creature was about to droop left, it leaped into the expanse of space between where it was and where Brinkman knelt. The bullet shot out of the gun and cut through the empty air, coming to rest six inches into a wooden poll holding up a hand-made sign proclaiming “Jesus is Lord”. The bone-armored zombie came down on the shooter and swung a forearm out at his head. Brinkman’s skull erupted like a rotten watermelon, the pulpy juice sluicing the ground around the killer and killed.
An unnatural,
undead roar of triumph shook the ground. The commander of the ZRT team shouted the orders to move out just before the zombie gave chase. The army-issue Hummer had just enough horses to haul it, and its cargo, safely away from the monster. The beast finally gave up pursuit of the transport and released a screech of frustration.
The game had changed. The bogeymen had evolved into something far more dangerous. Mother Nature seemed to somehow change sides and give the ghost in the human machine the advantage.
The Hummer sped off. The team still had a mission to complete, humans to search for and rescue. Koenig sat in the back with his men. For the first mile not a word was spoken. Men exchanged glances, but nothing more. Eventually the silence was broken.
“What do we do if we run into something like that again?” The speaker went by the name ‘Brimstone’. He fancied himself a comic book artist. His nom de plume came from one of his favorite characters he was developing before the apocalypse robbed him of his chance at fame and fortune.
“We don’t miss.”
Koenig’s answer drew a few chuckles from the men.
“Seriously – don’t miss. You’ve trained for this. Everyone in this transport can shoot the shit out of a swallow at one hundred yards. You guys don’t miss. Ever. I suggest you remember that simple fact.”
Chapter 22
November 24, 2016 7:20 PM
Underground City: Seattle, WA
Jacob cried until his face was blood red. It broke my heart to see him struggling to breathe from whatever it was that made him weep. That was one of the hardest aspects of new motherhood – not knowing what to do to comfort my baby. I wanted to fold him up into my arms and protect him from the hate and sorrow that seeped into every crack and crevice of the landscape. But I wasn’t going to be that mom, the one that suffocated her child to the point of stunting his emotional and mental growth. I wanted Jacob to have a healthy understanding of what was going on around him. I assumed it would be the only way my child, or any child, stood a chance at survival. Truth. Because of that, my baby would hear my cry for help over the air, would watch me weep for loss, and would get to see me celebrate the destruction of what was once a human being.